Old News (Written for Trayvon reposted for Michael)

Another young man dies
Is it so precious, so critical
to establish blame
that we have no time
to spare for grieving.

Perhaps arguing is only
what we choose to do
because we have lost:
the vision to see
the strength to change and
the courage to weep.

Understanding awaits us
on the other side of conflict
and loss welcomes all who love
the final proof of it’s immortality.

We learn to love alone or in small numbers
Yet when in loss we truly weep
we are forever as one.

Spending Time (the mystey of light part 2)

imageSpending Time

I should worry, but don’t,

spending time without thought,

raising flowers, mending the net

over our few strawberry plants,

writing, holding, the words I’ve neglected,

arranging them, in lines, until, they sing,

and watching clouds, to find good mowing times.


Cooking, eating, from antique crockery,

silent mealtime companions, they and I,

we dance steps of simpler, more generous times.

I take them from the table to the sink,

to be washed, like children, before bedtime.

My old hands ride the sponge, across each dish,

playful as otters, in the warm water.


I watch, the changing sun, crossing the sky,

through the small window, over the sink, dusk,

falling too quickly, even at solstice;

day seeming, almost unnoticed, to leave,

Iris and Lilac, bent, toward the places,

where sun till appears, reach for the last rays,

before twilight.


At night I touch the darkness:

Celebrating absent street lights,

remembering how to breathe light,

feeling my gratitude coat the aging frames,

wood and bone, of my habitations,

listening to my heart, sing, farewell,

it’s parting words to yet another day.


Lying in bed at night, I welcome rest,

Laying aside, concern for all undone

the world will go on troubled as it is,

and never note when my attention ends.

My Life goes on, in silences between

the tasks I take up daily to sustain,

and love between the acts and spoken word

of which it makes fools .


Sometimes, in dreaming I recall the years,

and touch the memories of another life,

less dreamlike than the citizens of day

more real are these, the people of the night.

Beneath the sorrows of another sky,

these farms are filled with people unaware,

that they, who took the land from those before

who laughed and lived and loved this wild land,

and gathered up the forest’s fruits to live.


Though dispossessed by you who came to plow,

to clear and plant, to tame and tire the soil

they sorrow still to see your, fading joy,

to lose the acres day by passing day ,

praying to keep the life that you once knew,

and loved more than small earnings could explain.

they gave their lives that you might come to see

and weep the lessons you don’t understand.


Awakened I remember what they knew,

the love of every creature, stream and hill

The worship of creations turquoise sky

Though tired I will linger while I may

To take such pleasure as each day affords

Awaiting change while busy spending time.