hidden in the tall grass…

a young man
from
a neighboring village
came
to ask
bapa dola
how it was
that strangers
to his village
could see
the solution
to problems
that had
confronted the elders
for years
surely
the young man
said
the visitors
must be
wise men
full
of knowledge
bapa dola
said
perhaps
it is not
knowledge
but
the willingness
to
see what is really there
and
to not deny the truth
for
often we hear
but
do not listen
see
but
do not
perceive

a single forget-me-not…

as a poet
i have decided
to
fade away
quite
gracefully
merging
into the woodwork
but
leaving
a rather
irritating stain
deep
into the fibers
of life
not
removable
by sanding
and
far
too costly
to replace
i absolutely
see
no need
for me
to
change
completely
because of a little thing
called
death

dogs under the table…

what shall man place
upon god’s table
for the feast
of
salvation
what morsel
will man offer
that
is
uniquely his
other than
the dried bones
of
sons and daughters
sacrified
in wars
for
man’s pursuit
of
wealth
and
fame