Windowsill

I usually don't explain my poems, and this one today may seem so trivial and simple, but I must explain it. I live in Redding, CA where we just experienced one of the most devastating fires in California history. Entire neighborhood blocks are gone, burned to nothing but ash and rubble and chimneys. Burned out hulls of cars are still sitting in the garages, only recognizable by twisted and tortured ashen gray garage doors. The smoke is still thick and heavy. 38,000 people had to evacuate their homes. I had to gather my children around and tell them that we might lose everything we have.
So when we were allowed to return to our home, it was still there. I took time, though, to go to the places where the devastation was most significant, and I wept. I spent two nights preparing for the loss of everything, and I didn't lose anything. There are others who returned to a pile of ash where their beautiful homes had been. I know we often think of our "stuff" as just stuff but these places are where some of our most cherished memories are. These places are what we've poured out our hearts and souls into.
I hope I never forget the feeling I had when I first stepped into my home the day we returned. I can only describe it as an overwhelming gratitude. This is what I feebly attempted to capture, but as they always say, "I can't put it into words."  And that's ok. Those are the truly meaningful times of life. So, with that, here is "Windowsill."


Windowsill
I see my plants in the windowsill
And I am thankful
I walk across the wooden floors
Carpets maligned
I am thankful indeed
I pass some clothes the children have strewn on the floor
Gratefulness
These simple things of life aren’t smoke in the air
They are daily reminders that life is very good indeed
For that I am forever thankful
For the simple greenery in the windowsill
For the simple greenery in the windowsill
8/11/18

Perched

Keepin' it short and sweet today. Happy Fourth!

Perched

It must be nice to be a bird

Always able to change your perspective 

Always able to fly over obstacles

Always seeing from above 

Like love

Against the Currents

Against the Currents

I have never felt so much like a salmon

As I do right now

I realize I am always going against the current

I am feeling the strain

Always, always feeling the strain

I am closer to the end

Wondering just what is the purpose of this journey

Is it to be eaten alive?
Caught by some vicious hook?

Get to the end, find the prize and die

Is that the final chapter of this book?

No, I don’t think that is the parable at all

It might just be that as I swim or as I crawl

I am living for those that will live beyond me

My DNA will taste the future

But what does that matter?

Does that matter if and when I am completely forgotten?

Maybe that is why fame is such a sought-for treasure

This idea that I won’t be forgotten

Weighs heavy on the soul

It surely is not meant that we roll

On a coaster ride of daily inconveniences

Simply to stand in line all over again

I honestly seek a voice, a friend

One that can help me charter these waters

One who knows that sons and daughters

Do mean everything to everyone

One who knows the moon, the sun

Who doesn’t wince at light nor darkness

But simply shares the smile of acceptance

In the beaming twilight of the day

Writer's Block

Writer’s Block

I haven’t written

Sometimes creativity sits

Like a dark black molded growth

Against the side of a dead tree stump

But even that tumor is alive

Even that blotch of ignorance

Is living

I don’t know if I want to share such things with the world

I’m not sure we’re meant to handle the recycling

The remolding

The renewing of everything

But then again maybe we are

And though my creation might not be bright as the star

It is still a creation and holds life

Right in the midst of all this death

I have written

6/23/18

Dedicated to all caught in the midst of the struggle between life and death...

The Guardians

The Guardians

The guardians tower above

They’ve stood here for millennia

Silence, stillness, stalwart

Awe

The oceans have smacked persistent

Never stopping, never wavering

Yet still they stand their ground

Keeping watch, their beauty abounds

Keeping watch with their peaks in the mists

I’m not quite sure I’ve known such bliss

As being in the shadows of the champions

5/28/18

Impossibilities

Impossibilities

It is nearly impossible 

For a poet to walk by a flower

And not be captivated 

Captured by beauty

To pause for a moment 

Or for maybe almost an hour

This brevity tends to be the normal for me

Beginning Anew

Beginning Anew

It’s frightening beginning all over again

Frightening

But necessary

Often every day

Often every few minutes

I have to start again

Humbly change course to the new

I wish that steady courses were all too true

But alas they are not

Only change is the Rorschach’s blot

That determines whether I dwell inside of sanity

That determines whether I live amongst the ashes of the past

Or the ephemeral mists of the future

Or am I present in the present?

I feel a great and growing dissent

Amongst the souls of my spirit, its armies

Are ready to rise and see what all is good

They are ready to see what all is happiness

Death has reigned for far too long

Death in the form of rules so rigid

That they snap at the slightest breath

Life always seems to erupt through the bricks

The bricks and the concrete cannot hold it back

Life is always placing roots deeper and deeper

Steeper and steeper is it’s climb toward the sun

All I know is that the pursuit of fun

Is leading me toward the meadows

I hear the rivers running toward them as well

I think it’s time to break this shell of a mask that covers my face

I dwell in lonely, in sharp disgrace

no more

5/12/18