Potpourri
of
Thoughts 2
If you have any reactions to these muses, please email me.

Only the Ways Have Changed

While reading of Thoreau and Emerson,

I am taken back by how differently death came.

Henry's beloved brother John–

Dead from the simple nick of a razor.

The five-year old son,

The Emerson heir,

Taken by the fever.

My thoughts return to today­–

Only the ways have really changed.

Mother and daughter dead

Amid the mesh of steel.

The bent old man,

Lungs black as night,

Coughs his last breath.

Ah, the Reaper finds his ways

To continue his daily collections.

Comments: I was reading a bit of history about some of the famous poets and was shocked to learn how many of them experience tragedy including unusual "simple" causes of death. Then I thought about today and how the Reaper has developed a new venue including some of the old ones.

Enchanted Forest

The trail leads into
....the deep greens and shadows
....of the enchanted forest
....as feelings of magic
....flood my veins.
Sunlight pierces through the branches–
....rays dancing off the leaves.
Even Monet could not capture
....these hues and eddies of light.
My eyes stare
....without comprehension.
Surely, heaven could not
....display more beauty.

The wheels of my bike
....appear to levitate
....above the black,
....dampened asphalt,
....transporting me deeper
....into this mystical kingdom.

I am in awe.

Comments: I can't help it, but I love to write about the many sensory experiences I have on the bike trail. This one was particularly intense, different from any I have had before. Though I have ridden through this forested section of the trail over a hundred times, I have never been quite so affected. I wish the same for each of you as you experience creation.

Pictures in the below section are from an ice festival held at National Harbor, VA in 2009.

The Meditation Room –
...............Last Day of 2009

My first day in this place of refuge
....where the bubbling fountain and the purring heater
....erase intruding sounds
....and become rhythms that comfort me.

Sitting in a rocker,
....feeling the coarse texture of cloth against my neck,
....I read from a small handmade booklet of wisdom
....given to me
....by my yoga teacher a decade ago.

Joy floods my soul
....over the vibrant words
....leaping from the small delicate pages.
Hafiz, Dillard, Oliver, Cummings,
....writers present and past
....become immortalized in my mind.

Simple pleasures permeate my senses,
....hinting of days to come.

Comments: After our son Craig vacated his room and moved to the D.C. area three years ago, I decided to use it to create some private space, a "formalized" meditation room, to escape, write, read, and yes, meditate. The transition took almost three years and was completed, as promised to him, just before he and his wife returned for the recent holidays. December 31 was the first day I took some time to enjoy the quietness that the room allowed. The above poem came from that experience. Have you considered creating a sacred, quiet place in your home?


Meditation 1

Calmly waiting,
....the tea is brewing,
Waiting for the quiet voice
....to arrive.

The tea is ready.
Don’t be impatient
....for you’re on eternal time.

The stringent taste
....from the rich red leaves
Caress and excite
....the taste buds.

Quietly waiting
....no voice
But calmness arrives.

Comments: No additional comments needed.

Drinking at the frozen pond
Ducks on the pond
Going down the ice slide

Some of the pictures in the below section are from the Maryland Renaissance Festival 2011.

In Gratitude

O Creator of the universe,
.....Thank you
.........for the abundance of joy in my life,
.........for family and friends,
.........for the excitement of new birth,
.........and yes, the end of earthly life.

Thank you
.....For the beauty of
.........mountains and lakes,
.........vast expanses of rolling dunes,
.........majestic rivers and small tributaries,
.........and oceans teeming with life.

Thank you
.....For the pain suffered,
.........and the lessons learned.
.....For health and frailty,
.........for the darkness
.........before the light,
.........for our recognition of mortality.

Thank you
.....For inquiring minds
.........to solve problems,
.........known and unknown
.........and for the mysteries
.........yet understood.

O Creator of all life,
.....Thank you for the privilege to have lived.

Comments: In keeping with a Thanksgiving theme, this very basic poem is clear on its intent.  Some may question giving thanks for "the pain suffered."  Many of my subscribers have shared personal information about their suffering.  (These comments never make the forum unless specifically requested.)  For most who write, "pain" is not on their gratitude agenda.  My "thanks" is a personal one as I have learned many important life lessons from pain, some that really go beyond explanation.

____________________________

Recognition

I kneel before the rising sun
.....not to worship
.....but to greet the day.

I kneel before the babbling spring
.....not  to pray
.....but to quench my thirst.

I kneel before each passerby
.....not in humility
.....but to seek knowledge.

I kneel before the setting sun
.....not in awe
.....but in gratitude.

Comments:  Some hyperbole is used to make the point that basic, everyday events are worthy of our gratitude.


 

The Dew of Life

The dew glistens
.....in the morning sun,
.....fractionalizing light
.....like facets from a rare diamond.

Within a brief passage of time
.....the moisture evaporates,
.....having given sustenance
.....to the flora it touched.

Is not the ideal life
.....like the morning dew,
.....fragilely beautiful
.....while leaving delightful imprints
.....upon those touched
.....before returning to the cosmos?

Pictured in this section are some of the celebrants at
the Maryland Renaissance Fair
My mother is such a person who leaves beautiful imprints.

Haven

Gazing about my meditation room
......with renewed interest.
Remembrances are displayed
......wherever I peer.

To the left is a photo of my son and me
......ready to ski the East Wall
......at Arapahoe Basin.
While Craig forged ahead,
......I contemplated my demise.

Pictures and artwork
......from my favorite places
......adorn the walls.

Mementos given by special friends
......rest near the altar.
Religious hangings
......speak to the room’s overall purpose.

Rejoicing in gratitude,
......I sit and feel the warmth and love
......that embraces me
......every time I step
......into this haven of peace.

Comment: I wrote this poem during my first visit to my meditation room following my second heart surgery.

 

Wisdom

Glancing, glancing,
....no images sharp
....no fine lines visible.
Has blindness
....finally conquered
....the eyes
....that often do not see?
How often have they failed
....to recognize the unseen?
Evidence here, evidence there,
....blindly stumbling,
....tripping over the obvious,
....oblivious to what lies before.
Stare more into the blur.
Let go of the finite.
Peer into the infinite
....where blindness disappears
....and clarity awaits.

Comment: Please interpret, and let me know your thoughts.

.

 

What is life?

We inhale and exhale,
    feel pain and joy
    love and hate,
    sense beauty and ugliness,
    smell the perfume of a rose,
    melt into a warm caress.

But does life consist merely
    of firing synapses?

Do they explain the yearning
    lying deep within
    or the endless wonderment
    at the small and large in life,
    or the desire to understand the infinite?

Sipping tea,
    pondering.

Comment: Just a few thoughts to ponder.


Night into Day

Is life but a somniloquy*
    as we move from day to day?
Nights are long and dark
    allowing eternal sleep
    for those who choose not
    to wake.
Open your eyes
    and see the lights of creation
    where there is no need to speak.

*Sleep-talking
  
Comment: Up to you to interpret.

 

 

The lonely coconut appears in the YouTube version of Rhythms of Life. - April Issue Click here to view.

The one lane road where we did A Walk in Upcountry - April Issue. Click here to see the beautiful video that accompanies this poem. Special thanks to Char Pope who provided the background music. More on Char later.

 

 

 
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