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

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.

making friends with dirt

             there is fire in dirt.      see it swim.     remember half that’s unseen.

             fragments, they gather themselves.     stories laid on a plate.

             dirt is a wolf waiting its turn.


just wait.   patience will reveal a face.

in a dragon-dream dragons are far more
flexible, threaded well.   carefully whimsical.

a head may be nothing more than one
sidewise glance.   no flame ignited.

if you wondered, red is where I’m going,
yellow is what I’ve already eaten.
     nothing is now a mystery.

     a father, a mother, want being known.

     dragons too.


it is the desk.   it is the lamp.   the lamp is turned on right now.
it is the stack of three books.   thesaurus on the table behind and left.
it is the pen.   it is the ink.   it is also a luminescent screen.
       this movie I see.   even like, right now I am.   a movie I mean.
I am this big.   two hands held this-much apart.   that much.
see?   got a match.   responding to a change in scenery.   please,

warm me up like one white star.   just enough, the bear, she says.



I like dirt.   dirt feels comfortable.   in my hands, seems a natural of way to be.
       like rocks are, you know.

as a kid, I had a simple rule about clothes.   if you couldn’t sit in the dirt, stand up, brush yourself off, be alright.   then your clothes were too fancy to wear.
       OK, a boys rule, fair to probably say.
think my feet have grown too far from dirt.   barefoot as a child.   dirt, burrs, twigs, rocks, no matter.   now, not for love nor money.   well… maybe love.

under-rated I think.   starting from nothing, tell me please
how would you make dirt.

       god had that problem once upon a time.


sometimes you know, dragons like to roll in the dirt.
       can you detect their smile.

alright sometimes dragons look like a dog.   good boy, you roll in that dirt.

sometimes a cat, both house and wild, sensibilities shared.
dirt has a scent of prayer you know.   ripe.

maybe a bird, some do, or a badger perhaps.

sometimes me.

       or a big ol’ pile of leaves, that will do.
       words are a lot like dirt.   a lot like leaves.

best if you get a running start.   crossing my fingers, means it’s true.

image: Zen in November #1, Laura Bloomsbury PoetryPix
a very worthwhile collection of poetry and masterful photography.
image used with her kind permission (and my big thanks!)

please do be sure to click on the header image above, else you’ll miss something really good.   (I know some folks don’t.   so this time, do.)

still don’t like question marks.   no excuse.

I am this much

     it could be any afternoon
I am a poem.   so are you.

I stand alone.   you stand beside me here.

I am a book.   I write words.   I mean more than that.

I am an only son.   I am first.   I am last.

I am a student on a yellow bus.

I was young.   I have memory.   I remember you.

I remember loving you.   true, for better, for worse.

I do the best I can.   seriously.

I refuse to fight.   past and present tense.

I drove a red pickup truck.   I smile when I can.

I have rescued people.   I’ve been rescued.

I am older than before.

I am broken inside.

I love.   I eat.   I sleep.   my life.

I swim.   the ocean is one home.

I am the center of a universe.   one of them.

I am the salt in my blood.

I sleep both more and less than I might.

I am a friend.   I am loyal.   I’m not the best.

I try to be who I am.   I am me anyway.

I am tall.   I am short.

I am soft spoken.   I am persistent.

I endure.   for now.

I love you.   that is the best of me.   of all of us.

I remain.   I will go away.

I love you.   I have nothing better to say.


another reason for light

Principles of Structural Chemistry
a leaf is the way a tree grows a glove.

they lay on the grass, side by side.

telling one from another is more desire
              than composition.
we are all gatherings of light,
look see, bubbles, that’s what we are.

bubbles with shells all the way around.

the concept beauty is inside the eyes.
we look around to find it, like we do

old thoughts.       old buildings.
much the same.       some of them gone.

you don’t expect when things change.
they change like choice, bigger than me.

lanterns.       flames follow wind.       light
follows that.

an explanation would be, being blind.
instead.       gratitude.

a thousand thousand lights.

another day.       and you.

another moon.


matters much


the Dalai Lama told me so.

do I think it matters, but not for me.

no question marks.   not empirical.

a process of relationship.   like

the moon, the earth, like sky, like

my hand.   like a white butterfly.

shall I worry for the trail thirty

minutes behind me now.   will

I return.   would it be the same.

the better wish, will it remember

me.   as I now remember, there.
I used to be as big as the universe.

and will be, again.   no fare,


it’s all gone inside.   that’s the part

the Dali Lama said to me.

in a dream, didn’t I say.   just like

right now.   loving you.
there, that’s the part I always want

to keep.
in his honor

His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet


a deal with Chaos

          my god, there are stars inside.
these hands, they foster doubt.   don’t stand too close.

pointing the path where we meet.   coincident.

reconciliation needs must pause until.   contemplate.

no, not lonely being apart.   lies.   like this.

where have all the flowers gone,

          they sang.   a strangers voice.   a crowded bus.

          each ticket buys a memory.   recursively.

here, on a mountaintop, this much closer to you.

          a myth I tell myself.

not unhappy, standing alone.   more lies.   like this.

trade for half a candy bar.   sweet teeth.

camel-hair smells like dog when wet.

sometimes a blanket, call this shadow home.

no doubt about what’s left behind,

          one birdhouse and

          something else.

but I forget.    that’s the deal.


how a butterfly feels



              feels like dying, being alive.
    this poem, what did it look like when
    it was a first birth.   not a question.

              stepping stones.   after all.
    here there is a room.   there is a desk.
    four walls and a roof.   oh yea, a floor for my feet.

              wonder.   is a pinnacle.

    it’s the second floor above.   desktop, two arms reach.
    garden where there isn’t roof.   letters under fingertips.

    a fence, a gate.   sometimes snow.   listening.
              all I mean.
              it is more than me.
    a road, feet on stone.   quietly.

    random noises.   make far and near.   I’m not the center.
              even when it feels that way.
    these raining words, more kind than me.   more better.
    more stronger.      more loving.

    more astonished.

    mostly so.   that they find my fingers eagerly.
    it is a blessing.    after all.


closing your eyes

water like blood.

at night there are rocks we can’t see.   we may run right up to them
     and embrace.          (mariners take heed)

here, even in the middle of night, the middle of nothing,
it continues to lap the shore.   we listen.   we feel.   wondering.
     rhythm is our bones.

gratitude in a spoon

to feel a breath includes some pain.   gratitude.
to feel these legs includes some pain.   gratitude.

these fingers, they’re not like before.   gratitude.

these thoughts, they recall being shy.   gratitude.

memories, so many with no smile.   too few of you.   gratitude.
snow on the ground, a beauty I keep apart.   gratitude.

to feel apart from you, too common, found.   gratitude.

of intentions, a shallow pool.   gratitude.

of strength to lend a hand, remote.   gratitude.

of desire, a bowl facing down.   gratitude.

of possible.   looking with both eyes.   unfound.


tell me now, what gratitude is.
my teacher said faith includes doubt like this.

doubt, not a foreigner.   faith, an open door.
wasn’t my first guess, but gotta say,

seems right looking now.
     then sleep.   water will be like eyes.


writing meditation

                            does ordinary count?
how’s that look?   no crossed legs.
       go ahead.
       scratch that itch.   no rules.

       listen.   yea, do that.
under the carpet.   right where I stand.   no Tibet.

hidden in plain sight?   no.   in front of my face.
       hidden, same as is the sky.

eyes closed.   that’s how I hide myself.
mouth open.   waiting for words to arrive.   taller than me.
thoughts circle.   eating their tails.   pleading thoughts.
but here’s one choice.

       let go.

       same like falling is.   same like flying is.

better grace.   knowing how to find my self.
better.   finding me inside my stance.
nothing to do.  nothing, already arrived.

empty space has a face.

       yours, I recognize.

pointless.   elliptical.   listening.
appreciation grants harvesting.
       prescribed, she says to me.

am I audible?

that’s my prayer.
no matter.    but yes.

I remember now.    loving.    you.

2022.12.24 r 1