May 7 2013

zen and the art of survival

i need to eat and you’re not hungry
we are mind mirror
life miners

asking hope to keep promises never made

i feed you prawns for breakfast
and there is never enough

you are sage and i am curry

you are silence and i am angry

you have too much and i
get lost a lot

of course I don’t blame you
for accepting what was offered

i am

blown but not destroyed
by the way of things

you need to eat and

i am hungry

plate, fork
salt, knife

round table





Linking up with the fabulous dVerse poets for Open Link Night join us!

May 4 2013



this will be a day

spent outside


there is this sky,

these buds,

that green



i can


May 2 2013

nine thousand
six hundred sunsets

For as long as I have lived in my house, some 26 years now, this has been my view. Some years it is corn, others wheat, but always this old, broken down shed with its very own sentinel of tree. I have watched thousands of sunsets through this silhouette.

Until yesterday.

I was away all morning, and when I returned, both tree and shed were gone. I’m guessing that the farmer who owns the field needs the space to boost his crop, last year we had a terrible drought, and I know it was rough for him. I can’t blame him for doing what needs to be done.

But there was always something about that shed that spoke of days gone by, and that one lone tree in a field full of corn was always the first thing I could see coming up the hill, guiding me home.

Once again, and without warning, my view of the world has changed. And while I know that change is the only thing we can really count on, I will miss the comfort of this familiar sight.

I’m getting the feeling that 2013 is going to be filled with surprises. So I’m going to buckle my seatbelt and settle in for the ride, and see where it takes me.

Because you can’t fight change and the world keeps turning and the sinking sun will still be beautiful.

And I have lots of photos to remind me of the way things used to be.

Every so often, I will walk to end of the driveway with one in my hand and hold it up for just a moment, remembering.

And then I’ll go back inside and catch up to life, before it goes zooming by.