Lost Creek

Lost Creek

A brooklet is a wandering poetry

Constant in its direction

Yet fluid in its ways

An ever changing constant, aware

Of the fickle winds and weathers

In these moments all these come together

Creating the magnificently peaceful masterpiece

This constant power is being released

Changing every rock and form

The sunlight becomes just a little too warm

So I’ll move my path’s direction

The blue-black fly lands on my crease

Interrupting the serene reflections

But the autumn wind whisks it away

The winds speak of the coming snows

No courage can the creeping thing muster

It hurries on out of my natural space

A memory like this cannot be erased

A  forever monument is forever created

In the midst of this wandering way

It is a good day

Push Ups

Push Ups

I hate pushing against this planet earth

Straining with all my might

No matter if I work all day and night

Its spinnings never seem to give way

Time never, ever seems to sway

One micron from its mortal purpose

Though I’m getting bigger and stronger

My strength could never stop the traveling

These fibers continue their stark unraveling

No matter the drive or the purpose

So what is this strength

Amongst all of these galaxies and dust?

The greatest strength of all is trust

Maybe it is time for me to use that strength instead

To lift me above the path of death

Into the place where time does not exist

Where I ignore the watch placed on my wrist

Maybe it is time for me to use that strength instead

Maybe it is time for us all to learn to use it

California

California

Welcome to the land of the poppies

Welcome to the land of the sun

Come in to the land of the waves and the sea

To the place where life is lived on

In a way where we all get to live it

Despite our differences, our opinions

We welcome the blue of our skies

We allow each one to ask their why’s

We allow each one to find the answers

We see tattoos, we admire the dancers

The artists, the surfers, the genius, the songs

We cherish the mountains, we relish the prongs

Over an open campfire on the beach

There is no dream that is out of reach here

It is the land of greatest opportunity

Sure there are those with quite the impunity

To wall us all in with their flimsy regulations

Yet freedom springs up from the very soil

We have fruitful work that banishes toil

From ever tainting our living revelations

Every smile, every breath, every sun-filled sensation

Will break forth and move toward the sunrise

Will open doors, will mesmerize

Those who have lost their way

Those who long for a better day

Will now know hope again for the very first time

No wave, no curve, no forbidding sign

Will take away their joy

For they have seen the lands of the fruit trees

The mountains, Yosemite

Speaks of eternal steadfastness, glorious

The redwoods, an ancient wisdom will always be here

The land of love will banish all fear

Only wisdom will grow there

The salmon, the whales, the cougars, the bear

Will still move along in their tapestries

The beauty will still bring the mortal to knees

And we all will relish in the land of golden goodness

Live on, California

Obstacles

Obstacles

No matter these random obstacles

The water still will find its way

To its measured destination

Without a sigh or marked frustration

it will sing on until its very end

Where actually there is not an end

Just a cycle of deep and infinite mysteries

Mystery

Mystery

Light and shadow

Reflection and reflections

These can be a mystery

They remind us there is more than materialism in all its disarray

They remind us there is another world out there

A world where darkness and light collide

And the light always wins

And even when our material world tries to block out the light

It simply makes the light even more striking and wondrous

Reminding us even more resoundly

There is another world out there

Where light always wins

Interruption

Interruption

I have interrupted the plans of the grayling bird

I sit here amongst the waterfalls, the creeks, the mountains looming

The grayling bird he does his grooming

But not without a wary eye on me

He is confined to the tree

Where he and his mate do flutter

They twitter-twatter without a stutter

They speak of their change of plans

Another couple walks by the brook

To take in the wonder of the place

The birds say, “When will this end, when will this end?

“When will we not see a predator’s face

But instead we will look upon freedom

Knowing no fear at all?”

At least that is what I hear in their call

All the while wondering the very same thing for myself

It is funny how the books on nature’s wide shelf

Can often make just the right difference

Philosophia

Philosophia

It seems I’m always trying to write the greatest poem

The world has ever seen

Yet to me that is quite ironically impossible

When I know what nothing means

This postmodern world is a quagmire

Of needs and wants and thoughts

But no one knows the reason

Why for anything at all we’ve sought

I’m often trying to tap into beauty

In a place where it’s said not to exist

A place where cold space has the answers

A place of hard, brutal fists

I’m not trying to dry and depress you

I’m not trying to give you despair

But if there is no known standard of beauty

Then there is not anything, anywhere, there

And what sort of world is that?

What sort of place would that be?

It almost makes sense to ignore the facts

And let imagination set us free

I know that all seems irrational

But what the heck else is art for?

For if there is no existence of beauty

Then what ever is there here to live for?

Love can list a thousand things….