Sunday, March 26, 2017


Nature will have her way.
She thinks in terms of tens of thousands
while we piddle along with thirty days
hath September. . .
Fifty to a hundred years makes a tree
then come four men with chainsaws.
They were damaged goods
from the weight of ice and snow.
A glimpse ten thousand years hence
would likely be a revelation on this little
three acres with a ledge overhead.
I wonder how that can be arranged?
Ten thousand years ago is "dust in the wind"
while hence - who knows - an iPhone movie
proving we lived and died along with 
those lovely pine trees, which, of course
were doomed from the start.
Doomed from the start  - Interesting.
So we travel along singing our song,
It's important to sing our song.


We scrambled over rocks that slanted to the sea,
to find the cave we saw from the boat.  She had
been there before, this was my first time -
I carefully chose my steps.  I wondered who was first.
Are there any signs that some 'Other' might have left?
And how long ago and who - what difference does it make?
None, of course.  We were there.  We are there.

But there it is - a small cairn in a rock cleft.
Stones like small marbles stacked, neat, telling - the 'other'.
So it's not a private niche, a solitary find, a personal shrine.
I wondered if there were such things except in our inward focused minds.
Our native need to own, to possess.  'This is my place'.
Then it happened - the ceremonial fire, smoke, the drum
and the 'knowing' that we are the 'Other'.

Saturday, March 25, 2017


Growing old has one major drawback –
the nearness of death, closer and closer
the end comes. I have friends who say,
'i don't think about it'. They lie.
I have friends who have died. They know,
I stroll among gravestones and listen.
The din of voices is almost deafening.
I have found that bending low and
putting my ear to the stone sometimes
drowns out all but that one who long ago
laid down – I wonder how and why.
The metaphor smothers us in truth –
all living things die. The story goes
that even God died, but he had a key.
Not fair. The end is the end is what I think,
But I love surprises as much as anybody.