Thank you, Gloria and Matt

 

A rescued puppy, a new home

In the rain, stumbling off the curb, and wandering drunkenly into the street.

Cars passing by, drivers focused on texting, not puppies.

I saw him from the distance, unsure as to what it was, this oddly small, creature,

finally realizing  his puppyhood, now striding purposely to snatch the little

creature, wet and cold, shivering.

I admit that he was quite stinky, but he was too cute to leave behind.

This puppy has found a new home, and this man has found a puppy that fills his heart.

Strummer.  A warm home, a bed, someone who loves him. So much better than a cold, wet

streetcorner.  

All good. 

 

Young women saving the world one refillable bottle at a time

I'm tired tonight, enjoying the solitude

of this little oasis in Gloria's backyard,

the Murphy bed is comfortable and art

surrounds me, all the "power on" lights

are covered, Stephen would certainly laugh.

And how glorious to be with Gloria.

We don't know how much time we have,

we must embrace each moment with all

our strength.

Reroofing the house

 

100 mph gusts in December, 

Today, first, the damning heat

85F on an April day, the sun beating down

on the crew all day.

Then, the windstorm in the night,

the crew up on the roof until I called the boss.

Get those workers off the roof!  

The hell of climate change

we continue to whistle in the dark.

The picture on the workshop wall

Through all his loves and wives,

this picture of me was always there

on his workshop wall.

I know this because he told me that

his wife didn't like it.

There was no way to remove me from 

his heart - that was the main thing.

Through alcoholism, divorce on both sides,

through the good times and the bad,

our hearts were always together,  we grew

old together, grey, our stride a bit less brisk,

children were born and left home.

grandchildren were born and fled the nest.

the holes on the four corners of this picture

got a little larger with each move.

now I have the picture, there are no 

more workshop walls,

goodbye, dear friend.

Owen's Shrine

It's still there, or is it here.

I am here, in this moment, in this sun,

next to Owen's Shrine.  Behind the rock

are layers of seeds and leaves, berries 

collected over the days that I came here 

to pray, to hope, that he would stay on 

this side of the curtain of consciousness,

in our arms.

Instead they are empty and all I have

of him on this earth is this shrine,

where I go, is it there or is it here

What scaffolding will hold today

 at its root is information. What day is it and is it a work day.

No, it says. You do not work on Tuesdays.  You will go learn to move your body in the right ways.

So that when you grow old(er), you will still stand tall and look in their eyes, challenging that which is wrong.

And then what?  That is for the climber to discover.

My son, his puppy, and Bella

Cali races to catch Bella, my son at her side

his feet not even touching the ground,

he's free from worries and responsabiliites,

in this moment that his body launches into the air.

there is only the sound of his breath, the

soft paws treading the gravel path,

as I trail behind, watching in wonder,

a moment suspended, my son, my dog

and his puppy in flight.  

Poetry as scaffolding

a poem.

Scaffolding for a life.

For a day, a place to hang

the threads of the day,

a bird in the sky, emerging buds,

work to be done before 

it's too late.

Why not.