Equinox

The hay will have to sit,
A few days more,
Too bad,
It was just dry,
Ready to bale,
The clouds that sat,
Just halfway down the mountain,
Are now down 'round the house,
They've turned the pasture into
A perfect picture -
A cottony smooth mist,
It makes you want to stop,
Just to look,
And stay quite a while,
Maybe watch the crows,
Before the sun burns it off.
We couldn't get this in August,
Just hard baked drought,
And doubts about the future.
Now a billion droplets
Breathe new life into
Every green thing,
We've escaped nature's worst
For another year.
The streams are swollen,
Again!
They're safe for trout sex.
In August,
We had to wonder,
Would those tiny rivulets
Come back?
Just when we had our
Deepest doubts,
The wand of nature
Said Yes,
The cycle was safe,
In her Faithful Breast.

Haiku for the Raven's Nest

(A fine coffee house, in Culpeper, Virginia, where I do much of my writing)

Nest fans have taste,

The right stuff in the right place,

Always a new scone :)

Thinking In The Dark

Comes the time

When work must end,

When games expire,

And the boundaries

Of social intercourse

Are set firm,

When shades are drawn,

Our heads can no longer

Remain upright,

We can at last retire

From all the sad

And unfulfilled

Anticipation of the day,

Snuff out the light,

At last be in

Firm equilibrium

With nature,

And lie alone,

In the ether,

With our thoughts unseen,

And there commune

With death,

Fence with sadness,

Joust with heartache,

Lay upon

That silent field of play,

All that we dare not

Set forth in daily life,

Hoping that before the dawn,

We may divest ourselves,

Of all the cares,

Impossible to take back

To the light.

For if we fail,

We'll carry this great burden

Back to the light,

The truth is that,

The darker forces,

Aren't beholden to us,

It's us beholden rather

To them,

And so they are to be

Respected,

Kept at arms length,

In the dark,

Not permitted out,

Lest our demons

Cross that boundary,

Where their presence

Will engender,

Fear and loathing,

Take control,

And drag us into

Endless grief.

And so,

It's in the dark,

Upon that silent,

Sightless grid,

We struggle with

Our demons,

Each and every one,

And never cry for help,

Lest we be forced to share

Our darkest parts with others.

Homage to Our Investment Bankers

We salute you,

Gentlemen,

And Ladies,

God bless you,

(He clearly has)

We bless you,

We support you,

At par,

So far,

Lest you bring us all down,

(That was the threat,

Was it not?)

You are so

Wicked smart,

Except those few,

Who couldn't hold on,

For our gravy train,

To respond,

For those few,

We hope last year's bonus,

Will help you survive,

Your trip down the tubes,

(Sigh)

And for all,

We are led to believe,

That you're back on your feet,

And doing quite well,

We were glad to help out,

Your derivative pleasure,

Just makes our hearts soar,

And to help you to help

The economy heal,

We're taxing your janitors

More than your managers

'Cause we know you're the source

Of all job creation,

Within this great nation,

How do we know this?

Well,

We've been told this

Been told by some very fine folk,

Some folk whom you... own?

For sure there are doubters,

But we question their wisdom,

We don't even think that

They're being good citizens,

But there are some suspicions,

My well heeled good friends,

That what's good for you folk,

Might be just a bit toxic,

To those of us few,

Who compose,

That diminishing remnant,

Of what once we could call,

The vast middle class,

Today,

We ain't even,

Half vast.

Sad to say,

Now a few of us wonder,

If you're not quite our friends,

If you don't have our best int'rests

In your schemes and your ends,

All of those yachts,

They're critical – right?

We believe in you now,

To make every thing bright,

To bring our economy

Back from the dead,

To create all those jobs,

With that barely taxed bread,

So,

While we're eatin' those grits,

In this world that you've made,

With the pols that you've bought,

Just Remember my friends,

Rot infects not just wood,

But your hearts and your souls,

And the Fire Next Time

Might be more than a book

It might be unhappy folk,

With your ass in their sights.

My Love's Beauty

"A poetic of love in two parts"

I

My love's beauty rests

Inside her,

Her heart and soul

Shine through,

They overwhelm

Whatever beauty

Might beholden

Upon her face.

Her mind itself

Calls out to all who

Know her,

Delighting those whose hearts

She touches,

No one can capture her,

But if you're patient

She may come to you,

And bring to you

Delight.

II

To be with her

Is like unto

A field of

Fresh flowers,

To hear her voice,

Makes it seem

Those flowers have

Given off a heavenly

Bouquet,

She can make an ord'n'ry day

Into a feast

For the mind and soul,

And so heal

The heart.

On Cemeteries

Scatter my ashes upon the sea,

Leave not a single monument to me,

For whatever I was since the day of my birth,

Can't rest under a stone,

Covered with earth.

Facebook post, 3 Sep 2011 for Drew Kullman 

Are Earthquakes Metaphors?

Time was,
We looked for signs,
But now we have More confidence,
We are the masters of our fate,
(We're sure of that)
And so,
The signs and summonses
Of the gods,
They are no more,
Our conduct is our business,
But,
Pride still cometh,
Before the fall,
The rumble of the earthquake
Passing through our midst,
May have been the sound
Of that great plumb line,
Rumbling down from up above.
As God once told the prophet Amos,
“I will set a plumb line in the midst...”
And so the time
May just have come,
When cruelty and repression,
Are due to be replaced,
By new masters,
Who will build the world anew,
Not necessarily from scratch,
But with sensibility,
A touch of brotherhood,
And sisterhood,
And common sense,
(If we can find some),
And a heavy dose of love,
It's not too late to start,
But why wait 'til the time
Of the next quake?