God’s Voice – The Dance

Earthrise1

Suppose God’s voice,
the song of the planet,
is well beyond your mere words
and small means of personality,
of your economics, of your politics,
of your culture.

Hear the song of the cicadas
in the colors of the sunset,
the wind lightly rippling the water’s surface,
the drums beating in the park,
the dog wanting your love.

In all the moments
and sensations of this evening,
The mirror surface, now, on the pond
reflects all the sky and evening trees,

An Indian man turns and says, “Hello”

Are you listening to this song
calling you to this dance of the Earth?

Pastel Shades of Blue

ballet dancer

Pastel shades of blue
painted on the panorama ‘fore my eyes
Oh, Magenta, red, and aqua rainbows
fill the sky just like some rhyme –

Am I dreaming songs of love?
Am I always wondering why?
Is it truth or is it passion
that fills my heart and overflows my mind?

Open now and hope forever,
My heart is on the line:
a deeper shade of color,
and this dancer spinning to some unknown time –

I can be this heart within
and I do answer for my own time
as the poet lives within these wings
and this dancer with the mystery unwinds–

Absences

candle-2

Sometimes these absences
of intimacy, of friendship,
of support,
burn in my Heart
like the flame of a candle.

And my soul reaches out
in reply, saying
“There is love.”
Be at Peace. Be Grateful.

“Often people’s identities, that wild inner complexity of soul and color of spirit, become shrunken into their work identities.  They become prisoners of their roles.  They limit and reduce their lives.  They become seduced by the practice of self-absence”.

John O’Donohue – Anam Cara

My Voice

man-1845432_1280

Oh, this trembling uncertainty,
wanting a place
to voice my feelings
in this chaotic seeming world.

I follow my heart.
I follow my dream,
as the gibbon moon crosses
high in the sky –
I dream of beauty and love.

A voice out of somewhere asks:
What have you to give songsmith?

I reply that
I am finding my voice
and bringing you my harmonies
and rhythms
in this disharmony,
I Am

Self Acknowledgement

Man with Guitar

2017 is just in its infancy, and I’m embarking on creating a new music CD, and what’s coming up is this inner voice of holding on and self-criticism which is saying that what who I am and what I’m doing “is not good enough”. I say to it, “Enough”. It’s been a challenging time caring and working with someone, but I’m on the other side of that assignment, and it feels good and I can acknowledge myself and her for the time spent. Rather than the critical thinking and self-criticism from my early conditioning in growing up, I am practicing love, self-acknowledgement and acknowledgement of others more in my life this year. This will move me ahead on my music project and in my life this year.

Criticism has been a familiar aspect of the American social environment, especially in its blatant exposure in last year’s political race and beyond. I don’t believe criticism helps to heal or unite us personally or socially, rather it divides us up culturally, racially, economically, or in other ways. It lifts up one point of view and downgrades and attempts to discredit another. That is not what I believe or will stand for.

The “Good Morning” People

park“A Day in the Life”

Walking before 9:00
meeting all the “Good Morning” people,
joggers, walkers, some city workers,
and a bum on a bench.

The wind this morning
is blowing across the water,
creating a soothing ripple effect,
refreshing my senses –
the sun is bright yellow-white radiating.

It feels good to be here.

Yet another person
with a dog
smiles and says, “Good morning.”

We’re in the “real morning”,
the silence, the smiles, and the wind
are singing in harmony.

That’s the feeling
One of tranquility –
No effort.

At 9:00 however,
they all disappear somewhere.

I walk past
an unsmiling, somber man
with dark glasses
wearing a mask.

My dark glasses,
I take out of their case,
but I keep ready
with a smile.

Stories and Memories

sea-waves

Stories of me
and stories of you
Stories of red
and stories of blue
Some a little fictitious,
Some of them all true.

Stories of wisdom
Stories of learning.
Stories of darkness
and stories of yearning.

Times full of Mystery
not knowing what to do.
Stories of me,
and stories of you.

Stories of danger
and stories of risk
Searching our memories
So deep and rich.

Stories with music
where harmony reined
Stories of feeling good
Stories of pain.

Stories of growing
and then of digression.
These are our lives
All wanting expression.