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The Journey to the West

Though we journey to the West We pray to the East More or less that's the way Each day begins and ends It’s a tale everyone ...

Monday, July 21, 2014

A Song for Yip

What started as
A faint sliver soon
Grew into an arc
Visible in its entirety
Extending from
Front to back
Thrilling us
 Like a riddle
Taking shape
Before our eyes

A tribe in the making
In awe we stood and
Celebrated with a pact
Sealed by the rainbow on high
To find sufficiency in things
Painted and poetic
Evident here and now
Across the expanse
Of this perfectly marbled
Mauve sky

Tell me then Yip
Why oh why
Can’t I 

*  *  *  *  *

This weekend we walked to the head of Weesuck Creek around sunset and saw the full arc of a rainbow take shape over the bay.  I'd never seen anything like it.  What a steady hand and eye it takes to work on that scale! I never realized that it takes time for Nature to work colors into the canvas just the same as for you and I.

This was the first segment to appear:

A few minutes later my wife pointed to the Southeast where we saw the other terminus:

And as the sky darkened the arc gradually and triumphantly emerged in full display:

On the walk back home I wrote my poem for Yip.

Monday, July 14, 2014

Dreamscape - 1

As if from a dream
I woke and slipped into
The silver lining
Of my new dream coat

Stepping onto the balcony
I bathed in the ghostly glow
From the perigee moon now
Obscured by a thick cover
Of low scudding clouds

Everything shone
With an innermost light
Even the porch railing
Shimmered with

As there in the deepest
Yin of the night
I beheld the vapor trail
Of Eternal delight everywhere
Around me stirring

Ralph Blakelock - Moonlight

Monday, July 7, 2014

Red Notebook - 1

Today there occurred to me
Two more reasons to write --
Because a poem may either
Be fashioned as a meditation
Or else as a way to summon
The courage once again
To hold the pen upright
And push it along
To the bottom
Of the page

Friday, July 4, 2014

Independence Day, 2014

The 4th of July
Was a very rainy
Day out here on the
East End and I ended
Up wasting the better
Part of the day writing
Drivel of one kind
Or another

Without much focus
Or clarity until it
Finally struck me
How a house in a storm
On a day such as this
Is a perfect metaphor 
For the very idea of
A poet such as myself
Beset with self doubt

The trees to the left
And right of the front door
Showing all kinds of distress  
Being buffeted about by the lashing
Wind and rain and yet
Able to preserve a sense
Of total dry and calm
In an interior realm
Almost indifferent
To the ultimate outcome