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Category Archives: Beginnings

PoPo Teaches Grandpa A Lesson [rev2]

How stupid am I?

Well it starts out like this—

My Grandson, leaving a summer math class
carrying a piece of folded paper

—Followed by his gracious and grinning teacher

I asked, “What is that?”

Pointing to his hand holding the paper,

Hoping it wasn’t a note from the “warden”

Being shot by one of his righteous and never wrong Heroes.

He handed it to me—
It was a bunch of math problems
He needed to solve before tomorrow’s class.

Looking at it with a quick glance,

Spotting the first problem to be solved—

I asked, “What’s 9 times 3?”
Looking at the sky,

As we were going towards the car
Quietly said, “27”

Hmmmm!

Then he turned towards me and asked,
“What’s 9 times 0?”
I said “9”! Quite proudly—

 Both he and his teacher burst out laughing
As she patted my grandson

On the back, saying, “see you tomorrow.”

Opening our car doors, he said,
“Grandpa, you know what ever number times zero
Will always be zero.”

 Driving off

I looked in the rear view mirror
And saw him wearing my baseball cap
Usually left in the back—

He was wearing it backwards
And giving me this shit eatin’ grin.

It was a long ride back

Thinking how smart I really am.

 

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On A Sacred Day’s Accounting

Whatever day we set aside

At the end of, or, beginning of our week,

Will always be a spiritual— personal day.

 

Regardless of religion, or non-religion—

Somehow, that day, in our lives, has survived

As One day— to be set aside.

 

Reflection, repentance, acceptance;

Encouraging us to continue living

In mutual peace— for the rest of future

Day’s— accounting.

                Sand Dollar: Sketch in charcoal.

Sand Dollar:
Sketch in charcoal.

 
14 Comments

Posted by on January 21, 2017 in Beginnings, Love, Poetry, Spiritual, Zen

 

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A Pilgrim’s Egress In A Hundred Words

One leg dragging, the other —behind bended knee

I reverently balance. Wavering from doubt,

I fall prostrate, head on the ground…

Toes need a shoeshine.

I pay homage in acknowledgment, in humility;

Everything is greater than I am.

 

Womb of essence; ignition of light to life,

Great Lover in wisdom and without gender—

Give me a Faith free of guilt

 Through this chaos of doubt.

 Plume my wings

In my ascent. Unravel my bondage

From this self

In transgression.

The moon waxing,

Reveals an awakening without history.

 

Greetings soul! Spirit and spark of truth!

      Oh, transition in created to creator.

 

1st. draft posted 2014

Rev. 2016

 
16 Comments

Posted by on November 26, 2016 in Advent, Beginnings, Poetry, Spiritual, Zen

 

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Companion

We are (all) personal care attendants

Attending to each other—

But, most of all,

In that relationship—

We become companions.

Perhaps that is what happens—

After love’s personal illusions

Dissipate—

As we accept

Mutual understanding.

 

Maybe we can just skip the step of love

And go right into companionship!

 

Ms. Holly complains after eating pizza,

Which, she thoroughly enjoys.

“Too much salt!

I can feel my legs swelling up,

And it hurts to walk.”

I tell her to put her feet up,

She does not have to talk—

 I remind her,

That I, cannot remember

what I forgot.

–It takes awhile

Before we turn to each other

Returning discreet smile—

 

Accepting what we do

And what we do not.

 

 

Companion: Notes on a Paper Bag

Companion: Notes on a Paper Bag

 
 

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The Cliff Between Right And Wrong: a parable

           The distance for my success, that could be jumped; a quarter-mile wide and a quarter-mile deep, never existed. Yet, wearing a smile, I jumped! Then what?

I fell.

          I floated, between non-existing marks. With arms flailing, Legs wiggling in space, head heavy as an elephant, or, with maybe just their footprint.

          Everything that I believed in, defending it from the start, to my last breath; to ultimately fall with foolish bliss in exhilaration, hitting face first into the ground.

Still, I have the urge to jump that cliff again.

But, this time, from another side.

 
1 Comment

Posted by on September 20, 2016 in Beginnings, Experimental, parable, Pine Cone Diaries, Wisdom

 

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Roses and Thorns

Roaring chariots down thunder road

Equal to—

Spring’s breaking ground to surface a rose

All of it, is noise—

 To awaken the dreamer to follow the sound

To chose—

Drummer and screamer or singer of songs

 

Silence has no meaning

Unless we are there before the sound

 

Until then—

Protest the ears that share the same mind

But not the heart—

That listens alone, before expressing

The blessings below or above the ground—

Splintering wagon wheels

With roses and thorns

 

 
9 Comments

Posted by on September 11, 2016 in Beginnings, Existential, war, Zen

 

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True Lovers Past

(Mid-town)

Wine, whiskey, and roses—

In alcove with three large windows

Straight lace tablecloth on heirloom table

               (Across town)

Barn-board counter top, single sink,

Hand pumped water

Red-checkered vinyl tablecloth

 

Two shot glasses, acapella— on each table

 

(Mid-town)

Vase, decanter, and a blue corked bottle

One in the Yin—

Another in the Yang

 

A well-rounded glass globe—  

Wine circling in small waves

Well below the rim.

 

The toast is the same.

 

(Across town)

Mason jar with whiskey and ice

Raised above a drying rose

The toast is the same.

 

Salute’ to the empty chair

At both their tables—

“May you be well, happy, and peaceful.”

Note: True Lovers Past

 

 

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