Poems from the 80's

January 23, 1980


My eyes have seen too many things
that were never in my dreams
and they look out at a world
as vacant as a dusty store-front - empty,
long-forgotten
and far from new.
Even when my mouth smiles
it seems my eyes
remember pain
and look back on too much hurt and disillusion
to raise that old hopeful gleam again.
So when friendly female ghosts
crouch in my corners
I welcome them as friends.
We exchange wry, comforting smiles.
They fade away
and I return to contemplating you.
For your eyes too
have visited with ghosts
and dreamed lost tragic dreams
of things that never were.
Your pain brings pain to live in me anew
till my heart aches with misery for you.


ON SEEING A PHOTOGRAPH
June 18, 1980


Shoshonna
I never knew you
but I recognize
in your face
some places I have been.
I empathize
with the knowledge
in your eyes
that gaze far beyond today
seeking a way
through this maze
of bitter-joyous days.


Shoshonna
the flowers on the hills
and the storm-clouds in the skies
reflect the beauty
in your eyes.


We never met
inthis life, yet
in our hearts and in our dreams,
in love not being what it seems,
we have shared
a sisterhood
of pain.


January 18, 1981


while man is capable
of beautiful music
and words that soar,
while blue skies
still can dawn
and the sun shine
one time more,
while a heart can hold to hope
and chase a dream,
feel the certainty of love
and wish on stars that beam,
I suppose I can survive
even in pain,
and hope the cycle
will return
to peace and happiness
again.


March 3, 1981
RENEWAL


Tiny stirrings,
buds curled, waiting,
limp, brown grasses
trying to turn green,
a busy twittering of birds
too long silent
in the bare brown branches
of winter.......


Soon I'll be planting seeds
in warm, dark earth,
watching greenness growing
where once a wasteland lay,
letting the seeds go
to grow whichever way
they want to grow,
having finally learned
to just let living flow.


Perhaps a wondering lurks
within my eyes this year
as I start my slow walk back
from Siberian retreat.
The last frozen wastes
are melting near my heart
and tentatively -
oh, more carefully this time-
I ponder what new things
might emerge
from this springtime
of possibilities
I see.


I think it might be nice
to plant something
besides carrots here
this year.


March 7, 1982


Like a game of Dungeons and Dragons
I walked the maze.
The dragon stirred and roared.
I trod threacherous pathways I abhorred
yet somehow found my way.
When I emerged
the hardest lesson I had to learn
was how to travel peaceful sunny paths
wherein no danger lay.
My first real friends,
music, benign hills and blue skies
gentled me back to living in the world.
For now, the dragon sleeps.
The maze is boarded up.
The cruel game ends
and I spend the best days of my life
with loving friends.
All through the evening
I anticipate
my return to solitude:
my silent house,
music and low lights and peacefulness,
and my best friend of all-
a book beside my bed.
It is more than enough
when living takes the place of pain
and one is fairly certain
the dragon will never
stalk my days
again.


THE COFFEEHOUSE SATURDAY NIGHT
March 22, 1981


Brock - thank you for the magic.
You started it and we all make it happen.
You make it safe for us to set love free
in this warmest place in all the world to be.
You give away so much
and back comes a roomful of love,
the joy on shining faces so strong and free,
the reaching out so beautiful to see.
In following your star, it seems
you have given us back our fragile
hopes and dreams,
a loving side of life we always knew was there,
that this warm place allows us all to share.
And I hope you know
the magic began with you
for when you made your dream come true,
our dreams did, too.
The love that built this place
warms each person who opens the door
and comes inside,
learning to fly free,
no need to hide,
hearts brimming
after all the pain and strife,
it seems we've crossed
the threshold of a dream
into a better life.


June 12, 1981
For Guy


Does one ask a flower to grow?
I just let it be,
letting it unfold as it unfolds,
petal by petal,
carefully.


I take care not to thwart
the solitary splendor
of its blooming,
remembering a flower glows
just as brightly in an empty lot
as when my eyes turn upon it
to share the sudden sweetness
of its garden plot.


As petals catch the wind
and dance under the sun
so do you glow.
Your beauty casts a clear and steady light
that does not dim,
and it shines more, the more I come to know.


We touch elusively as fragile stems
holding up heavy blooms, nodding in the breeze.
The blooms are our two lives. From underneath
their precarious weight our hands emerge
like leaves.


Your solitude speaks to
the peaceful solitude in me
and deep within my quiet heart
I can feel something gentle
yearn to be
set free.


The Drummer
September 14, 1981


Your hands fly fast
beneath the flame:
rhythms of life
insistent
through the pain.


Your yes look deep within
upon the sorrow there.
Your sadness speaks
directly to my heart-
it's something I can share.


I've walked the same hard path
and well I know
how like the severing of a limb
is the final letting go.


October 25, 1981


I look at you
and your beauty
shines so bright.
Even through your suffering
your spirit casts
a clear and steady light.


Your face is chiseled
like you are being honed
from clay; a butterfly
being freed from stone.


*****************
November 2, 1981


This time
     the stone
          is in the
            Butterfly.

May 30, 1982

Sometimes I forget to let the flowers grow.
Sometimes I want to harvest in the sprng,
fprgetting that seeds blossom in their season
and that there is a time for everything.

Sometimes I only see the barren ground
as unyielding as the coldest winter soil.
I forget that this same patch will yield a harvest
in time and with the necessary toil.

I forget that nature plans earth should lie fallow
while the seasons change, I let the garden be.
I forget that even when I'm still, I'm growing,
and being here purpose enough for me.

EASTER MORNING,
MEDITATING ON THE MOUNTAIN
1982

Out of the early dawn,
my kindred spirits came
to form a circle,
our gentle hearts the same.
Silently our presence
in harmony with the earth
joined with all others who believe
in new age and rebirth.Upon that hilltop
in that early dawn
I had a vision:
I looked down upon
a world of gentle hearts
and gentle minds,
people just like us,
letting their lights shine,
as if I looked from space
and saw a beautiful planet
blue and green,
filled with flickering light
that's struggling to be seen.

Poem By the Side of the Road
(I used to bicycle far out into the country )
July 19, 1982

Riding through hills
gleaming greenly
in the morning sun
my heart lifts up
with wonder at the day
and I remember how
I saw them then,
cold with winter,
through a pane of glass.
No one could pass
into the world I made
so locked away, so hidden, so afraid.
My happiness
now rides along with me
flying fast
beside the mirrored lake.
This time I'm not afraid of losing
the wholeness that I feel.
No longer using other arms
to hold me up,
alone, I did it all.
My own arms hold me fast
and so I know
that I wont fall.

November 28, 1982

confused, buffeted and lost,
pitched by storm-waves, bitter-tossed
my childhood ship sailed stormy seas
and no one came to rescue me.
seeking, leaning from the mast,
to spot salvation
I fell too fast
near drowning in the troubled sea
and no one threw a line to me.
dragging my battered self on board
I begged life bring me my reward
for traveling so far alone
without a port to call my own.
frozen solid, no sun could warm
my fearful heart, come to such harm,
yet somehow, faintly hopeful, I
still sought a rainbow in the sky.
finally I learned the truth
that had escaped me in my youth:
I my companion was to be
upon this vast uncertain sea.
the only home I;d call my own
was living right inside of me.
you cannot push the sea, I said
and once that truth was in my head
instead of fighting with the flow
it took me where I ought to go.
That instant did the struggle end.
the changing sea did I befriend
and I paddled very light
on waters full of calm delight.
so when it tossed a wave or two
I tossed happily upwards too
knowing ultimately the water
would bring me out right where it ought to.
now I just enjoy the trip
and navigate my little ship
through fair skies and through the dark
through lush scenery and stark
watching sunsets come and go
admiring the golden glow
watchful for rainbows in the sky
trusting life, my heart and I.

February 7, 1983
for Brock

How does one say goodbye?
Like a cloud cries?
Or like the sky goes gray
before a sudden rain?
How to feel the love of you
without the farewell pain?
How does one let go
when it's like a branch to a tree
or a ship to its safe mooring?
Yet it is time, I know,
to whittle my branch away
from the firm trunk of you,
to craft it into a paddle
and launch my ship into uncharted waters,
to turn my journey outward
into the unknown.
Packed on board
is a heart full
of all that you gave me
to help me weather the rough seas on my own.
So how does one say goodbye?
With a smile and a hug and a blessing
for the safety of your gentle heart
upon the planet,
and a wish that wherever you go
your life will be
as beautiful as you
and all the beauty
that you showed to me.

January 4, 1983

Mountains and meadows and trees
breathing green
water lapping softly and, unseen,
a birdcall through the mists of morning,
a cry so alive
and these are the things
that help me
survive.
A child's smile,
warm sunshine,
a hug from a friend,
a few special friendships
that will never end,
a good book,
my hobbit house,
a warm cup of tea,
a flash of blue sky
and life's enough for me.

1983

Thank You, God,
or Universal Plan,
for this planet
and its beauty,
for blue sky,
and green trees,
each tree
a peaceful presence,
benign friend,
gentle being.
That we could live like trees,
emitting wisdom,
harmony,
bridging earth and sky,
simply being,
harming nothing,
grateful for wind and water,
earth and sky,
breathing in the day,
giving shelter-
harming nothing.
Do you weep
when you watch
our little lives
as we go through so much pain,
try to be better,
learn to love,
share smiles and kisses
and impossible/possible dreams?
Do you weep when you watch
the promise of dawn
return each day,
see hills and trees and sun and air
attacked by men
who value money and power right now
more than gentle days and clear blue skies
and a future for their children?
Tell me, do you weep?
More and more of us
are growing aware;
we love this planet.
Is there still time?
Are we enough
to keep it hanging here?

May 12, 1983
To Mr Reagan

Isnt it enough
to be alive,
to look up at the blue sky,
feel the heat of the sun on your face,
mow your lawn,
kiss your children,
and trust that you can do it all again
tomorrow?
For me
it is so much more than enough
that I fear
one day I'll wake up
to find
my benign friends, the trees,
have all been blown away
along with a billion
little lives
that matter.
And what would you win then
if you pressed that button?
The right to be
among the last to die of radiation sickness?
It puzzles me
how you can breathe
spring flowers
and not hope that
there will be
another spring.