Forest Zen

His mother sits, waits
For him, the visiting son.
She's happy to wait.

Anywhere but there
Where she lives, is good to be.
Old one's common theme.

Sitting a third day
Undoes me. Spine gets cranky.
I stand, lean, and hope.

Husband sits in house
Visiting a friend. I stand.
His Mom waits in car.

Whose idea this? Hers.
I dream of no cars and quiet,
A calm birdsong place.

Waiting turns endless.
Undone, I look for elsewhere,
Cicada song place.

I stand in tree shade.
I write and wait. Small brown
Toto befriends me.

I coo to Toto.
I nuzzle his ears. He sniffs
My leg. Leaves. Returns.

This is Toto's place.
I listen to wind in leaves,
Practice forest Zen.

Toto wanders off.
I remain, pacing the drive,
Breezes soothing me.

His Mom sits and waits.
Toto's back! Camera ready,
I turn to Toto.

"Aren't you getting in?"
His mother asks. I step back,
Startled, say, "Not yet."

Toto ducks, backs off.
No photo for him! Lost now,
This moment is gone.

This Green Forest Here

His mother chokes... Grapes..
Beware the skins! In age,
Lurk many changes.

"Can... we... go now?" she
Rasps, hoarsely, as if movement
Heals stasis, heals all.

My mother would choke
Yet still reach for her dinner.
Old habits die hard.

Momma's beyond now.
In dreams, she is quiet, just
Like brother Richard.

Families... lifetime
To lifetime, how long does this
Process continue?

Momma filled her home
With Chinese art, a lifetime
I too remember.

So many enslaved,
Momma, Poppa, thousands more
Down in the valley.

I and others fought
To free them. Later, freed, they
Walked the long road home.

"You can write poems
Anytime," says he, just like
Momma said to me.

"Look at this!" He points
To fields whizzing by. I lost
Much work by waiting.

Now I write when time
Pauses on life's river here.
Unfurl like ivy.

Reach out, reach up, stretch,
Lift my tendrils to the sun,
Breathe in air, rain, sky.

Hold on, let go, glide.
Life is an amazing leap
In this green forest.

Ode to a Butterfly

In the morning sun
Glitters a Kalanchoe jewel,
Strymon Melinus.

A moth, I think. Ha!
Photo taken, her wings glow
Kissed with light, a jewel.

Fairy princess she,
Silver lace her wings, studded
With paired rubies, poised.

Tartan black and white
Antenna tipped with ruby,
She nods to nectar.

Lycaenidae. Oh,
Butterfly Queen, "Gray Hairstreak",
Silver light you are!

Reflection

A leaf fell in pond.
Many ripples. When they cleared,
Everything had changed.

Danube Dreams

She dreams Danube dreams
in a cruise ship, gazing out.
Never been, wants to go

Who says what may be?
Ideas come and go like clouds
Or river ripples

Blessing is each day
Expand the dream, go forth, see...
To stay is to die

To deny a dream kills
Like taking air from children.
We are all children

Now to decide....Danube?
Elsewhere? Now? Next year? Sweet dreams,
Possibilities...

On a map mark it,
Spots you want to go. Dream them.
Travel in or out

Many ways to go.
In dreams, on ships, in deep books...
The quest begins now...

See that cloud above?
See that ripple in the bay?
Someday, I'll be there.

July 20, 2010

That Grayband Quest

"Don't write of the snake,"
says he. "Write of the hunters."
Visions of epics?

Later, she pauses.
An epic for hunters now?
She thinks of the snake.

Who has a choice here?
Ah! The snake chooses to live.
The men choose to hunt.

Who would choose a cage
For a lifetime home? You? Me?
Why would anyone?

She thinks of the snake
Again. Snakes don't think of us.
Is that the answer?

Why must we rule all?
Why not let be? Live in peace.
Archaic but true.

Okay, hunters, here:
What you take is taken away,
What do you give back?

He searches each year
Each year, others find, but not he.
Elusive for him.

If each year, you look
And others find, but not you,
What is learned from this?

Golden-tongued wisdom...
Always around us. Listen...
Let go and hear it.

No one can tell you
But you. Wisdom speaks softly.
Listen with the heart.

In a quiet room
In the dead of night, or noon
Truth awaits each one.

I hear only mine,
Not the truth of other folks.
My heart beats for me.

Snakes lie in their cage,
Or in a pillowcase wait,
For next feeding time.

No one can answer
But the snake what it prefers.
Hard to heart hunters.

Rooting underdogs
Comes naturally for some.
Overcoming all.

Success is like life,
Always in beholder's eye.
I look at the snake.

July 18, 2010

THE CURMUDGEON

Curmudgeon hoards snacks
In his room, crumbs everywhere
Cookies are his gold

Each thing has a place
For the old man-- don't move one
Or his world tilts up

Half eaten fudge ages
In a drawer, hardening -- but
Cherished as silver

An apple, red grapes,
These are his jewels, treasured
Until they wither

He doesn't notice
When peach has turned to gray dust,
He lives forever

Each day he gets grapes
From the store, puts them away
For a rainy month

Nearing 100,
He stockpiles pears but not time--
He glares if questioned

The curmudgeon rules
His universe is small, but
All is in reach

He forgets time, but
Remembers meals, eats well, nods,
Is polite to staff

"Leave my things alone!"
Means his universe must stay
Recognizable

A pen moved over
Could change the order of things
He rules in his room