Parents (Prayer) Promise

As we breathe, as we live,

we walk in the shelter

of His wings.

How many times can we tell you we Love You?

And how Many times can we say

You are a part of our God?

Every prayer we send to our Creator,

has a gracious acknowledgement

of His gift, of you, to us.

Our Children

is His acknowledgement

of our praise.

How Many times can we tell you we Love You?

now and

 Forever .

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An Elders Love

Aug. 28^th, 2020: Quar   

       I am not a keeper of records or memories. Nor, of cream and curds mixed with fantasy and the absurd. As if… it is like yesterday or yester-year! I never know today or the future clear.

       There is a presence in the keeper’s mind of your absence; in the “tock” of time or the “tick” of our heartbeat that brings us closer, in each disappearing day.

 the rose is a scent

that wants to be remembered

knowledge understood

 

Aug. 29th, 2020: Quar

 

  There are storms and floods

covering the shallows

disparaging the un-holy;

 while the righteous soil

absorbs the water.  

And emerges as just another flower,

in the garden.

During these times:

       We are looking for monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods.

       Instead we find a High Order of Holy Administrations that accepts, for the propagation of our core beliefs in each other, Alms… that prop up ancient Architectural structures to modern day Mansions; that feast in its symbolic understanding. Accepting tidings and spending them as a profit from a ticket purchased to Paradise, Angels, and reconciliation and if you double your offer, they’ll include free shipping.. Some admit it’s a raffle; 1^st. place, Heaven. 2^nd. place, Purgatory, 3^rd. place Hell. 4^th. Place, stay alive and pay twice.

       We are looking for the monks, brothers, and sisters who live, eat, and teach in our neighborhoods. That understands the Holy spiritual path to community without compensation or lack of dogmatic male compliance.

it’s a cloudy day

winds are changing tomorrow

sun not far behind

 

notes-found-on-the-refrigerator-Aug.5th 2020 (Quar)

     Love is an illusion (friendship is instinctive), be just like me or perish (enjoy diversity), only self-serving interests (sharing and participating in another’s), laughing at calamity (understand and re-structure) …

     …Love, the unimaginable truth, and its Divinity to commune with understanding family and neighbor, that creates quilted communities, is real. No material of its fibers and colors are independent of itself; unless it stands alone void of inclusion.

     Less we push It into something abstract that dis-avows it. Love is not a contract, it’s an allegiance; morally and with mutual integrity that displays Itself, as an outward sign of friendship. Set to become the binding mystery of Love.   

August is lazy

stillness does not seek a fight

an agreement made

 

Notes found on the refrigerator…End of July ? 2020 QUAR

 

     Who puts a half piece of toast with jelly and peanut butter in the refrigerator at midnight, after eating half of it, ten minutes before?

lightning bug dims

in the light of yesterday

story still untold

 

     *****

     So, You told me life never ends. Yet, you want me to sign a contract in blood, with my soul nailed to a post from my past; as you fiddle in hate and roast us in hell.

     You promised redemption and Angels for brides! And we would be received to life after. But what are you doing for us now? Without blood, anger or flood to keep our heads above water?

 

what season is light

when darkness seems to prevail

in hearts without love

 

Notes found on the refrigerator…June 6th. & 7th. 2020

June 6^th. 2020

I was kissed by a moth in the headlights

of an oncoming car;

we both flew… out of the way.

ZQ

           

June 7^th. 2020 (Sunday)

     The butterflies were flying around the flowers and blooming blackberry bushes. Fluttering about in scenes of frenzy before they landed on one of them; wings upright and still.

     With their bright colors in the noon day sun, they enjoy their nectar for lunch. Then, they flutter away; wings never stopping, across the grass and flirting with the branches of the trees. But, they never go to the top of them, with no such dreams.

nature is alive

productive and on purpose

enjoy who you are

 

 

Scribbled note:

regardless of all my perfections and ignorance, I still seek redemption, in my Sacred nature.

 

An Old Sailor

     I went out on the deck—felt the wind of the presence –before the jibe caught the gust of a yesterday’s breeze blowing into the sail. 

     The keel visibly surfaced two feet above foaming water, in an awkward lean, water marks on the humming board, visible as eye could see —Oh shit! I braced myself against the rail on tippy-toes. leaning in the opposite direction, baptized by the sea.

      Tapping the “Captain” on the shoulder, I went below.I rocked and balanced myself with each swell of cresting ten-foot waves; catching myself descending with arms extended against the polished teak stairs and the polished walls into the belly of the bow.

      Remembering the keel’s markings “MY LIFE”; both hands against the wall, I balanced myself, being driven across the course of tomorrow.

       I will continue to sail —as sea mist foams against the closing rocks of the shore.

 

Notes found on the refrigerator July 2019

Oh, again,

when ever I step, I have to think

and decide to act—

I flash, without feelings

other than—

being on the spot I am.

 

I haven’t gone anywhere.

Except to stay on the path

I’m on. 😊

~~~~~

 

Nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’

since its for free!

nothin’ sometimes comes

with a fee!

let’s dismiss it, as far as the eye can see!

and shake off the shit at our ankles

to go after somethin’

that’s really free!

I’m enjoyin’ myself… 😊

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

the harlot of wisdom:

into every dream—

she floats in the shadows of the moon.

her eyes, often mistaken for stars

looks into your eyes through your heart;

that has become void, now filled with compassion,

neutralizing self-prominence into acceptance.

and, if you awaken

she has kissed you at daybreak.

     ~~~~~~~~~

 

 

seeking an answer in faith, gives you strength

to enter into a question, with confidence.

(left to provident care)

—that you will find the best possible answer, unimagined.

 

(unless you stumble and become incoherent

seeking personal gain).

 

*******

it is difficult to eat alone

to buy and cook one portion

for yourself.

it does however,

keep the silver on the spoon

and loneliness on the shelf;

or as left over’s

 in the refrigerator.

 

 

then again,

sharing it with another,

never spoils.

as I remember.

     ~~~~~

 

every morning awakens in an evenings’ crease;

a day in all its beauty—

with confidence, not arrogance,

arrives in peace

on the path before destiny.

*****

 

Notes found on the refrigerator June 2019

I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.

It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;

—creeping through the cracks of window sills

wafting  silently,  carrying the day’s

chain-linked smog…breaking in with

—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.

Oops, I meant, aroma;

at that moment I choose to linger

asking for a cherry tree.

I welcome the reservation that you

have set aside for me.

No need to build me a fence—

I am locked inside.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do I talk to myself? Him and me?

Of course! Who else would listen?

How would I know when to stoke the wood stove

and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

I always tell myself what to do.

I am vetted by my soul

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what ever gets you through the door

 

with remorse for the past

forgiven for illusions

you can enter

and begin to teach

yourself

without your apologies

nor being forgiven

but with forgiving.

Hey!

whatever gets you through the door.

anyone up for coffee,

home fries, and scramble eggs?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Earth raises up seed

Shinning  light sinking on sea

Blinking bright new stars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Night Before Breakfast

     

     Caged on the edge of a forest without boundaries; wind chimes shivered in silence. Youth held its breath. The night squirrels feast and fly. The owls turn their heads judging distance from prey to ground against a midnight sky. I escape, I must make it through the night, I must make it, not just try.

     With empty pockets, abandoning the compass of my mind, I make haste with unforeseen insensibility up the path, as an invited house guest, for reflection and a warm breakfast before my morning flight, sorrow less and free.

A still reflection left on a spoon, sinks into a bowl of abandoned oatmeal.

 

Dark moss seeking sun

Birch bent with acknowledgement

Child runs to mother.

 

Grass rising in dew

Casts crushed footsteps aside

Seeks Father in child.

 

Never finding ether one.

 

1st. draft 1/14 Title Piece for vol.I of IV “The Night Before Breakfast”

revision:14 1/18

 

The Legend of the Last Tribe at Little Pond (Center Sandwich, NH)

An angel flying closer to land and seeing, from its view, a better direction

for completing their mission —continued with more traveling

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

The tribe, now down to only the chiefs, children, and wives,

trudged in complete innocence, as in birth,

towards ZoralinQ. Carrying with them this incredible link.

 

When suddenly, they found on the path, their feet on an edge

holding the link at arm’s length above an abyss.

Questioned among them, received no answers.

 

Nothing new, What possible course?

So, they all decided to grab the existing link

To become the angel landing,

 

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

“To this day, I often hear their chant,” an old fisherman says,

“usually in the twilight of a waning moon”.

photo and wood carving R.K. Garon