Intently haphazard

All of my posts over the last year have been my writing. But, I would like to end the year with a poem by Denise Levertov which has given me my motto for the year ahead. Best wishes for a Happy New Year.

Overland to the Islands

Let's go—much as that dog goes,
intently haphazard. The
Mexican light on a day that
'smells like autumn in Connecticut'
makes iris ripples on his
black gleaming fur—and that too
is as one would desire—a radiance
consorting with the dance.
                       Under his feet
rocks and mud, his imagination, sniffing,
engaged in its perceptions—dancing
edgeways, there's nothing
the dog disdains on his way,
nevertheless he
keeps moving, changing
pace and approach but
not direction—'every step an arrival.'

by Denise Levertov
from Overland to the Islands
publisher: Jonathan Williams, 1958

Frank and Zeke are dogs that I loved and are no longer dancing edgeways in this reality.

The world turns green

It seems almost cruel

to show such splendid days

when cold and snow is blasting

across the continent.

But, this is our reality.

The rains come, the world

turns green and the palms

glory in the late afternoon sun.

Hmmm. Winter?

Winter's rest

 Life in so many forms slows for winter.

But, a brief walk toward my neighborhood park

tells me that winter is a time for new beginning

in our climate. Slowness, here, comes in mid-summer 

when the grasses go to seed and lack of rain 

tempers rampant growth.

In December, even a big Pacific storm is moderate:

an inch of rain, winds 30 mph, temp in the 40’s and 50’s.

So, quiet winter with its short days is a soft renewal 

in California. I love living here. It is home and where I was born,

in an early Spring quite a long time ago.

Merry Christmas

Sending warm Christmas greetings from sunny California.

(Well, it is actually wet and cool today)

Santa seems to be part of the busy crowd in my neighborhood ─

out shopping and stocking up on goodies for the celebration.

I hope your Christmas-tide is full of happiness and warmth.

Around the next corner

A dear friend has the constant quest

as a guideline in her life.

Always looking, just around the next corner,

perhaps where she has often looked before,

but, ever trying to fill the day with interest.

A nice thought for these winter days

when it seems my world is pretty static

and winding down with the year.

Waiting for the storm

Quiet afternoon, watching the waves,

gradually higher and higher…..

a storm generating over the Pacific

while we wait for sunset.

How the light gets in

This lovely poem just suddenly appeared
on the now empty vegetable planter,
sidewalk-side of a wonderfully diverse
elementary school in my neighborhood.
Must be some wise and beautiful kids
coming up in this world!

From Leonard Cohen's Anthem

A modern Thanksgiving

A belated Happy Thanksgiving to everyone.

Oh, how times have changed.

It wasn’t so long ago that even a phone call

to bring everyone to the holiday feast

was kind of suspect….a note more proper.

Hope your day of thanks was technologically

correct and everyone found their place at the table.

Everyone...yes, everyone, family and friends, at our feast had an IPhone!!

Contemplating trolls

I am not a collector,

well maybe have too many books.

But, I can barely grasp keeping

troll dolls locked in cabinet ▬

even more distorted by the beveled glass.

Isn’t it wonderful that we are all so different?

A feathered friend

So many in this busy City

find friendship from their pets.

So many in the quiet country

find companions in their animals.

It seems somehow strange for me

to meet a man on a busy sidewalk

with a friend and companion

that I thought would be found

on a quiet lane.

Silver Laced Poland bantam.

A hint of winter

Wonderful scent of rain,

but not quite yet.

A brisk touch in the air,

but not quite yet.

Crisp leaves in the fading

grass. Not quite yet.

Sad?

Across from me on the 33 bus:

her shopping bags were brimming,

carrots still with their tops, low fat milk

and nutritious, multi-grain bread.

As we rode for many blocks,

she was talking, maybe a bit too loud,

sometimes laughing,

in conversation

with someone not there.

She seemed sad, I judged.

And, yet I know nothing

of the fullness of a life

lived in her world.

Where did I find sadness?

It is fall

Wet pavement after the Equinox─

beautiful patterns evoke memories.

The air has a faint chill, it is fall.

Summer’s ease begins to fade.

Intricacy

I don’t question

the intricacy that

coping and aging requires.

But, I am glad

I don’t forget

what it once took

to navigate my world.

Metaphor

Of course, blue moon is metaphor.

As the second full moon appeared

over the city rooftops it seemed,

like distant love, so very real.

Tide line

A crisp, slightly gray day.

Low tide opens a path:

inspiration for a short dance

or a meandering walk into the mist.

Simply too strong

Rigid, tight shadows and strangely linear:

sometimes the world as envisioned

by some feels simply too strong.

Troubles

…such a modest way

to describe everyday situations

that confuse and compound life.

To be able to pin point them

in 10 minutes  would be such a relief.

Hopefully they are not on TV.

Journey

Life’s passages sometimes seem 

strong and clear. Step by step 

moving toward the end of a corridor,

fully aware of dark at the end. 

And then, light through a window ─

the journey continues.

Dangerous resting place

A quiet Sunday morning,

watching this tiny hummingbird

build a nest in a towering Avocado tree.

Frantic coming and going,

then, she rests on a branch

of a dangerous and beautiful Angel’s Trumpet.

Uncaring about its toxicity

and seeming at peace.

Playground

Drumming

I once dreamed of playing with a rainbow,

joyfully sliding through the sky.

Someone had a more practical vision:

an earthbound rainbow drum,

unchanged by transient clouds.

 

Life’s path

Do the challenges on life’s path

ease from mastering the creative

playground? Just wondering what

I learned on time-worn, static

monkey-bars.

Photos taken at a new, creative  children's playground 

in my neighborhood. (Dolores Park, San Francisco)

Another vist

Recurring patterns in nature,

the leaf, the flower petal, the butterfly─

how can I think that I am somehow

separate? Duality simply fails

common sense and observation.

 Another visit from the cabbage butterfly

Balance

Mid-day and it sometimes seems

too much to achieve that balance:

beauty, progress and serenity.

A lesson in the cabbage butterfly:

its tiny feet holding a beautiful

meadow sage, enormous wings

spreading into the light.

Sunset

Joyously,

Bach thundering in the postlude,

leaving, just as he desired.

Celebration of a life so well lived.

In modesty, he chose Mighty Lak’ a Rose

to balance Prelude and Fugue in D.

And as the last notes faded,

the evening sun streaming

through ancient, west-facing

windows…sunset 

and farewell, friend.

In the teeming crowd

In the midst of a teeming crowd

some curl their heads toward warm feathers,

seemingly oblivious to their world.

A grizzled old man and a very sad young man

sit on a nearby street each day, kind of like birds,

part of the scene, yet tucked away.

Distractions

That sudden turn:

to catch a partly heard conversation,

perhaps startled by a sudden breeze.

I cannot decide: lack of focus

or responding to the moment?

Staying in the moment

Quietly sitting in the warm Spring sun

waiting for nothing I can name.

A slight breeze through the blooming

tomato plants: contemplating a harvest. 

And, then a tiny visitor brings the moment,

now, and it is simply perfect.

Touched by a butterfly

The touch of a butterfly

on a child’s finger.

So evanescent,

yet filled with strength and trust.

Many things complicate life,

when we are neither child nor butterfly.

Too often fear and knowledge

overcome the gentle moment.

Protea in California

Immigrant days:

feeling I don’t belong,

forgetting that

great beauty

is often alien.

Unlike the god Proteus

who changed at will,

I cling to a vanished

personal form,

yet knowing

that we are all transplants 

who must adapt.

Sunday phone call

Seems so odd, what we remember.

With such a vast store of memories,

I miss the Sunday call, 
very long-distance,

with my Mom. 
The last one ─

about eighteen years ago.

Usually, we talked about weather or

breakfast, or what she had seen on t.v.  

Sometimes we would talk wildflowers:

a great love learned from her Mom.

Seems so odd, what we remember.

A village up-rooted

The neighborhood bee-keeper’s hives

swarm out of fear or dislocation,

seek a safe haven.  

A frantic search: 

much like life

every day

in war-torn countries 

every where.

Easter Blessings

Wishing everyone many blessings at Easter.

The rebirth of seasons and the hope of a beautiful future

seems to be with so many this time of the year.

My hope is that it true for you.

The creator of this little street garden in San Francisco

certainly has both trust in the passersby

and a light approach to living in the world.

Things change

So many things are changing:

gardens in amazing bloom.

friends embracing both loss and joy.

And for me, life is full and yet I contemplate:

Hafiz said, “something missing in my heart tonight

has made my eyes so soft”

Again, things change.

Surprise

Somehow the blooming, budding

strawberries in a street-side garden

were a jolt of awareness─

we are truly past winter now,

even though the rain continues

and gray skies are nearly as common

as sunny and blue.

Sweet possession

A child dropped his mandarin orange

on the playground sidewalk.

Mom said, “No, don’t pick it up”.

Within minutes it was a glorious feast

for a house fly on an outing. Or,

a beautiful resting place.

Warmth to protect

Yesterday, on a chilly outing

with friends, we saw at the edge of a parking lot

two small, stubby cats entwined on the pavement.

Love making? No, I realized that one cat

was very ill and the other was using its warmth

to protect. Heartbreaking, yet heart affirming.

Note: this feral cat was not one of the cats in this observation,

but one that I had encountered a couple of weeks ago.

A matter of perspective

a young dove overhead

watching me with curiosity:

a reminder that this gray day

offers interesting perspectives--

if I look for them

After satsang

Reaching skyward,

aspiration made concrete.

The daily task:

rising from separateness,

seems diaphanous

and often slipping away.

A bubble

The day seems evanescent,

perhaps breakable, certainly fragile.

Just floating and waiting,

looking for cause or reason.

The lesson: just be.