What

Have ears to hear
eyes to see
and the heart to listen

‘Daddy”
“What?”
Young eyes are guileless
Sincere questions
get
sincere answers

“Dad”
“What!”
Her eyes were wide open
Surprise, surprise
means
shock and awe

“Pops”
“Whaaat!?”
His eyes were glaring
raging outrage
needs
measured response

“Papa”
“Whattt?!”
Older eyes stare intently
Inciting incites
make
authentic truth

“Old man”
“what”
The mirror reflects tired eyes
Looking back
shows
what’s looking back

The heart that listens
has ears that see
and eyes that hear.

Streets of San Francisco

What goes up,
must come down.

Obvious but not easy,
unappealing and so hard,
indeed, for sure, a daunting walk,
that’s the rub.

An unfaltering brisk pace,
that’s unlikely to happen:
difficult climbs and descents.
exhaust me.

What’s the point of the steep grade?
Going up is a tiring task!
Going down is a forced run!
Why, then why?

Climbed with effort and without respite,
these hills: make pilgrims worthy:
for they reveal buena vistas,
real realms realized.

Tie a String Around My Finger

Don’t forget to remember

Drink the moon shine
Walk in delight
Quaff the lunar twilight

See the wind whine
Move without flight
Behold the Light’s soundbite

Hear the bud sign
Catch the sunlight
Listen to the bees’ plight

Smell the tree line
Stroll with the height
Sniff the branches’ bark blight

Feel the sea’s rhyme
Float on tide’s might
Touch the wave’s foaming white

Remember to remember

The Eyes Have It

I really do hate the double standard;
I’d rather be held to a high standard

“All you need is love” our hearts do acclaim;
but, familiarities our tight lips defame.
Our fear of intimacy is a shame.

Indeed, our souls espouse equality;
but, our thoughts betray with duplicity —
ironic confidentiality.

On the one hand, let me give you a hand;
on the other hand, I do need a hand.
We are so afraid to walk hand in hand.

In my heart, I must choose to take your side;
but often, I decide to not reside.
To get along, I must work side by side.

My hopes include that someone has my back;
and, too true, what happens behind my back —
unhappily cannot be taken back.

When I’m stuck in the labyrinth riddle,
the only way to get to the middle
is to turn around at the eye of the needle.

Lead with the heart and the soul will follow.
Lead with the head and the soul will fallow.
Heartfulness is wisdom’s soulful fellow.

While peering through my windows of the soul,
I accept the view of another’s soul

Salt of the Earth

They would rub salt in the wound;
they say to promote healing.
The burning is awful, though,
it makes my injuries throb.

Regardless of its success,
the remedy hurts, as much,
if not more, than the wounding.
Yes, the pain is intense and
makes me acutely aware
of the affliction’s deepness.

Topically applied, salt
is absorbed through unhealed sores;
and, it really, really hurts.
Literally, salt re-wounds,
it penetrates like a knife;
and, I just can’t help flinching.

Ironically, salting
is care without real concern
for the person’s well-being.
Paradoxically, salt
is sometimes self-inflicted;
and, I must abide the bite.

Metaphorically, it’s:
rub my nose in it at worst.
take my medicine at best;
Allegorically, it
pierces my poor damaged soul;
and, I must endure the ache.

Rubbing salt has no mercy —
adds insult to injury;
and, there’s no protection —
what don’t kill; makes me stronger.

Dim the Din

Deafening silence
defies demanding.

Dwell in the moment,
doubt not the Word, with
discernment is clad.

I am not searching,
I am travelling
with friends commingling.

Demurred distractions
Dismissed – be still, a
delicate voice speaks.

Past informs present —
Listen with intent
and silent assent

Duped not by “owned”, I,
despite the “story”,
dissent for our Us.

Watch for openings,
embrace the goings,
enjoy the comings.

Deliberate words
determine my here,
define my how, now.

Divine disposing
directs me calmly.

Taste and See

Welcomed at table;
there on your behalf.
I feel the joys double;
my sorrows are half.

I take a deep breath;
and, gulp with gusto
the taste of life and death;
I see the way to go.

Curbing tongue uncouth;
I silently respond:
taste to taste the truth’s Truth,
see to see beyond.

Without “let it be”;
I wallow in fear.
Alas, ears do not see;
my eyes do not hear.

Tasting makes things sweet,
the scene becomes clear,
heartened heart skips a beat,
the soul holds the fear.

Slowly, I swirl it,
an acquired taste –
No aftertaste to spit,
Nothing left to waste.

My lips speak clearly,
my tongue states solely,
my life lived dearly,
my love loved wholly.