In the damp winter months by the sea
where you are comforted by rain
I awaken well before dawn
usually chilled by the air –
insulated as much as possible
by shirts and undershirts and sweaters
under a robe –
and crank-up the heat.
My mind slowly drifts from puzzling dreams
vaguely remembered –
Darkened by the night of the sea.
So it’s time for caffeine.
The strongest of them all –
a mug of espresso made on the stove-top –
Time to sip away dark moments
and prepare for the Sun
When the forecast calls for rain.
A morning such as this will not deter the fisherman with a spear, or the old man taking his final steps on our shores, while a stranger stumbles into town, with purposeful gait, the weary traveler, suitcase in each hand, and heads to sea.
Squeezing Ink From A Pen
As I send away the past
While in the air
And welcome tomorrow –
Everything must go to the file:
Lessons Passed and Failed
Before you can pass through
The gate of enlightenment.
The gates of the Sun.
And paste a new Vision
To the wall.
I have a stash of them.
But I’m too lazy to go get them
Even though they’re at my fingertip.
If only I had known.
It was one of those days …
When you got too much going on up there, and not enough sense of the world, outside of there, the 3-dimensional one — ‘ya know, the one I’m talking about, this one here — when the wires get crossed — and you start to get lost — when you start to rhyme, then ‘ya start to screech, cause ‘ya never did intend to rhyme — whether it’s up there or here, when you start to ask questions — you shouldn’t have to ask, when ‘ya start looking for things, you don’t need to be looking fer, going up and down stairs, —
If only things were just a bit more copacetic, but they’re not —
And you’re tickled to discover …
When you see you’re still here —
And you jus’ can’t help but smile at yourself.