Consumption

The giant funnel of the earth,

Is filled with immense beauty.

It loses a little of its contents

On a daily basis.

The beauty does not escape.

It does not remake itself,

Something falls out the bottom

Of the funnel…

Changed into unrecognizable

Compounds and forms.

These new elements and objects,

Propagate unusual, new biology,

And challenges us,

To live in the wake.

Of our strange, improvised world.

Gathering

Shall We Gather At The River?

We gathered at the river,

For walking to the islands,

Or building a pontoon,

Or a campfire,

For solace and solitude,

To fish and swim,

To explore quietly.

To stand back from the flood,

And watch warily to see if,

We had to leave the house,

In a boat.

To look at natures bounty

Of signs,

And animal’s wanderings,

Watch the turtles sunning,

To drag our boat up the river,

Three of four miles,

Over rapids, and shallows,

Just to float back down -

Laying on the bottom,

In the sun.

The Lewis Family said that

Miles Love

You drove the bug.

I sang Darcy Farrow

All the way from

North Lake Tahoe to

Pine Ridge Reservation.

I read you most of,

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.

After a twelve hour drive,

As we pulled into the motel space,

At Freedom’s Run.

The car stopped dead. 

The next day we fixed the VW,

With a screwdriver, to our surprise -

Touching two parts together.

As souls on a journey -

We kept on going.

Fennel

“Eat Your Greens”

My favorite vegetable; looking a little like celery

But so much more than its poor cousin,

Eccentric, perhaps – but,

Braised, sautéd or raw, it improves the flavor

Of any soup or roast - pushing the flavor

(Converted sweetly, from earth and water)

Upward.

Through the roots and great, layered bulb -

Reaching out its green, juicy arms to the sky.

Frank Zappa said that.

BestFruit

The juice dripped down our bodies,
And over our bathing suits,
While we read the poems,
Of Pablo Neruda.

And Pineapple.

Tradition

Whenever I hear the word tradition.
I listen carefully,
To see if the bulb has gone out,
To see if what is being discussed,
Is worth remembering
Or needs to be rewired for today.

Whenever

Always a surprise in white -

Whenever I ran breathless,

Down the long, long driveway,

To the big, silver mailbox -

The crisp envelopes snapped

With colorful ink and stamps

I looked inside to see -

What was not forgotten.

Past Life Reading

I told the story as if I had just lived it.

The reader is used only for general prompting.

I was in a village town with cobblestone streets,

In a house hiding beneath my mothers dress,

Under the wooden floor, in a small cellar,

With two other children hiding from an invasion,

By horseback.

There was a lot of noise

And the cellar door flew open –

Everyone was killed with spears but me,

I lived, because I could not be seen.

Hours later after all the noise had stopped,

I got up and went to the open door and

Looked out. No one was around.

I started walking down the road

Out of the town.

It was sunny and bright.

I was coming down a hill

And saw a stream off on the left,

I walked over to get a drink of water.

I was bent over drinking and

I heard noise and looked up

Just then a man on a horse,

Plunged a spear into my chest.

And then I was floating overhead

Higher and higher,

Seeing my small body by the stream.