POEM - The Day Starts with Water. The Day Starts Good

Yesterday was only rain
Only seemed ready for bed
My mind only able to almost wake up
That type of water

Is the water of sleep and melancholy
It is out of balance
And a soaked and weary wretch was I

Today some balance returned
The sun glanced through
A gentle high cloud covering
Feeling better
My mind could begin
Prepare for possibilities

And with my traveling friends
We wandered on unknown roads
Relaxed
Driving where the whim directed
Turning or not turning
Sauntering

Again we found water
The large purposeful river flowed
Soothing because it was in its place
Taking familiar paths
Contributing to the balance
When all of nature collaborates
And the day started with water
A small tribute paid
And the day started good
Gathering the river's stories to me
Dropping my cares in its flowing current

Start the day unburdened

My pulse flowing

Like the river to the ocean

POEM - Cafe Poland

"It's just past the church"
He explained in vague tones
"An old, low house.
Red trim with no porch
And complex aromas
Invade the inconspicuous street."
An unexpectedly poetic guide
Pontificated freely

The embellishments were appropriate
We were later to verify
But in the overcast pre-arrival world
In which the oratory occurred
It was only the kismet of the moment
Serendipitous coincidence
To find such eloquence
Randomly roaming
That was precious
Taken as a good omen
Intrigue assured

There is comfort in comfort food
It is a warm embrace of familiarity
Even when completely foreign
The rapidly aging matriarch
Within the low, red trimmed aromatic shop
Set the proper tone
And the menu on the wall
Profferred the offerings
Typical Polish dishes
With mostly unfamiliar names
The attached list of components
Igniting a familiar longing
To climb inside and cozy up
To each new and intriguing dish

A selection was made
A table located
A brief wait
A shuffling arrival
Then heavily ladened plates
Gently arrived
A small grin of anticipation
We dig in hungrily
And you begin to understand a people
When you befriend their cuisine
This food spoke of long days
Of food from the land
Of not being able to fussily conjure
Frivoulous, pretty edibles
This was serviceable food
Meant to stick to the bones
Warm the spirits
Embrace and comfort
After a grueling day
Delicious and peaceful
Perogies filled with gentle moments
Cares and concerns easily thwarted
By the power of kraut and potatoes

POEM - Deliberately

Arriving at the pond
Deliberately
Acting on a sign
Found along a wandering snowy path
While lingering
Entranced by frigid water swirling
Perpetual carving
Conical paths
The Basin grows

Years ago Thoreau would visit
So says the placard near by
Today I am at more water
Also tied to Henry David
In relative solitude pausing
Left to wander the banks aimlessly
I’m surprised to find on the rocky shore
Plethora of round, flat stones
Begging to gain brief flight
Before taking a cool dip
I oblige as I am know to do
Fling small stones just so
To skip lightly across the surface
Five or six times at least
Before succumbing to friction
And slipping out of view

Did Thoreau’s skips number as high?
Surely he had to have tried
Found a deliberate moment
Among deliberate living
To liberate a deliberate stone
And found the essential essence
Of a life lived

But had his father taught him
To pick only the flattest and roundest stones
Held just so
In the crook of the index finger
Leaning over
Staying low
Extending the arm out in a wide arch
Flicking the wrist sharply at the end
Again and again
Each stone a little further
Until no more worthy projectiles can be found
Did he discover
In the end
That he had lived

POEM - Doors of Perception

If the weather hadn't been so perfect
The fading light just right
Melting into the deepening gold ocean
If I hadn't been in California
Watching the sunset
Glint and shine
Off the glass fences
Providing unobstructed views
To the denizens of perched cliff dwellings
As the lazy surf rolled silently 

On the wide sandy border far below
Maybe the earth wouldn't have shook
Like San Andrea had a grudge
Against me personally
Cracked my foundation
Rattled my windows
Made me stumble over words
Like a drunken wino on a raucous Saturday bender

I honestly didn't know
Nor was I prepared
For the revelation
Standing there on the warm hardwood floors
While the quirky record shop owner
Journeyed through musical tangents
Spinning the deepest vinyl cuts
All of us riding the same wavelength
Until the rouge wave caught me unawares
Toppled me
Sent me sinking
A new understanding
An open door slamming shut
I had to suddenly come to terms
With the now unavoidable fact
That not everyone likes The Doors
And even more really hate Jim Morrison

And for a moment
I lost my Lizard King
Left exposed as a small child
Self-aware of uncertainties and doubt
Lost and wandering on deaths highway dreaming
The ghosts of my dawning reality 

Crowding my fragile eggshell mind

A moment that seemed an eternity passed
And I was back
Changing the course of conversation
Steering clear of important matters
Loss of faith averted
Replaced by a small perception
The tiniest of revelations
Like the Little Prince and his drawings
Small things tell big stories
So I swerved
Left off talk of gold mines
Weird scenes and dusky queens
Replaced by discussion of equipment and speakers
Turntables and sonic qualities
Made my purchase
Stepped back into the coastal twilight
Resumed my spot in the Soft Parade
Waited till the music was over
As the night turned out the lights

POEM - Seven Years of Rain

Time makes no sense on cloudy days

Does the light tell me it is just past breakfast

Or is it perpetually a quarter till dinner

Is the growl in my stomach sincere

Or the pangs of boredom manifesting in munchies

The unbroken smoky slate bedthrow
Preserves mocking twilight tones

I'm stuck on Venus
And the rain feels listless

Unsure of just how to continue

Day after day

Fulfilling the minimal requirements

Just making the world damp enough

Year after year after year

It is a poignant event for a child in Oregon

To watch "All Summer in a Day"

And you become Margot

The child from earth

Who remembered the sun

Who remembered what it felt like

Trapped with peers who mocked her knowledge

I had come from California

Good friends with the best version of the sun

A joyful orb full of pleasant memories

But this gray Portland metropolis

Mocked my knowledge

And I nearly cried for Margot

Locked in the closet by cruel William

Seeing only reflected light

Through a sliver of a crack

Crushed by the eventual fade

The returning gloom

And it was all my ten year old being could do

To keep composure

Keep the memory alive

Fight against the Williams

Campaigning for the light

Reassuring the world the rain would end

With a weight of seven dim years

Each sunny day exploding

Crammed to breaking 

Lingering in its warm embrace