I will wake up tomorrow.
Grasp Words and Art
Tuesday, December 20, 2022
Haiku: On Buddha I
I will wake up tomorrow.
Friday, October 22, 2021
Poem: Wrong Way Earthworm
a long earthworm meandered out of the irises onto the concrete.
Knowing that they can drowned like the rest of us breathers,
I did not interfere, only watched.
In my time that has been much longer than the life span of a worm (so far),
I have seen many wriggle upon concrete
only to die away from native earth and dry in the sun.
This one made it several feet away from the soaked ground
only to stiffen a little and reverse its course back to moisture.
As it turned back, it lost the way
and moved closer to the bricks of the house.
From my point of view, it seemed confused.
Do I help it or let choice take its course?
For a time it sought shelter in a crack between the concrete and the bricks,
but was too large to fit.
It gave up and moved on, the concrete drawing away the water from its body.
The trail it left glistened. Then it turned and moved back toward the rain.
A question of conscience arose. Knowing that higher ground was so near,
do I help?
If it received help, would it expect the same help in the future?
What if I wasn’t near?
Is there something above me watching with the same conundrum?
Friday, October 15, 2021
Poem: A Living Ghost
A walking memory of someone else who says, “Remember when he—“
I engage with and move past other ghosts, but they have stronger ties to existence.
They do not know that when they go, others will continue.
I know. I have. I will. Until I do not.
Made of star stuff and touched by an angel is all bunk.
Some say that energy cannot be destroyed, and we are energy.
They mix science with religion and comport being now with being after.
I do not feel like energy.
I feel like the empty space between a nucleus and its electrons.
There are forces and particles moving through me, but I am zero space.
At least, I am a location.
This place is haunted by me.
Thursday, March 18, 2021
Poem: The Unseen Construction
Thursday, October 8, 2020
Haiku: On Death I
Leaves fall from the tree.
Existence is all I have known.
We are not the tree.
Food gives no pleasure
When someone you love suffers.
Tears salt everything.
Go out with a bang,
Or go out with a whimper,
It is all the same.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Poem: Blooming out of Place
Outside there are several inches of snow
You look at the lemon tree that you stubbornly keep alive through the winter
By installing grow lights and a heater in the garage
Lemon trees do not grow here but neither have you
You've planned to move back to where you call home
But things and events conspire to keep you here
Like the tree, you resist putting down permanent roots
You see the beginnings of flowers, little buds of white
The tree has found a way to bloom out of place
But you have not.