Radiance

Photo by Dave Larson



...always.

In the darkest hour
those that did not hide
from the light
realized that freedom
cannot be curtailed by the forces of darkness.
And others have not yet experienced
the darkest hour
for they know light
always prevails.
Light is within.
Dark forces.
Light shines...
and always.

Good Day!


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Pecan Pie

I had a piece today. Pie -- so good. And I couldn't help comparing some experiences.

There are two ways to have a piece of pecan pie.
Served on fancy plate dishes
floral and gilt-edged
with a silver fork.
Cut the tip bite-size
nut-half wedge first bite
sweet and rich the taste
recalling every past pecan pie.

Or cut a slice with a butter knife
finger-morsels and crumb-dripping
ooze-- oh!-- on a napkin if your lucky
but palms and more fingers is fine
and in mouth-size bites
three of four in all
to tongue-watering reception
by instinct of textures
dissolving, sliding
to the being of sated joy
before the crust flakes
of butter-baked
and melting made happy
by pecan pie.

There are two ways of making love
and eating pecan pie.

--ak 12/18/08
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Flying Kite

Sometimes poets and philosophers are lumped together and venerated. Or by others -- ridiculed as out of touch with the real world. There is truth everywhere. And we all have our own version. . . .

Philosophy -- not so!
Poetry -- So!
And common sense.
Give me a windstorm anytime
and paper and people.
Leave the moral surmising to monkeys
in the age of reason --
an ethical dilemma portending.
So I'll write the grace of flying kite.
String and ink are two thin lines to being.
Strong and taut. Long and flexible.
Poetic in rhythm and flow
to an audience coated,
with ears.

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With You

When she walked out of the room, there was a slight inside side kick of the right heal. I smiled within. And remembered other things that make me happy.

Know what I love?
I love the first snow
anointing my window in silence
all warm in here
with dinner in the kitchen
content this cozy hour.

And I love a toddler's first legs now walking
or running with clumsy confidence
and a light heart of freedom
like -- when I got my drivers license
kid-crazy and wild
and I lived too!

Or Josi after first day of school
serious in study with papers and books
and counting her color crayons assorted
heart of gold and bright --
knew there was so much more
than this sampling
the wisdom of ages now ahead.

And you with that dance step
in your walk
you didn't know I knew
your glee, and best of all
that we can touch and cuddle
all we want and whenever.

May be cold outside
but warm in here
with you.

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A Note from Granddad

.
When I was suffering
you gave me love
and gifts and well wishes.
.
When I was on my deathbed
your prayers of love
eased my way.
.
When I first arrived here at last
your relief and love
made me know my good fortune.
.
But your grief continues
and dampens my celebration.
.
Remembering our joy
will complete the occasion
of love and elation.
.
.

After Storm

When mind tries to take what Soul has made,
when uncertainty, stress or fear
halt the journey,
entries in its journal also cease
till there is a turning within.
Silence helps.

Okay, think.
But not too much.
Or thoughts are stopped.
Blocked. Stalled.
In spiral descending.
Opposing growth
Of cedar or pine.
Or the flight of an eagle
Soaring.
.
Time matters not
To the Eye of Light,
To the rate of waves returning,
The song of season's change.
The cliff on the cape
Forever washed by storm
And sailors dreaming.
.
The new day
Is lit by vision.
For thought
Cannot stop the sunrise
After storm.

I write. And it was a good day for Thanks.
--a
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Earth Gift

Though the leaves have almost all fallen, and snow is in the air as often as autumn leaves--beauty persists. In a morning of light and life, it was the view of the silver maple outside my window that inspired this poem. It is of Love. It is of a Divine Gift.



.
The word, HU in this piece is an ancient name for God. There is reference to it in Egyptian lore, Sufism and the religion of Eckankar and others.

Earth Gift

The breeze that animates the trees
Makes every leaf resound in resonance
And breathe. Your name
Is HU.

And then
At summers end,
Before full narrowing of light
The Sound anticipated
Almost by sense of sight.
From sun to rain and chill
A quickening of all earth life
The ring of needs yet to fill
The sounding toll before
The final bell
Is HU
Is first
And HU is last.

After the turning – slow to start
The art released, once synthesized in green,
This sweet array of dreamers' scene
Falls silent once again
Is HU
The song of silence
Light and Sound on earth
The Song of HU.

Green and yellow leaves
Of red. And white – the snow
Released. And now we know
The Gift to earth
Your name
Is HU.

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Red-Tagged Black

It came to me this morning as looked back to the polling place waiting for my wife:

One on the cross
Another on the gable
Two black crows
Also ignore my vote
As I go from church red-tagged.
Black crow. Where do I go from here?

Now as I listen to the results of polls closing, it looks like it is as I have been saying all along. Obama will take it. There will be a lot of cheer and hope. Relief for a few weeks or months.

Then . . . Same as before, but worse. Less freedom. More taxes. And war continues.

But we, as a country, get exactly what we need to take us to the next step, spiritually. And hard as that may be, the human spirit will survive. Our value is within. When the consciousness raises again to a level to recognize the call of Soul is freedom. No one will take care of us. We will learn again that we can, and we must take care of ourselves. And we will no longer allow the corrupt to make promises to do what's right while dealing with the dark side.

Love will light the truth. Keep it in your heart and lives. It is our only hope.

October Notes

Love this season. A walk, a drive. The view from windows west . . .
In just a week there was this turning. Earth warmth and rich in greens with fruit and seeded pods, to colors from a higher realm. And blest
with a new perception of your heart.

Photo by Dave Larson
Photographer's note: Sunshine streamed into this hillside grove just before I started taking pictures near Chanhassen, MN.

October Notes

Abundance rich
The senses now reflect
A revolution of heart in gold
And colors primary full unfolding
Crossing lined and rolling ways
Lies lace and jeweled by sun
The rain's first mist in touch
And yet before advance of wind
After night's chill and blessings fall
Like love notes from months past and next
Heaven's message in these leaves
To buffer winter's risk alright
Warm now with your hand
And hearts together tried
Still holding.

Waiting for Perfect Light

In contemplation this morning a scene of natural setting came to me. Not a lot of detail, but vivid in its beauty and light. I chose to paint it in haiku.

blue boat by gray dock
matching the distant hills
she waits with pastels

In selecting that last line, I thought of a friend--an artist and writer. So I visited her website and found a similar scene in her Waterways gallery. I can see her there on the bank in yellow hat.

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Relationship—The Lessons We Learn

This isn't poetry, but rather a short piece of humor from which you may detect a bit of wisdom gleaned along the lines (front lines, that is) of the battle of the sexes. That war, by-the-way, is one I do not support—though as a reporter of the human condition, I have been known to get caught up in the battle a time or two too many. And if you are a believer in reincarnation (like over 50% of the world population) you may appreciate the suggested answer to the two original questions that came to the thinking being, indeed our race. And we are still running.

Who am I? Why am I here?

If our mission were to unfold in divine blessings singularly under one God, I'm quite sure my incarnations would have been limited to a handful. But, alas, I detected another soul in my world and I uttered, or I gestured, or I reached out and touched that one. At first it was quite exciting. New and fresh. Every word, every effort was a way to improve my condition. I knew it was good by my feelings, physical—and . . . some other, undefined way. Every echo of my call. Every response to my action, were all reflections of my desire. All day long.

And the next day she said, "What about me?"

I said, "Me? I am me." And she contradicted, saying, "No. I am me."

And these words and similar went on for some time—about ten-thousand lifetimes. And finally one of us started to realize—perhaps it was the day at the still lake when she saw herself as I saw her. And she saw me, but backwards and behind her. And I've been behind her ever since in the words department.

She said, "It's all about perspective. I see you and you see me. And we are different. And we are the same. I am me, and you are you. And we are we. You see? The birds and the flowers and the bees and the trees. and my mother's great aunt…."

And I said, "Oh."

But I did see, though sometimes I had to plug my ears to do so. I saw what she saw when I realized my reflection is a good way to see what I've become.

So for some time, about a hundred-thousand lifetimes, we've been learning about the differences and likenesses of each of us. You and you, and you, and me. And you and you and you. Actually there are quite a lot of us now, and only one me.

You see, one thing we always agreed upon is how good it felt to couple. Even if only for the pleasure to me. And you, of course, as your own me. And so there continues to be a multiplying of a lot more us.

Us! That's it. We all have wants and needs and desires. And some of us started to realize that what gives you happiness also gives me happiness as well. And your happiness gives me happiness. And that mine does not take away from yours.

So with her wisdom I am starting to learn that relationship is a give and take situation. Or is it give and give? After all, it was take and take for so long. Balance is good.

Balance in relationship. That's why we're here—for the lessons learned therein. And what we really gain when we put what we have learned into practice.

Take me ahead about a million more lifetimes. I'm looking forward to when I won't have to come back anymore. I'll just stay there with you. And you and you and you. We all have hope.

in the river

.
there is
the sea that draws me
from ground spring
and forest rain
to carry its life on leaf
and rippled song -- a notion
thought of going home
becomes an urge
compelling
ocean of heart
current in this river
there it is
the sea
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New Straw

The other day, at my desk at work, for some reason I picked up a scent like none other so rich and comforting. It took me back to my boyhood on the farm. And this morning a golden glow out my morning window . . . In my journal I brought it together in verse:

New Straw

Late summer scent
New straw sweet
Cut and drying
Save morning due
The cooler nights
And now at first light
Reaching low over hills of gold
This glow and the harvest
Of my heart opening
Each new day
To love
.

I Walk

Discomfort with pen. The time almost up. It's been years since I haven't read my hour's creation. It's writers block in writers group. On Thursday night our group meets. Fresh writing for an hour, then reading. I wanted to capture the sense of peace in a forest walk. Too many false starts. But it is not to be. The flow of ink is stopped by a dull mind after long day. Resigned, I stop grasping for straws and I reach in another direction.

Then it begins . . .

I walk in the city, approaching Times Square from the direction of Madison Square Garden -- south, I believe. Hundreds of cars and cycles, taxis and trucks. Thousands of people. Black and white and colors of clothes. Suits and coats. Decked out in dress. And skinheads and dreds. Hats and backpacks on mothers-to-be.

The movement of masses. The people and traffic. Like a churning sea. The wave of human current does not wait for signal to flow, but crowds the street as a break in traffic allows. The tide forever rises and falls, not resting when gravity pulls by the cycles of earth and moon.

New York. Steel and stone. Pavement and people. Lights and song of everything industry. Culture and commerce. Theater and glow. Pulsing with arts in symphonic show. Vendor's display in windows and street. Rayon and silk. With mustard or sweet. Characters diverse. Derelict and divine. Beggars at church. Panhandle for wine. Bells and whistles and horns I hear. Cuisine, the finest. And pizza and beer.

Before I visited the city, I perceived it differently. A picture of life in fright from cramped quarters and crime. But in this walk I realize. It's all part of a much larger whole. Soul sees the higher view.

I walk toward Times Square. This too is life! And a new sense of invigoration. And control. Like I'm shooting the rapids. Or surfing the perfect storm. I am in the sea, but of the Love that gave all Life.

And at once -- a new setting. Serene. Overlooking the Pacific. On the north Oregon coast. The trail from the rain forest opens to the vista on a knoll of wind-bent coarse grass. And below -- a soft-sand beach. Unfurls in Light. The Sound. And forever -- the Sea.

I walk in peace within.

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swing rhythm in oak

A friend told of a memory and her love of pastime in swing. I put the pictures it evoked into verse . . .

rings the sitter for the boys
walks down the street to the old church
white steeple, steep steps and trees
there's an ancient oak with arms
and a rope-slung seat
that calls her
the child
and dreamer
of Pegasian adventure
beyond the shade and stars

an hour sails past then two
the child six now grown
has flown years
by swing
always to ride
by the rhythm of life
till troubles of day
turn to waves
in the light
and sky

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Barefoot and Naked

This one actually started as a sense of oneness with a usually-less-loved side of nature. I was barefoot in cut-offs and without shirt while picking raspberries. Then some nettles tuned my senses to its possibility of my discomfort. And a bee buzzed my head.

I long ago learned that bees and wasps do not attack without cause. Neither do nettles or thorny vines. And even an encounter with such elementals have purpose beyond pain. (Google bee sting therapy. Or stinging nettle therapy.) Fear is a worse affliction. Love is the antidote.

Barefoot and Naked
.
On the other side of comfort
there's a garden too
past blooms and roots
tomato red
mint scented
protected by elemental
thorn, thistle
and bumble bee.
.
As Soul I am free
don denim and leather
boot and sleeve
and long for adventure --
oh pillow and rocking chair.
.
Still barefoot and naked
on this side of me.
.

in soft velvet

.
smooth, round & purple
hiding in soft velvet leaves
first eggplant ripens
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I Will

When I was much younger, I would banish the thought.
But as I advance toward an age of retirement,
I am glad to release some of the
past importance.
Plot is so much more intricate and character fine.
What youth may not even notice
is a world of adventure, exploration
and insight.

When I am old
I will remember
the glee and song.

When I am old and wise
I will remember
the lesson of questions and sky.

When I am old and wise with white hair
I will remember
my youth and the color and the hearing
if I remember.

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My Window

It could be the first light announced by robins at dawn. Or the arbor still black in silhouette. A squirrel or neighbor's tom. Or semi versus motorcycle in distant freeway traffic. From my window I see and hear. I go there by love seat and journal. Come with me if you like.

Today in the rain
a deer looked my way
from the tree line 50 yards off.
I raised the paper in my hand
and waved to her.
White flag of peace.
Ears perk and gaze more alert
She looked south
before her fawn
came bounding closer
Then both were off
to the safety of a thicket.

In the forest
what color is
the flag of peace?

Earlier . . .

Still before storm,
and Starlings gather.
Elm and oak are occupied.
Talk in the alder is of earth and sky.
Why do we bother with thoughts of loss?
Clouds roll up into thunder heads.
And peppers ripen.

Yesterday, lifting the morning blinds to a new day, they greeted me again. A pair of crows. So often they show up as my muse and inspiration.

Two crows of consciousness
sitting on a fence
One flies right and one leaps left.
Black as a feather,
blue as the sky
While they are living,
They'll never die?

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A New Glade

.

There! The sun shines on the green wall.

Wall of the forest facade.

I see just the first bank of trees

In leaf, showy and bright.

But vision is not just of this.

Penetrating. I see.

I’ve been there before,

Beyond the facade.

I’ve walked through the layer of bright-lit green.

I’ve walked through the light.

Away from song and dance of everyday.

Into the past. The future.

And into the silence of now.

Even the rustle and twitching of unseen events

Adds to the silence of a softer hue.

Sings of a cool summer shade

And touches the glade of memory:

Your first breath in my ear.

The word before I knew

Your name.

.

I walk. I sit.

I dream and fly.

And we are together.

Beyond the facade and the song.

Till the sun’s angle changes everything.

And there is but one peace.

And love.

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