Autumn Aspens

The breeze whispers,  

"Come on, I have a secret  

For you, Little Brother." 

I hike over a ridge. 

"Aye que Bonita!" 

The aspens wave their little hands.  

I hike into an aspen grove. 

They click their tongues  

And giggle when I enter.  

"He sees us," an aspen says.  

"He knows," says another.  

"Be with us," they say in unison. 

"Breathe in our charm, 

Relish in our beauty. 

Acknowledge your own." 

I stand in the grove. 

Happy. All smiles.  

They click their yellow tongues, 

"He hears us.  

He is turning yellow, too." 

I bow in gratitude. 

I walk out of the grove  

Glowing yellow.  

I am happy.

Walking In the Forest Darkness

I have walked in the forest darkness

That stole every nuance of light,

And inhaled all evidence of shadow.

My hand outstretched,

Waiting for something,

Anything that might

Crash, cut, or bruise my body.

My feet stepped on dirt, and rocks, and leaves

With caution as they sent ripples

Of blind butterflies banging

And clanging the interior

Of my gut.

How could a forest eat all the light?

How could a forest collaborate

With the clouds to steal even the tiniest

Wisp of starlight from the sky?

My ears opened their eyes

But they were so small

And so unused to being used

For seeing

That they were almost,

Not completely, just almost

Useless as I

Walked in the forest darkness

Near Speck Pond, Massachusetts in 1974.

Grandma Catalina's funeral

Grandma Catalina's Funeral: 

I was 5-years-old

When I went to my Grandma's funeral 

In the little town of Bernalillo, 

In the Land of Enchantment, 

New Mexico, 

USA.

I remember standing 

Next to my aunt Lourdes, 

At  Our Lady of Sorrows

Catholic church.

 

She held my hand

As I watched the priest 

Sprinkle holy water on 

My grandma's coffin, 

And then he sprinkled 

Holy water on

The congregation.

 

A single drop 

Landed 

On my tia Lourdes's 

Nose. 

That drop gave me a 

Glistening wink

While it just hung 

On the tip of her nose 

Without dripping off.

 

I watched

And waited 

For it to fall.

But it just continued

To hang and 

Wink.

  

I wondered 

Why

My tia Lourdes

Did not 

Wipe 

It 

Off. 

The Good Lord's Work

A kilt wearing Irishman
Gulped a swig of Guinness
While he sat next to me

In an Irish pub nearby.

"Would ye be knowing," he said,

" 'tis not healthy

For a man to wear pants."
He took another swig
Of his dark brown Guinness.

"And squish those precious jewels

That God gave him?"

I wanted to reply,
But I didn't know what to say.

He dismounted his barstool

Put his hands on his hips

And jutted his chin
To make his point.
"The good Lord, didn't make 'em

To swing

In a hanging basket

So ye could wrap 'em

In tight suffocating pants."

I threw my hands up.
"What am I supposed to do.
I can't run around naked."

He held his big belly

And laughed with a sneer.

"Would ye be knowing

Where to buy you a fine kilt

In this here town?
If ye do,
Buy one.
And don't insult the good Lord's work
By stuffing yer jewels

In ball squshing panties."

I wear my kilt from time to time,

And I don't wear panties

When wearing it.
I wouldn't want to insult

The good Lord's work.

Music

MUSIC

Rhythms and beats

Flow over and through me,

Opening my eyes

And heart

To the beauty

All around

And in me,

Enticing me to dance

To the music of life.

Chirping birds, a baby's coo,

A dog's bark, and a cat's meow

Join the voices and guitars,

Violins and drums,

Saxophones and cellos,

Playing the sometimes tragic,

Sometimes delightful,

Symphonies of life,

Enticing me to dance

To the music

And live my life

Full and wide.

Why the hell should I be grateful?

Why the hell should I be grateful?

There is so much pain and so much strife.

I feel like I've been suffering all my life.

But when I look in the eyes of my mate,

When the morning sun shines me awake,

And illuminates the entire room,

I remember

to move the I

In my question and say,

“That is why the hell

I should be grateful.”

I am grateful when I hear her words

That are filled with wit and charm

That make me feel loved and warm.

I am grateful that she challenges me

A better person to be.

I don't always like it

It sometimes feels unkind

But a better person I am

When I open my mind.

And when it opens I see

So many things in me

That I am grateful for.

From my head to my toes

I see that it is my life that glows

When I am grateful for everything,

And anything that comes my way.

And now I can say,

"That is why the hell

I should be grateful."

FIRE SPIRIT

I am grateful for Fire Spirit.

He is alive in

Candle fire,

Camp fire,

And fire in the fireplace.

Fire Spirit is powerful

And gentle.

He is the driving energy

Of life.

Fire cooks our food,

And Keeps us warm

On cold winter nights.

Fire Spirit can rage,

Destroying whole cities.

But, when fire lights a candle,

The wax and wick

Allow Fire Spirit

To warm our soul

Gently and sweetly.

When Fire Spirit sways

And dances

In a campfire,

In a fireplace,

Or above a candle,

He is inviting us

To watch,

To be calm,

To just be.

To be in the moment,

The present moment

Calming the fire

That sometimes

Rages within us.