Knock on the Moon (Full Moon #6)

IMG_4305Once more I step into the sky
and knock on the moon:

“Knock Knock.”

“Anybody home?”

“Would you like to come out and play?”

No answer

Turns out there’s no door on the moon
Number of entry points: zero
Only craters that masquerade as doors

the moon is a unified solid mass
a moving mystery
who reveals herself in phases

And bereft of water

That’s what the earth is for
and why it is misnamed:
should be called Planet Water

Do you ever wonder what would happen if
some stray drop of water
from an earthbound tide
would be drawn to orbit
and slowly seep into a tiny crack in the surface
and find its way downward
into the heart of the moon?

where a memory of that ancient collision
remains buried in the bones of her lunar body
that awful planetary cataclysm that birthed her
and split the primordial union with her mother?

It’s amazing how long a hard rock
can go without water

It’s amazing what water can do
given enough time

For now, a crater is as deep as one can go
with no doorways to knock upon

Sky Flower

IMG_3888A giant flower blooms
in the garden of the sky

One bold blossom
pollinates the land
out of pure devotion

no fragrance
no color
nor petals possessed

yet offers fullness and flow
and a sermon on change
and powerful secret things
Like shadows and tides within
as a gift
to The Landed Ones

There’s no escape:

The light penetrates
Even among the weeds
Moonbeams bounce
from blade to blade
Flushing out hidden things
and pulling at deepest currents
Where stagnant blood begins to stir

Tell me, whose pulse does not quicken?

No, there’s no hiding
Only standing in awe
to receive the blessing
of Sky Flower
In your blood
letting it circulate through

The Habits of Sunset Moonrise

img_2228Recently I find myself adopting an evening ritual. Taking my pillow and blanket down to the beach before sunset, I change out of my shorts into long pants and lay down to read and write. Tonight it was the beautiful masterpiece Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams and the jotting down the beginnings of a poem about being bumped by a whale. So many poignant passages in Refuge:

“I am slowly, painfully discovering that my refuge is not found in my mother, my grandmother, of even the birds of Bear River. My refuge exists in my capacity to love. If I can learn to love death then I can begin to find refuge in change.”

The full moon stands up in the east, the epitome of change, the later summer sun reclines to the west. Seagulls soar and sandpipers scurry, while sand flies feast on rotting seaweed.

As it floats under the horizon, I add layers and sit up to meditate. Sometimes I can, sometimes not. Tonight I ‘fail’ after a few minutes.

But I do notice how this ocean seems to somehow simultaneously embody change and permanence, stillness and motion. I think this is the same ocean I saw up north earlier this summer. 🙂

Sometimes it is too powerful for me to handle. I’m a man of the mountains and forest and cornfields, not waves. I confess, it’s a mystery to me.

Yet I realize now that everything waves.

But lately it is soothing. It washes out all that is still too rigid in me. Then I change once again into sleeping clothes and climb into the car for the night, the eye of the moon shining down on me, a silent collaborator.

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Snow Moon Stone (La Luna Llena #6)

InstagramCapture_70c221de-d993-4166-8095-f4bb23c7d893_jpgtonight you are
a solitary nomad,
a snow moon stone
practicing stillness
strolling through
a clear winter sky

nothing to hinder
your celestial sojourn

the cold heaven is yours
commanding the earth’s
attention

even your closest friend, Venus,
dances deferentially
a fair distance away
mesmerized

your itinerary
doesn’t include
detours to this wet
planet

but I sometimes wonder if
you ever succumb to
lunar loneliness
and seek affection from
creatures of the earth

Or it enough to know
that you pull
the tides up over their heads
like a blanket?

Though your native tongue
is soft-spoken
and your skin is soft and grey
you speak a luminescent lingo
loud enough to wake the owls
and evoke the howls
of canis lupus

you dress in flowing glows
bright enough to illuminate
the darkest pockets of
Deep Winter

Pull Up the Turnips: Micropoems from February Week 2-3

Each week I harvest a few small poems and haikus I wrote inspired by writing prompts (such as @microprompt on Twitter). This week’s are mostly haikus, because it’s National Haiku Writing Month! #NaHaiWriMo

turnips 2016.jpgbruised peach sunset with
magnolias in full bloom
commuter train howls


pull up the turnips
rap the brassica rapa
roast with rosemary


quiet clouds drift with
egret under mauve sunset
flow and stillness dance


life in the office
a clickety clackety
I can’t find the trees


if only you would
speak the language of silence
I’d understand you


literate turtle
knows many languages, but
not my native tongue


a strange sensation
I can’t feel her anymore
she went to china


darting to and fro
my curious colibri
might have A.D.D.


hello waxing crescent:

a sly sliver moon
cheshire gato grinning
what is your secret?


Primary season
winter of our discontent
love and fear wrestle