-
Some Undug Holes Can Never Be Filled (Poem)
once I dug holes in red sticky clay and filled them with fascinations
small gnarled twigs old rusted bolts fragments of shell
stories I heard from each of these I also threw in
with my commonplace dreams everyday hopes ordinary loves
I once tried to show them to her in shy offering to gain a brief smile
my dirtied hands were pushed away then I dropped my gaze and left
quelled by the holes that became her eyes
-
May This Suffice (Poem)
though roughened by sickness and age
my voice remains a guide rope
she clings to from afar
while buffeted by tumultuous circumstance
lacerated by inner rumination
sometimes I wonder if this will hold
if her fear will cause her to let go
in between our calls I strengthen knots for better grip
she talks and I listen
choosing any words in response with care
the space that I offer rests on kind awareness
a reminder that someone knew her, continues to do so
remains with her
then and now and here
then and now and here
-
The Question Set Before Us (Poem)
what recourse in the face of it all,
it being suffering wherever we turn?
days run hot; tempers run hotter.
each bring wildfires razing all to the ground.
some, crazed, scrabble amidst smoking debris
seeking hot cinders to spread more flames.
in their madness they believe only they will survive.
they have swallowed the sun and made it a weapon,
their delusions obscuring that it also gives life.
another way, a different choice:
some firewalkers step through ash and char
finding who they can help,
sometimes if only to bear presence to loss.
these haven’t forgotten the moon but placed it internal
making their hearts shine with cooling light,
thus they remember ways of kindness.
earth now witness, death and life:
how shall you choose? how shall you live?
