Thursday, March 31, 2011

ROVING AMONG STARS


"Western Sierra", oil, by Karen Winters
She was only thirteen,
but she could throw her thoughts
as far as the soundless stars,
and she could sit
among mountains
like the mountains
had made her.
Any whole day
was like heaven for her,
and holding
a single sentence in her mind
was as good
as getting a good grade at school.  
Summer spoke words
only she could comprehend,
and flowers
almost fell into vases
in her small room
that roved with her
among the stars.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

WATCHING THE HILLSIDE


"Tuscan Hillside", oil, by Karen WInters
Watching the hillside
across from his house
always helps him –
not that he needs help
on this planet
that prepares things
so thoroughly for him.
The hillside always holds
its things in their suitable places –
its leftover leaves, trees,
sticks sprawled
in perfect positions.
It helps him,
as he sits by the window
feeling his breath bringing life
into his lungs so loyally,
to look at the hillside
in its unceasing and modest
flawlessness.

Friday, March 25, 2011

WE’VE GOT TONIGHT

"Studio Lamp", oil, by Suzanne Berry


We’ve got tonight,
he told the stylish lamp
beside his bed.
Forget tomorrow.
Just you and me tonight,
he told the festive stars
outside the window,
and the shy light
on someone’s porch
where his street turned
and set out
on its own adventures tonight, 
just the street
and the dashing spring winds.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

FRESHNESS

He was still sleepy at seven a.m.,
struggling to stay awake,
when suddenly he saw
the white sky above his house.
It wasn’t a handsome sky
or a sky to sing under,
but it was where
it was supposed to be
and it was
the completely correct color.
He carefully lifted his hands.
The wrinkles were wonderful,
and the lamplight looked down
on the small hairs
with reborn brightness.    

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

PARTNERS


He has partners
prepared to help him.
His faithful hands
carry food to his lips,
and let a pencil
do its proper work of writing.  
His feet find
the perfect place to step to
or stand on, and
all of his fingers
are friendly to the world,
the one that waits for him
with fervor each day. 

Saturday, March 19, 2011

SOMEWHERE



He put a piece
of pancake in his mouth,
and miracles were made.
Somewhere a window opened
to provide a family
with a puff of fine air.
In a striving city in the east,
silence settled over everything
like a restful shower.
And in his stomach,
some secret miracles
were made with this gift
of the piece of pancake.

Friday, March 18, 2011

DON'T YOU LOVE HER WAYS?


He loved her ways,
this winter of bottomless snows
and days that sighed with winds.
It was only a short season,
and summer could carry
more splendor in its arms,
and fall was always
a fortunate gift,
but he did love her hold
on his heart, this winter
with its white skin
and wild, inspiring ways.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

HE POURED THE LAST OF HIS COFFEE

"Slice of Green Apple", oil, by Cathleen Rehfeld

He poured the last of his coffee
on the grass
and saw it soak in
and wondered where it went.
When he’s sleeping tonight,
will the coffee carry down
past stones and old sticks
in the soil, and will
the work of the earth
be to welcome it
with widespread arms
and wish it well,
this coffee coming
as a gift from a friend
who’s sleeping under
the shielding stars?

IT'S ST. PATRICK'S DAY


"Bells of Ireland", watercolor by Linda McCoy
It’s St. Patrick’s day,
and for him it’s a day
for the sounds of spring.
He listened this morning
as water went through the pipes
with the rush
of revived rivers,
and he noticed
that the frig motor 
had found a youthful hum. 
Even his bow ties
swished in his hands
as he searched through them
for something green.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

HE SAW A SMALL PERSON

(for Annie)

He saw a small person
at ease inside her,
and he saw the city
in silence around them,
cars settled into quietness,
complete stillness in stores and bars,
the hush of kindness
in the sky above,
the considerate stars and planets
so still, staring down
at this small someone
resting inside her.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

HIS BIRD FEEDER FOUND A WAY

His bird feeder found a way
to win some happiness for him,
simply by swaying softly
as the birds
brought their needs to it.
He held in his heart
a space the size of Texas
for things that sway –
a feeder, trees in winds,
his little but valiant life,
and the birds
that bring the benevolence
of their lives
to just outside his window.

ONE DAY HE DECIDED

 One day he decided
to search for the total truth,
so he set out on a morning
that made the world a miracle,
and soon there were sparks
of thoughts inside him
and crowds of words
that wished to be free,
so he sent them forth
to find the full truth,
but what they found
was simply this person and that person
and the poise of things like
lightbulbs and pebbles,
so the words just sat
and passed the time,
small words 
such as “here” and “now”.  

Monday, March 14, 2011

IT WAS JUST A BELT

It was just a belt hanging from a hook,
but as he stared at it,
something about it began to shine.
There was silence in the room,
and sunshine,
and this strange belt
that brought news and knowledge
about the brightness of things.
Then a thought in his mind
made a little light,
almost like life itself,
and then a sweater beside the belt
seemed reborn as it hung
on its hanger in silence.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

ON TUESDAY

"Last Light Belle Isle", oil, by Stephen Magsig
On Tuesday
he stopped struggling,
mostly because he saw
some split stovewood
that wasn’t struggling,
and clouds that went
where the wind went.
He set down
his precious life for good
and gave it a rest
under an undisturbed tree.
He felt his blood
being brought to wherever
it was needed,
and he didn’t oppose it.  

HE KNOWS HE CAN’T ESCAPE

"Pleasant Hill Morning", watercolor, 
by Andy Smith

He knows he can’t escape
sitting beside the window
at this moment and seeing
the beige bedspread
and hearing the sounds
of heat in the baseboards.
Souvenirs are presented to him
second by second,
and he has no choice
but to be present as they are given,
these gifts, 
this lamplight on a blue wall
and the wrinkled red cushion
on a rocker across the room
from where he necessarily sits.  

Saturday, March 12, 2011

HE FEELS AS REFRESHED


"Morning Light Santa Ynez Valley", pastel, by Joe Mancuso
He feels as refreshed
as the free sunshine
that follows all of us
wherever we go.
He feels
like he is flowing
out to people and the proud
mountains of the west
and the wandering eastern rivers.
As easy as it is for sunshine
to raise the spirits
of a house in a forest,
as easy is it for him
to see restoration in all things,
even in thoughts that swirl up 
from who knows where.  

Friday, March 11, 2011

HE SAT IN THE DEALERSHIP

"Stars Over Casco Bay", oil, by Elizabeth Fraser
He sat in the dealership
doing nothing – 
not noticing other people, 
not preparing to-do lists, 
not listening to anxious thoughts. 
He simply sat in silence 
as the planets and stars sailed out
on their timeless journeys
and his blood held a steady course
through trustworthy veins
and flawless, unselfish arteries. 

HE FELT REASSURED THIS MORNING

"Morning's First Light", oil, by Karen Winters
He felt reassured this morning.
The sunlight was letting itself down
among the trees once again,
and the furnace in the cellar
was celebrating its skill
in furnishing heat
for his household of hearts
and minds made to be special.
The magazine on his desk
was impressive
in the first sunshine of the day.

ONE DAY HE DECIDED TO PRAISE THINGS


"Mountain River", oil, by Mark Webster
One day he decided to praise things.
The first thing he praised
was the thought of praising things,
then the feeling of flowing
into morning on a river,
then the way thanks
seemed to live throughout his body --
in his triumphant fingers
and in his feet
that will find themselves
standing on sacred ground
every second of this day
that somehow came dancing
up to his door.


Thursday, March 10, 2011

HE HAD NOTHING TO WRITE ABOUT

He had nothing to write about.
Winter was gone
with its gifts and finesse,
and the furniture in his house
had nothing that needed to be said.
A soiled dish in the sink
didn’t inspire him, and
heaven didn’t seem to reside
in his lined fingers
or the fine weave of his
dress shirt, the one
that wished to tenderly
warm his chest
on this day that was chosen
to be something exceptional
for him and the plenteous universe
he astonishingly resided in.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

ONCE HE SAVED SIXTY-TWO PERCENT

Once he saved sixty-two percent
of his kindness and caring
and kept it in a carton,
but a decorous sunrise said that
kindness couldn’t be bought
or owned, and caring
only stayed when it was
let loose to be itself.
So he carried the carton
to the meeting of several streets
and set it down
for others to find,
and he felt a little light
flowing out from all things.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

HE TRIED TO TAKE HIS THOUGHTS

He tried to take his thoughts
in certain directions,
but they threw his plans
in their wastebasket
and wandered wherever they wished.
They were thoughts as wild
as the winds that went alongside
his life, letting him know
that nothing can  calm
this universe that sings
and unfolds in splendor,
just as it desires,
days of surprise
after days of radiance.

Monday, March 7, 2011

A SIMPLE LIFE

His is a simple life,
like a stone sitting
in the midst of a field,
a flowing river,
a single star lost in the sky.
He never knows
any scientific fact about anything,
and never thinks thoughts
that are new or breathtaking.
He just sits silently
among the blossoms
of the universe,
moves easily
like a shy stream,
or a star that loves
where it is.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

THERAPY


When his life becomes too busy,
he sometimes thinks of things
that are resting.
He thinks of pencils relaxing on desks,
patiently waiting to be used –
of carpets quietly lying on floors --
of doors standing peacefully
but with perfect posture,
poised to open or close.
He thinks of mountains taking a break
just where they’ve been taking a break
for thousands of years,
of rivers running
like serene runners running for fun.
He thinks of his own hands
that often relax at his side,
and of the few gentle dollars
that sometimes take it easy
in his pockets.

SITTING IN THE LIVING ROOM

Sitting  in the living room
while flames find their way
among logs in the fireplace,
he looks through his feelings
to find something he's lost.
He lets the light of his life
shine like a search light,
but with no success.
What he's lost is little
and lying among the distant stars,
but he doesn't know it,
so he never stops searching,
sending the sparks of his thoughts
through his life.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

THEY WANTED HOTDOGS

They wanted hotdogs
and hamburgers,
he wanted winter
with its white jacket
and the joys of starlight.
They wanted thoughts
that throw themselves
like baseballs soaring
into the bleachers,
he wanted the help
of hills and the whispers
of streams in the summer.
They wanted to wear
their lives like comfortable capes,
he wanted whatever
was here in his hands.   

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

HE WROTE A LETTER


He wrote a letter 
made of air and clouds. 
It carried his finest feelings
as it floated off.
Soon he found a silent stone
and spoke to it,
and his words were made of miracles,
and they made the stone
speak like all the stones
we step on each day.
It didn’t alter anything:
the air arranged itself
around him, 
as always,
in stylish ways.