Rock Work

Rock solid. Stone cold. Heavy. Hard.
And the most plentiful substance on earth.
Stone cold, solid rock. Or maybe incendiary ash, or molten lava, shifting sands.
Tectonic plate. Continental shelf. Mountain peak.
Butte. Precipice. Cliffs of Dover. Rock of Gibraltar. Sugar Loaf.
What is rock, but the facial features and bold character of this planet we live on?

Limestone. Granite. Shale. Marble. Agate. Jade. Obsidian.
Arrowheads and spear tips. Clubs and forts and the ammo of catapults.
Crash the gates. Steal the gold.
Diamonds. Amethyst. Amber.
Coal. Charcoal. Carbon.
Sediment. Fossil. Coral reef.
Life. Death. Stone.

What is rock, but ancient memory preserved for ages to come?
Recorded. Set in stone.
Past, present, future.
We live. We die.
Generations of ancestors and progeny are but fleeting thoughts.
Civilizations rise and fall. All in the tick tock of rock rubbing stone.
Life forms come and go.
Rock—the witness. Doesn’t care. Stone cold. Unforgiving silent monitor of Soul.

Why do I love working with stone?
Pick. Hammer. Shovel.
Chisel. Mortar. Trowel.
Shape. Stack. Set.

Roads and walkways.
Steps and walls and monuments.
Columns, coliseums & domiciles.
Lintel, arch, beam and buttress.
Bridges, fountains, statues, cathedrals.
Sculptured art museum.
Easter Island, Egypt, Atlantis.
Druids, aliens, slave.
Past, present – Soul.

My body aches from lifting and hauling and placing. But I love working with stone.
Brick and block. Concrete, cement. Sand and water.
Life and death and stone.
Soul on a planet of rock. Shocking, but true.
Solid and liquid and gas.
Matter and energy. Space and time.
And stone.
The elementals collude.
Earth and air. Fire and water.
And always, the Spirit, the stone
And Soul.
There is a plan. Can I know it?
All biological life is merely changing fashion for stone.
We are fleeting.
In this world, but not of it.
Buddha. Arjuna. Lai Tsi.
Jesus, Paul and Peter.
Popes and presidents and Czars.
Dictatorships, republics.
Communist, fascist, socialist.
Democracy, freedom. Enslavement.
Chaos and disorder. Revolution.
Greed and gold.
Power and fear.
Love.

The planet and stone and Soul.
I love working with stone.
And as the body toils, the mind works through every possible solution.
Level and plumb. Pitch and camber. Pressure and balance.
Thought provoking. Stone.
Rock work. The means to time travel.

Which great-grand ancestor was the mason? Who taught me this?
Was I the master, the slave? The climber? The miner?
I built a retaining wall last Saturday. And inlayed some brick along the front walk. Lots to do yet before the project is complete. But I love the work. Rock work.

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Ocean Blessing Desert

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Ocean doesn’t know this desert’s hope.
Yet every storm is of the current
Caressing hills and valley rich—
Giving life before depletion
In its distant crossing.
Rare the rain
That blesses here.
Maybe this spring, or next.
I await your touch, your kiss.
And tomorrow’s new sea blooming.
Blues, gold-yellow, scarlet, orange.
And green as valley’s summer.
Sweet days of life renewal—
Your love and blessing.
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Rain Dance

It hasn’t rained in too long here. They say it is a record. But I, and my garden, fear not . . .

Rain Dance

I know how to make it rain
And it’s never failed yet
Takes a talent
All but the arrogant can learn
Rain dance of determination
Barefoot and free
Naked if you don’t have a better dress
Fresh from the store
Or a raincoat for sure
If you can’t
First stand alone
When you’re out in a crowd
Shout out your song
Without breaking silence
Except to those with the ears
Listen to the ancients
Hear the word of your soul
Understand the ocean
The sun, and the sky
And the spirit of creation
That made them and we
Every tree and seed
And bird that sings there
For shelter and food
And rain.
There is a rhythm that links us
A connecting chord
Strike it once with imagination
Pluck it twice. Anticipation
See the clouds approaching
Forming from thin air
There is nothing like
A storm front
Of love.
Live like the sky is the cover
Warming just you and every lover
For soon the wind is a tempest
to carry the scent of parched soil
Being quenched and satisfied.
Boughs of oaks lift their leaves
Exposing their undersides—white
Petticoats of no shame
Saying, Take me!
There’s only one chance left
Before the rain
Open your arms in adoration
Open your heart to this blessing
Your mind to the knowing
There’s just one force
Of love.
Rain feeds the leaves and the grass
Rain feeds the furrowed fields
And my brow
That once doubted
The power
Of love.
Feeds the rivers with creeks
The creeks with rivulets
The dripping, not stopping
Dropping from dark clouds
Coalesced from white wisps
Out of thin air
And seeded by love
All feeding the ocean
Of mercy.
Fed by all rivers, all souls
Sky is the height of my reason
Love is eternity
And rain.

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