free moose

I am moose.

I belong to trees.   I belong to hills.
I belong to god.   god made me moose.
      god set me free.

      but not alone.

I walk in the river.   a river made of Light.
me and Light, we are only a blink distant apart.

Light feeds on seeing me.
I am brown.   I am tall.   I have four limbs
      sprouting feet like stones.
Light follows.   gives breath a shadow leaning
      into purpose, like being alive.

as well mother, gravity.   she loves me
like trees, like dirt, like stars.   all night long.
      even in the day, even when we’re blind.

wolves and bears, others sometimes, rarely,
maybe, even you.   you eat me sometimes.
      no fault.   I love, all the same.

Light brought us here.   Light breathes like tide.
      shadow mirrors our direction home.

there is Light inside sky
there is Light inside water
there is Light inside trees, inside grass, inside rocks
there is Light inside a moose.

when there is shadow, Light is near.   no fear.

when you say Light, does Light hesitate.

I am who I am meant to be.   I am this poem.

I am moose inside Light.

      the deeper that sorrow carves into your being,
      the more joy you can contain.            Khalil Gibran

image:   © Delphine Margau,   Delphine Margau Art Photography, France
this image is part of her chapter/series, Under The Woods of Childhood.
kind permission granted for use of this © image.   with our thanks.

please visit her website to experience more work by this exceptional artist and photographer.   her work is also shown on the Edge of Humanity arts website.


                 Under The Woods of Childhood

      What is hidden in the depths of the soul will come to the surface
                                              one day or another.

      Go a little deeper, in the dark, that’s where the light is. If you
           are afraid, then go ahead. Go and join the waiting child.

           Delphine Margau


a John Steinbeck kind of day

don’t care.   I’m happy anyway.   beautiful.

am I tired of this view?   nope.   gonna happen here again and again.

some poems are made from water and rocks and sky.   just like this.

I’m willing to read forever.

MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.


w r i t i n g   b l i n d

          she said it herself, leaning in.

      imagine the most endearing poem you’ll ever receive.
      this wants to be exactly like that.     like being found
      just when you were certain of being far and lost.
      imagine that.         I am.


what if we cautioned you this poem might leap off the page?

would you add extra milk and eggs to your grocery list?

      what if we left this middle intentionally blank?
      will you grant this grace?
      will you understand?
      will you sympathize, conspire with us?
      just go along for the ride?
      forget what you were doing here anyway?

      perhaps this really is your poem after all
      and you’re just a flinch away from everything
      coming back beyond slight of hand.

      soon you’ll be asking for your favorite pen,
      asking for your old writing hat.

      close your eyes.   go ahead, begin to write.

      this ink might become invisible any moment now!

what if it rained and your umbrella was out of town?
would you remember you came from the sea?

close your eyes.    taste summer salt.

close your eyes.    write my face.

reprise:  originally published 23 July 2011 in a slightly different format and text.   there’s also some comment conversation about how poems breathe.

some things aren’t done just ’cause we think they are.   this one wanted to raise its hand again.   who am I to be saying no.

my thanks to Margo, Irene, Elizabeth.

post script

what else?   I was going to use this image one more time, something more of past and present I feel, but then, maybe that would be too much bread on the table.   so now.   this here, instead.

this ceramic face mask was one of many by a French artist, exceptional.   I gave coin for this, very many years ago, in a climate far more temperate than now & here.   it is to me, life-size, life-like.   I like the theme, the notion of emerging, but it is more personal than merely art.   in those days of loneliness, this face was maybe a friend, or could be, and near enough to be close to me.   imagine a lover.   I could.   as near as one kiss.   so it does not merely hang on my wall, it hangs inside my heart.   would that I could write a poem to be such a friend to you.   then some resonate voice over my shoulder might lean in and whisper, well done my son.   I would be home again.

imagine this is a poem just like that.


      what makes me who I am.

I love this motion, approaching you.   unchanging,
      my dear heart.   standing still.

your feathers like wheat stubble on your skin.   here
      I lay down, no more thought.   gratitude.
      you nourish me.
sweetness, how my feet know the touch of you.
      nothing comforts me more.

one thumb can say it all.   new language, here
      you teach to me.   whisper me.

      raining me.   head over heels.

I tumble.   then here I am, this close to you.

you make me real.   like sky.   I am filled.

embracing me.
image:   via Bridgette Tales, 52 Photo Challenge, Week 8 – Negative Space,
        and used with her kind permission.    please click image to enlarge.
yes, more like water than you might think.   (patience please)

AMA – a short film by Julie Gautier

lunar disambiguation


          out past sky.

moon.   moon didn’t make her reflect that second face.

reaching out to gather Light was already like falling.     falling into wind.

looking up.   looking up.   someone said they were stars.

color the shape of ruby in a sea.   dare risk the farther edge.

      world made the color of her sleep.

thus momentum,

making lures the shape of Light.   see them defy gravity.

rising up.   rising up.

          the lyric sense of you.   second lingering.

take the shape she remembers now.

          insistence an undervalued attribute.   oh gravity.

take the shape of Light on a clouded afternoon.

                    why did I ever let go.

another radiant wing.
but most.   most what I remember is

          the scent of you.

          I’d know you in the dark.

analytic geometry and calculus


I know who told me to turn the radio down or to take the garbage out to the trash.   I know who told me what they want at the grocery store.

I know what the weatherman said.   what to wear that day.

I even remember scratches of what they said in school way way back then.
analytic geometry and calculus, for one.   I was proud of that, even though all I could remember was the name.

       but here’s a question.
who told the atoms how to dance?

       are they happy, do you think.


HRP32A 40 Inch Liquid Hydrogen Bubble Chamber, SLAC

images: a) bubble chamber image of atomic particles, b) hydrogen atom,
c) SLAC bubble chamber.

science folk are very clever folks.   SLAC, Stanford Linear Accelerator Center, Palo Alto, California.   a bubble chamber is a bathtub-like device filled with liquid hydrogen kept under pressure so it won’t boil away.   high-energy particles are then fired into the chamber where they can interact with the hydrogen nucleus.   simultaneously the pressure is reduced allowing the particles to leave a trail of boiled gas bubbles in their wake.   cameras take pictures from three points of view to later be able to calculate the three-dimensional path of each particle.   the chamber is repressurized, ready for the next event.   then the physicists go away and ponder what was seen.   I’m no physicist but I did work there for several years doing the grunt work to categorize and measure the millions of images produced.

think of it as a giant meditation machine.   listening to the universe.

moon rings

          wear me on your finger like a moon.

a center of the universe is inside one dream.   a dream is a cloud.

       begin breathing.   inhale.   set free.   evaporate.

           repeat.    counting this one here.

           say aloud, who you want to be.
        is my life not poem enough.   meditate.   repeat.

        repeat, till truth reveals itself.   it will.   it does.
ten fingers is because one might forget itself.   ten toes too.

when you’re in orbit, it’s not destination that counts.   swimming is.
       head down.   then up.   take a breath.

keep Sun to your shoulder.   tethered Light.   by your lonesome
       wandering becomes the chosen fate.
one poem to read.   one minute and twenty-four seconds.
I am changed.   willingly.   I smile inside my face.

vision at night is granted by a reflecting Moon inside Monterey Bay.
       shimmering.   I’m fond of that water word.

a murmur of crest & cousin trough.   threads keeping me blind company.
       I miss that water.   late at night I leave that window open
       to play for me while I sleep.   better dreams for open ears.
here I am.   on one knee.

I do the best I can, double spaced

living with the bay

look.   otters I’ve seen, swimming the bay.

who will remember for me when I walk away.

out the window each day.   more fresh.

I remember me.   maybe that was my job all along.
I likely see what you don’t see.   an easy eye.

I know which dark spots to follow on.   where an otter swims.

they don’t need me holding them up.   but I do, anyway.
I feel like being underwater.   but the water can’t be seen.

just me, just some sand.   feet kissing where it’s wet.
write that in the sand.   please.
MBA webcam views of Monterey Bay used with permission.
please visit and/or support the Monterey Bay Aquarium.   
they make the ocean more alive.   us too.

please do enlarge the header image.


sweet scent

sweet sound

sweet taste

sweet touch

sweet Light
sweet shape
sweet gravity
sweet sky

      surrounding embracing breathing in

      no shadows, no lines, no other than me
              sweet curve