the moon for you

On a dark and quiet night, exactly thirty years ago, the moon was waxing. Poetic, I assume.

morning

We don't have long,
this darkness and I,
this aloneness
with the rain slick under the car tires.
Already the day, and it's doubts
creep toward the sill and
the kettle whistles it's song into the emptiness.
Somewhere else
I am writing without pause,
I am writing the length and depth of this body,
of this life,
it contains multitudes
and they are being counted.

hasn't slept for days

I wish I could say the words that need to be said, but alas, the Summer's swallowed them up. They were there in the thaw yet somehow were misread and prejudged. Things have cycled through as they usually do, and at times were even caught up in the mud. It's soon time to go back up the mountain, or in my case, perhaps, a little further down the coast. No matter what happens that red fired tongue shall remain the prominent fixture for the future. Lap up the love.

Here's to new life.  Here's to a new Mountain - may this new one grow large and in charge and in view of all Nature. 

how soft the gravel is this time of year and a poem by mary oliver

Spring

Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her –
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.

This is how it's going to be.

I hope.

The Best

http://allthingsd.com/20120131/neil-youngs-music-rescue-mission-video/

nature parade

i can't wait to get

back to the nature parade

you need a mentor

i could use a cafe

oh look, a sprite, a spirit

Shuffling through files for work, I come upon a kindred spirit.

Push The Button, Walk Away

True Romance is not dead, folks,

it is merely words that have been buried under images.

We, as a national community - perhaps even a global one - have forgotten about the depths of our desires.

And now we have to start again.

We must feel and not only see the world in front of us; above us; around us; in us.

Feel the love then watch it grow.

Know the love and feel the flow.

A picture is worth a thousand words.

And looks can kill.

Word up.

That is all.

Poor old Buddha turned into stone

Green tea, I assume.