my heart

Oh my little heart,

You’re clever, you find ways to meander through rocks, through hard places, 

Oh but you’re tough You’ve won a thousand strong man contests, with no prizes 

The wise men say the experience is the prize, my heart you have become so wise 

Oh my heart, 

filled with vacant rooms you’ve kept the place warm and tidy. 

Some other, in their haste left the door open, the pipes have frozen, 

And you, you’ve stoically kept the furnace fuming. 

Oh my little heart,

Pushed a thousand times to heal in a moment, you make doctors believe in miracles. 

For each healing ten times that –the stretch to accommodate, you’re an olympic gymnast 

-training since you were an innocent. 

Oh my heart,

you’ve kept some, some of that pureness, despite madness, despite venom, despite betrayal,

my little heart,

you are a warrior, a magician, a sage, how have you beared it 

the branch breaking winds, the moments lost at sea, the questioning always questioning confusion. 

Oh my little heart, 

how have you clarified the madness, how calmly chose, calmly hidden away 

when poison rippled, when torrents of passion, when breathless and abandoned 

Oh my heart, 

I’ve asked you so much, every time to reach, reach just beyond infinity,

But will you, just one time more 

try

A crush in Ireland

I'm supposed to be taking advantage of 

the momentary blue sky

The sunlight through the clouds

The brightening

Of the world

Instead I'm waiting sometimes not so

Patiently to see

The flicker in your blue eyes

To have a shared glance

To be illuminated

I'm supposed to be admiring the green hills of this Emerald Isle

The variety of tones, smooth and jagged 

Imagining  a world of cow raiding clans

That speak Gaelic and wear war paint

Instead I'm looking over the folds in your green jacket

The ease with which it clings to you

The light feeling of it

And imagining holding you in my arms, as you speak German silliness,

And allow the flush to highlight your cheeks, smiling cuteness

I'm supposed to be listening to the stories or this ancient land

The politics, pride and potential,

Discerning between the intricate pattern of jokes mixed w/ mythology

But I'd rather hear the details of your delights, depths, desires

Monitoring the intonation and the pattern

So that I can recognize your joy even in your villainy 

And so I fantasize about stealing you away, 

Perhaps like the fairies here did,

And we can share the rains and the sun alike

Knowing full well that we'll never make leprechaun babies. 

A Skirmish (2012)

The sign reads “perishable”

and the arrow points toward you.

My Grandma’s mind is wandering

and maybe yours’ is too.

How far a flight you fancy?

Responsibility left at home,

instead you packed your demons

went a trampling for your throne.

Well you may have claimed new mountains

new sunsets, salty seas

but you left the townsfolk praying

for your safety, on their knees.

Fortifications surround your mountain castle

moats and ditches that you’ve dug,

but I wonder if you’re lonely up there

without a friend to give a hug.

Breathing (2012)

I should probably be meditating on

rivers, how they flow without

a care,

like the wind in my hair

like the time you put

nair all over your legs

hoping for a solution

and the stinging offered promise

but the chemical pollution knocked

you unconscious, scared and

frightened you came to,

leaving me wondering what to do

but you pulled through

I don’t know why I thought

of that, I hope you’ve

learned your lesson

and that your actions

aren’t determined, by your

thinking you-are less than

because of your

humanity, or stupidly rushing in

to stoke your

vanity.

I should probably be breathing,

letting go of all attachments.

Would-be Buddha, wait, scratch that.

That was my ego did you

catch it?

Not too long ago you called me

attractive,

-and my heart raced like THAT mattered.

Pitter-patter, I was flattered,

wondered if the rest of me was also,

like my personality, my actions.

Fat stacks of wealthy accomplishments

Richly-rated relationships

    guaranteed satisfaction

affirming others as if

            overcompensating

sympathetic in my reactions.

But all of this is my attachment,

Each thought, each memory breathed

-tingles the strands

in the web of my

         attachment.

I should concentrate on nothing,

I should focus on the absence

    But I find delight in my grieving,

                Overcome by strong emotion

                I long to release in purged

                                                     Explosion

They say the universe is exploding

    ever outward in

                     waves,

                                excited energy

    Galaxies,

                grieving,        just the same

                                                           as me

and in-between, a void, a nothing,      or perhaps

the true long lasting              connection

                                       in this

                         ~breathing~

but today,

                I’m enjoying my own reflection. 

Of master and craft (2012)

I am a barrel maker

       a craftsman,

                         a master of my art

smooth edges, no seams

                     no rough spots

and I use only the lightest of

woods                                  the

illusion of elegance.

There is a perfection in a piece that

                                seems effortless

as if the Gods had grown it,

as if the shadows and empty

spaces were the only thing

that knew it,

                     invisible, seamless,

           but not vacant.

   Invisible to all but

        the very patient

the canister swells in the

heat,

        growing full,

                             a mixture

of nourishment,

                        of missed opportunities

and not forgotten intimacies,

           of longing and nervousness

       grief, jealousy and enjoyment.

I am the master,

                                and the craft