Art

I have spent my life
in small coins
hiding from the beautiful monster within.
Now the ransom is paid.
The monster has gnawed through
the bars of the cage
The coinage for its beauty
may be
gold
or
dust to others.
To me
it is the substance of life.
From this point forward
I will paint life
with broad brush strokes
and brilliant colors
and see
who will buy
my art.

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Gardens

Walls between hearts are not broken down by
the shattering blows of a sledge
but by
gentling cupping the tender flower
of a timid heart
and breathing deeply its aroma.
your flower may need the soft rain
of my tears or the sharp sting of my hoe
round the roots, but its my job,
if I love you,
to feed you, so that bloom is succeeded by bloom,
another and another and another, until
you are a riotous garden of
scent and color and shape
where I can walk and
rest and be.

And if you love me you will let
my petals drink of your tears
and my roots be nourished by
your careful blows. And
you can come to the shelter
of my garden and
walk and rest
and be.

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micro matters

sadness wells, inexplicable
tears rise against a tide of heaviness
birds twitter, furious at the gray dawning
cat purrs warm and heavy against me, tail flicking independence
her morning brushing glows around her
an easy day – the boss is away
rumbles in my belly soon silenced by green tea and something tasty from the fridge

the world is fierce again today
a prime minister murdered
two children abducted
somber faces on troops shipping out, families left behind
around a mother’s neck his dog tags jingle - how will they know who he is if . . ?
step back - shift focus
macro or micro is easier to bear
far enough away you can’t smell blood or fear see faces feel pain
wars rumors of wars earthquakes famines plagues
march lockstep across the map of millennia
inhuman and crazy wrestle for control
against our wishes over our pleas
our loudest marches never reach deaf ears since accidental players seized power
click – shift – change the lens
off the TV toss the news
draw the world to arm’s length where it is
approachable
changeable
gentle hand on an old woman’s cheek
a kiss for the baby downstairs
smile for the ragged man on the corner
a check to the workers who feed the hungry
forgiveness for the being in the next room
create peace
here in my house a piece of the sacred
vials of laughter and love
tubes of tenderness and attention
a jar of listening beside a box of bandaids
a bucket of gratitude for a full fridge a frustrating job growing light
me and a happy cat
just being
micro matters more than you might think
sadness wells, inexplicable

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