dear liza…

i’ve
just been talking
about
life
and sometimes
it’s not
so
pretty
but my words
merely
reflect
what
you already know
so there’s nothing new
in
what i say
my words
are
just
a reminder
that
there’s a hole
in
the bucket

 

 

unclaimed…

gathered up
my
memories
and
placed them
upon
my mind’s table
sorted
through
a few
and
tossed others
aside
especially
the ones
tainted
by
the hatred
of
others
there
were quite
a few
of
those
including
several
i had not
recognized before
but
i
like others
are
haunted
by
apparitions
of
yesterday’s
trust and belief
in
any case
the remaining memories
were
of
loves lost
and
loves unclaimed
each
unique
in their own way
none 
could
or
should
be regretted
just
past moments
in
time
unclaimed baggage
from
a trip
long completed

vision…

i know for some
the gift
of
sight
is
a good things
and
for many
a downright miracle
but
having my eyes
open
for so long
has
blinded me
i
no longer
can see
the shoreline
of
hope
and
the doves
of
peace
that once soared
above my head
are
lost
in the blurred vision
of
the world’s self-interest
i’ve
also noticed
i can barely hear
the dove’s
gentle song
the waves
of
war and hatred
roar
day and night
and
without sight
it is
all
that is known

 

discerning…

be a collector
hold in awe all things great and small
each holds a treasure

 

don’t you laugh when the hearse goes by…

even tho
you’ve
written words
upon
the page
the page
is
empty
there’s nothing
there
just
the empty stares
of
a life
without
dreams satisfied
oh
you’ve managed
to
collect
tokens of wealth
along
the way
but
in the grave
their worth
is as
meaningful
as
your life
a life
of
counterfeit infringements
of
the right
to
happiness
no
doubt
you will
reject
my assessment
of
your
stellar
accomplishments
but
the worms
will
crawl in
and
the worms
will
crawl
out
of
this
there is
no
doubt

 

regulated…

brass plated cages
society predefined
awareness comes late

overexposure…

one problem with light
things begin to fade with time
lifelines begin to blur

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

mountain climbing stations…

you stood
just
to the left
of reality
hoping
santa ana winds
would correct
your position
but
somehow
you
failed
to factor in
microclimates
of
human stupidity
greed
and
egos
so you were left
just
below
the foothills
of success
unable
to find
a sherpa

answered prayers…

bapa dola
said
a beggar
found a gold coin
along the road
and
when he reached
the city
he complained
that no one
would offer up
alms