Check out my new 'World Reflections" Section
Interesting stories and anecdotes that reach into insights I have gained abroad.
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Yet to Pass
Posted on Tuesday, October 28th, 2008
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.
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There is a Time to Pray
Posted on Saturday, October 18th, 2008
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.
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Decoys
Posted on Tuesday, September 23rd, 2008
In Starbucks the other morning, I wondered about poetry and its impact on me — and perhaps you as well.
Decoys
Writing poetry is
Like carving decoys
From sun-bleached wood
That invite you rushing
Overhead to pause,
Be still on clear water,
Listen and yes be struck,
Mortally wounded,
To glance-less flight
And there now see.
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Yet to Pass
Posted on Wednesday, September 17th, 2008
I was thinking about India the other day and this poem is the result of that reflection.
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.
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Intuition
Posted on Friday, September 5th, 2008
Observing a Sandpiper on a desolate beach inspired these words –
“Intuition”
How does a Sandpiper
Calculate wave speed – depth
As it scrounges food,
Pursues retreating crabs
On still wet sand?
Are its eyes fixed back?
Do tail sensors catch sound,
Vibrations – salt smell,
Short twig stems feel rush,
Tarrying not instant late?
Is focus the answer,
Hunger desire challenge
Excitement completion,
Or does intuition extend
Us all to realms mysterious?
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