sunshine after gray rain

sunshine this morning after gray

days of sudden, intense showers

how dependent we humans are

on that sparkle of warmth and light

for inner joy to give us hope

glaring standard

friends with mettle tell me

only after i ask

what calamities

have near-felled them

their courage not to whine

makes all the more glaring

and pathetic the current standard

of men’s behavior

into feisty life

with thoughtful feedback from editors

i have new concepts of what to omit and

what more to include in Freddy’s Wake

so, i am again deep into murmuring

dialogue to myself as i wake up

bringing the characters to feisty life

within myself before i can put

their words onto paper

before we will see them on stage

plugging along

years of every day work

still waiting for the overnight success

i’d come to believe in the value

of what i create if only from reactions

of individual judges – sometimes only

one or two out of a panel where

the others, equally competent, ask

“What the heck is going on here?”

still, it’s like the occasional par in golf

even a few discerning my intent

is enough to bring me back again

and again

somber to sparkle

flat, somber cloud field settled

over the upper valley drizzling rain

onto our evergreens and meadow

early this morning

finally, the sun broke through gray

to sparkle small drops clinging

to tallish grass

not warming the chill but lending

hope for joy to spread into the day

“I can fly!”

graduation is like that small flutterby

flapping red wings, flashing sunshine

crying, “See me!  Look upon

what I have accomplished!”

a moment of realizing self-worth

a high point or a gathering of strength

preparing to take on further challenge

a ceremony only enhances the feeling

of being of value and able to assume

the next stage of adulthood knowing

the foundation earned

stages of loneliness

thrilled to have my stage play admired

by one of the best playwrights

and scriptwriting teachers in the country

we will be meeting to talk it over

for ideas to expand it to a full-length

production and cut down the cast

to manageable size but the dialogue

and the characters are “strong”

and i glow in praise i seldom hear

writing is such a lonely calling

have a ball

youthful energy loose on sandy beach

focused and released with ball in hand

tapped, punched, hurled, batted, flung

against a wall, toward a teammate

at a friend-now-competitor-enemy

arced, curved, straight at, or near miss

requiring diving catch for points

for laughter, bonding and high spirits

a simple sphere gives life and purpose

and, at times, translates into respect

and joy in this globe of Earth

which gives and sustains our lives

greed enriches no one

greed enriches no one

the act of plundering thickens

our skin and our waistline

makes us sullen and grasping

we surrender our place in the glorious

diversity that surrounds us and, worse,

despoil and deplete it so what we pass

on to the next generation is a mere

shell of what we were given

each generation needs its own

humble appreciation and maturity

to assume responsibility to sustain

the richness of our Earth

each person needs to do what he can

to heal what greed has stripped of joy

even for the ‘me’ generation

which of us, when our child asks

for bread, would hand him a snake?

dangled

all his life at the rim of a cliff

hanging or being dangled

coarsened by exposure and fear

insecure, victimized

blaming because he would not

have chosen this for himself

never learning compassion

as none was given

never grasping empathy for never

safe to feel beyond his own terror

poor Bluffo, family history tells us

much except how to help you now or keep you from harm and harming

struggles needless

as animals, we find ways to ease

our burdens and conserve strength

double registry of wolf prints in snow

where hind foot slips into ready-made

print of its forepaw

or Canada geese fly in vee formation

so only one need take on full force

of the air currents we cannot see but

they must fight—and he is spelled

by another from the flock when tired

cooperation helps us all, yet we humans seem to need to learn that lesson

again and again

Bluffo-the-clown on Emptee

Bluffo would be grateful (if he could be) to dear congressional Emptee Green

for public shifting of blame from his own recommendation to inject bleach

to Dr. Fauci for COVID errors and even suggesting cover-up

which instantly arouses those who threaten the lives of the loved ones

of those accused without evidence

realizing, of course, that by raising “alternate facts,” such evidence

can always be manufactured

-         Poor Bluffo, man of conviction

Bells of the Cascades and Cathedral Bells

Bells of the Cascades and Cathedral Bells “Encore” June 2, 2024

riveted to watching, listening

soaring with the handbell skill

and techniques we sat forward

on our seats to take in the music

before it lifted to the multi-story

archway over the cathedral crux

Matthew Compton and Alex Guebert

composers, arrangers, directors

intense musicians and collaborating friends bringing us masterful “Nexus,”

“Reconciliation,” and “All Creatures

of Our God and King”

the joy of experiencing awe

i’m okay

hurting enough to hide

unwilling to admit uncertainty

finding chores around home

to pretend i am accomplishing

anything

rich tone painting

green parading in nature as a multitude

tints, hues, opacities, intensities

pigments, stains, tinctures from near yellow

chartreuse, citron, pistachio, smalt, terre-verte

to glistenings of aqua, azure, woad, indigo, zaffer

each tree its own patterns of shadow

and brilliance, each blade of grass

a whisper that dares to join the chorus

of field, meadow, link or lawn

to name them all – impossible, but

oh, the fun of trying!

emerald, olive, avocado, jade, lime, bottle, sea…

something comfortable

i slip into something comfortable

well-worn slacks and soft, long-armed

shirt that warms, caresses arthritic

wrists and helps bent fingers write

what my nature-filled acres

in the foothills gifts to my joyous soul

after the storm

sol has settled to mere colossal splurges

of solar wind hurling into space

without favoritism toward life on earth

survival is our business although

our shortsighted greed and propensity

for hatred seem more than adequate

to secure annihilation on our own

weathered face

(haiku)

weathered face of stone

or battered sea cliff or man

life experienced

belief in self

(haiku)

white-speckled petunias

red petals drop cloth-looking

stand tall as if pink  

“I” gone

headstones in old cemeteries

tell stories in names, dates and epithets

we can conjure but never be sure

loved ones may never die so long

as we live in someone’s memory

but that means “we,”  “I” will disappear

“I” will cease to exist, even in memory

but was I not part of something vast

beyond my comprehension?

was  “I” not merely a trickle in a brook

the merged into a stream  that joined

a mighty river to the sea?