Relative Something

. .

.

.

.

.

.

In the early morning hour
when the birds are making song
as daylight’s seeping in
and nothing else is moving
it feels rather sacred
a gift of being alive
a kingdom truly magic
through no doing of our own
which we walk in like we own it
rarely noticing we don’t
and we fill our world with noise
that reflects our many works
while birds just keep on singing
they watch us do our worst

.

.

.

what did I do
on my day off
that started this holiday
weekend early
other than waking up
at the crack of dawn
to drive to the lake
with a stop at the bakery
arriving in time
to catch the second half
of a World Cup win
that shook things up
when a favorite fell
then head into town
to find out who owns
all those acres of woods
north of our place
where I love to roam
and have for years
but that now are posted
with “No Trespassing” signs
and while in town
stopping for a pizza
at the best place around
returning in time
imagine this
to see more World Cup
while playing guitar
and a game-ending drama
too wild to believe
so we took all that energy
down to the lodge
for games of our own
of classic ping-pong
then we fiddled about
nieces and nephews around
bringing full belly laughs
while the summer wind blew
floating sounds of the loon
such evocative tunes
and the table was set
as the grill charcoal primed
then a dinner feast next
more divine every time
it’s hard to conceive
how the same food again
tastes more fine every time
but that’s indeed how it goes
every day at the lake
where paradise glows
and divine defines life
yes that’s how it goes
richness of life
blessedly flows

.

.

.

.

the simplest of simple things
sometimes slip
they sometimes slip right by
unnoticed
until later
why is it always later?
after the time is right
flowing under the bridge
a hope can fade from view
but simple things remain
flashing such brilliance
with understated flair
the downbeat of life’s song
a smile of genuine vision
an authentic happy thought
luminous radiance
accepted
some simple things
just deserve to be
simply accepted

.

.

.

.

light rain
far from over
useless art
painted softly
mixed with time
under eaves
where leaves pile up
for days and a year
stretched tight
in a frame
a portrait
that captures
an edge of the wall
a pattern
of stain
a lifetime
of tears

.

.

.

don’t, don’t
utter the phrase
that shrieks like fingernails
scratching the chalk board
don’t waste the energy
of hurting our ears
with unbelievable ideas
even ones you actually believe
…there’s no shame
in learning
how wrong you’ve been
since that time you were only 5
feeling free to be happy
with life
before discovering
the art of being hate-filled
claiming to know
who deserves to be alive
but look how far you’ve come
won’t all your ancestors be proud
you’ve taken on their secreted sickness
blithely blathering its venom
out loud

.

.

why oh why
with all that I try
to see, be, say and do
must the peace that I seek
wander so far away
toward things I never listened for before
while the peace that I keep
and which dwells in me deep
knows too well
everything’s swell
until eventually someone gets hurt

.