DO NOT BE ASHAMED

of the sunrise that makes you cry

of the warmth you feel in your blood

when the clouds divide

themselves into sunlight

over the lake.  

Do not be ashamed of your heart 

and the way it breaks

in grief when you see the carnage

we cause in other countries

Do not be ashamed of the joy 

you feel at the skipping child's glee

or of the tantrums

you throw when life leaves you tired or stressed.

This is natural.

These are not things to cause you shame, Rather,

these are the vital signs of the living,

the green and brown and gold leaves

of your life,  the nails in the door of your days

that make you human

and ensure that are still feeling

in a world that scoffs at love and kindness of any hue.

DECEPTIVE HANDS (ON THE EDGE OF THIS LIFE AND THAT) - WIP

though much happens

in this life

to like

to love

to enjoy

to savor

the prayers

for my 

selfish desires

go largely 

unanswered

by a god

who seems ambivalent

preoccupied

or just too busy

with sandwich and poker game

to get back to me

even

my own actions

(as halting as they are)

betray me

and stab me

in the back

with their deceptive 

hands

and sneer at me

with that insincere smile.

SAN DIEGO RAIN

There's never much rain here

so we're grateful

for the stuff we get.  

The clouds collect

in the sky, gray and angry, 

as if startled or annoyed by

their own presence.  

There's nothing wrong

with seventy seven degrees

nine-tenths of the year.  

But watching the unexpected

deluge peppering our streets,

our cars, and the roofs 

of our homes, it looks To be

some kind of beacon,

a strange signal, a portent, 

not wholly ominous, 

that the world is no longer 

what we think. 

A SONG TO CALL MY OWN

                        after Wendell Berry

I ignore the coyote cry

in the wild

step past the yellow leaf

that should be my salvation

here in November.

It has yet to dawn on me,

however, that I want 

for nothing, everything 

I need is here.

Yet I look to the moon for answers

and curse the silent sky

for its mute indifference.

Though I think I need more,

the truth is, I have what I need:

a roof, some bread, a song

or two to call my own

when the last day dawns

and the birds make it home.