The Rules of Engaging Grief

After A Deep Rain

A Great Blue Heron
Looked at me this morning;
It stood upon a piling
Just after a deep rain.

He gazed as I do
When time is not urgent;
Still – shifting its weight,
Yawning a wide beak,

And then flew off
Without a sound;
Leaving me in silence
That stills me yet.

I wrote this poem as I contemplated change.

Creativity

There’s drone out there
Squelching imagination,
New directions,
Paths emerging –
Monotone dull that’s it,

Lacking inflection
Smothering passion;
Mandating repetition
In past illusions
Of colorless routine.

It’s time to stir awake
This sleeping soul
Who now limits excitement
To painted reflections
On a wall of spent youth.

Dismiss that protocol
Disguised as politeness
That binds us to a past,
Assumes all is known,
Abandons discovery.

Then each sunrise
Will blaze brilliant
Across a landscape
Not yet visited,
A horizon stretching wide.

Yes – you are invited
To question – seek clarity,
Challenge one’s fears direct,
Explore heart regions not visited,
Pursue solutions sought.

At the risk of sounding like a revolutionary, consider how you relate to creativity, especially as it concerns the authentic self that resides within.

Creativity

There’s drone out there
Squelching imagination,
New directions,
Paths emerging –
Monotone dull that’s it,

Lacking inflection
Smothering passion;
Mandating repetition
In past illusions
Of colorless routine.

It’s time to stir awake
This sleeping soul
Who now limits excitement
To painted reflections
On a wall of spent youth.

Dismiss that protocol
Disguised as politeness
That binds us to a past,
Assumes all is known,
Abandons discovery.

Then each sunrise
Will blaze brilliant
Across a landscape
Not yet visited,
A horizon stretching wide.

Yes – you are invited
To question – seek clarity,
Challenge one’s fears direct,
Explore heart regions not visited,
Pursue solutions sought.

The following poem I composed as I reflected on my life in India thirty-five years ago.

Yet to Pass

Years past I smoked
Madrasi cigars
Hand rolled by
Brown-skinned girls;

From tall dark bottles
With residue settling
Drank beer brewed by
A mischievous Jesuit;

Reclined in a seven-foot
Hot tub steaming
Tired muscles for
Competition next;

Lingered in conversation
Long into darkness,
Seeking communion,
If not enlightenment;

Rode polo ponies at dawn
Across withering fields,
Along jungle trails,
Wild monkey paths;

Trekked heaven’s domain
Amidst the Himalayas,
Drank from an ice cold green
Glacier stream long life;

Loved luxuriously,
Laughed endlessly,
Even cried in a present
That has yet to pass.

There is a Time to Pray

Indeed there are times
When fire-burn sunrise
Turns gray even dark at dawn,

When wave sounds rush thick,
And ponderous are thoughts
Of past and future feints

That linger upon the heart;
This is a time for prayer,
To release groans that soundless

Capture meaning unspoken,
Without weight reach heights,
Plead for understanding.

Always answered in stillness
These heart petitions –
A dialogue of silence

That flows and swirls within,
Brushing clear all doubt confusion
Puzzlement – even fear.

There is a time to pray,
To acknowledge even if alone
The source of all love overflowing.