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Category Archives: New light/New life

Turn The Light Back On

Sundown was sinking from a ridge on Holderness road

Inviting me, or so I thought, to turn off –my one light on.

(The one I had turned on, when darkness was creeping along).

 

I could see as I stared out from my large window—

 the only one in my cave— a dimming invitation

for a quick evenings celebration; honoring a season’s resignation.

 

 

I wanted to meet her –to greet her,

Before the winter moon rose to extinguish  

her completed season’s accomplishments.

 

I left the house in a goose down vest,

donning my formal Pendleton— wide brim’s best.

Without a thought, I walked many steps

 

going about my way.

Until I opened my eyes

on an illuminated path of autumn amber pine needles

 

glowing from the rising moon and sunlight’s sunset.

They met and greeted me with giggles and mutual song.

I caught their transition between darkness and dawn.

 

They kissed each other… as the moon

asked me— to go inside

and turn the light, back on.

 

Photo by RKG…  Holdernes Rd. Center Sandwich NH

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Notes found on the refrigerator October

Contemporary Poetry has un-cuffed many creative minds

As the tide washes the shore with an ever-changing sea

As the ships sail away with Shakespeare and Yeats

Leaving us with Ferlinghetti*

“… Ferlinghetti,  felt strongly that art should be accessible to all people, not just a handful of highly educated intellectuals”.  

*****

A storm is coming! What shall we do?

Where should we go?

“Go home!

Take care of things.

 –Then safely and honorably leave.

—Settle in where you are now

Away from the path of the storm”.

A path we both have weaved

Crumbling—  flooding— grabbing

 The unborn, above the Holy indiscriminate stream.

 

A storm is coming! What shall we do?

Where should we go?

Let us follow our hearts

And mind

With the light of our soul.

*****

 

When your heart and mind are in tune*

being Holy is being human.

*Tuning is the experiences between right and wrong

Celebrated and balanced without guilt or animosity.

  *****

 
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Posted by on November 19, 2017 in New light/New life, Poetry, prose, Sittting still, thoughts, Zen

 

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Quadrille #38

( write a poem of precisely 44 words, including the word dream.)

Notes found on the refrigerator[8/14/17]

    I was brought up to be a Jesuit Priest, but destined to live the life of a monk. Escaping the nun’s training, because of their aversion to listening to Hank William’s “Your Cheatin’ Heart” playing in the background— I dreamed as the early mystics.

 

 

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The House On Mason Road, In Sandwich, NH

The house on Mason Road

is set in the woods with a dirt driveway.

                                                —Mail box leaning

is the only indication of an entranceway.

Both for the snowplows and visitors.

—One, hopefully will miss—

The other, with blinker on

                                                —will turn in

Around the wooded curve to a clearing

where there, sits a house on Mason Road.

King, Princes, and Queen of the peaceful

Open Fire Tribe, harmoniously reside;

surrounded by pines, hardwoods,

                                                — and one apple tree.

Two Princes protect the entrance

With a bold plastic pink flamingo

                                                —ready to pounce

On imaginary villains who mean to do “good” harm!

Prince Popo? First with a plastic hammer; if the shadow has a cast.

Prince Gavyn? Waits for introductions, ducking once or twice

in the invisible clash… eventually both smile with relief

as they are greeted with the sight of bright  white teeth,

                                                —giving the signal to continue,

to all walk towards the fire

with hugs and handshakes when possible

                                                —Since most of them have their arms full.

Bringing food, twigs, beer, wine, whiskey, and wood

for an evening’s non-occasion meeting of the Fireside Tribe.

Conversation and laughter overtakes everything

as tradition prescribes,

                                                —they put all things,

other than their ancestors,

 And their continued fellowship

                                                —aside.

 

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Princess Highgrass

Her long royal green stem, twenty feet high

or so it seemed, to the lawn below,

emerged from a patch

                                                            –of uncut grass.

With grace, top-heavy, carrying seeds for birth

she bends in all directions to the wind without discretion.

sometimes leaning too close to the ground!

                                                            —The ancient breeze

has to straighten her up for the wedding in fall

to disperse her seeds. As long as the wind and the mower

respect her vows of matrimony

                                                           —and miss

The patch

That keeps her Mother’s Kingdom

Season after seasons

                                                            —green.

 

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Times’ Bell (A Sonnet On Em7 Bass)

I listened to the bell ring at sunset

I hear the sound passing each day as death;

Knowing in the ‘morrow it will still ring,

Awakening me with yesterdays debt.

 

I yield to the monster of this day’s Light

With discipline. With matter. Not with fright!

The high notes settle silence with low notes

To kneel in sound whose vision has no sight.

 

Ah, but such is my luck! The damn thing rings

Morning, noon, and night. My life inspiring,

Regardless of my nature or my regrets.

They pale to my rise every morning.

 

Someday I shall be the first to wake it—

Or, bid good evening before sun’s exit.

 

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Metaphor Notes About “Involvement”

Where ever you started or finished,

First or last, the game was won.

It all began when you dressed for them all.

Starting positions? Often left opened.

But, acknowledging there were better players on the team

That you should have passed to, when your ass

Was about to get massive grass stains

For failed fancy footwork and tripped by your own feet,

Flying in the air praying a Holy Mary,

For no broken bones.

*****

               Oh, shit! At 70, I wake up having to remember all this again?

 Start the bus!

*****

               Hey! I am on my way out of here, a shot of Vodka, V8 juice and a note on the chalkboard thanking all the players   

                               That dressed for them all.

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on May 20, 2017 in New light/New life, prose, thoughts, Zen

 

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