Within One Flower

Life and Death WM

Those horrible shows,
loathsome portrayals,
at our worst.

The glory of ugliness,
violence, hate, death,
only self.

Others as objects,
to be groped or killed,
mostly both.

I sob.

 

Those horrible souls,
our human leaders,
real people.

Hurting others, self,
compassionless works,
for power.

“For me! For mine! Us!
But not for those ones,
they are evil!”

I ache.

 

Is this how it is?
Is this how we are?
Imperfect.

Fallible. Hateful.
Doomed in disregard.
Abhorrent!

Is this our essence?
Must we die hating?
Our nature?

I sigh.

 

Nature replies, “Look!”
Extravagantly,
life springs.

Glorious joy speaks,
we’re naturally,
beautiful.

Greens, purples, yellow!
Abundant red & blues!
Colors sing!

I hope.

 

But, death, pain, win-lose,
storms, quakes, heat, eaten.
Our Ecosystem.

Colors sing and fade,
joy comes, goes, returns,
life and death.

This is how it is.
Good, evil, hurt, joy.
Love and hope.

I see.

 

Within one flower,
budding, wounds, and death,
and rebirth!

In each life is love,
suffering, trauma,
and deep loss.

Grief, joy, grace each come,
brokenness wants Hate,
it will call.

I choose.

 

Just like the flower,
fiend and saint within,
Choice abounds!

Inside one human,
pain, healing, joy, love,
I can dance!

Within one flower,
both bud and wilt charm,
beautify.

I can, too.

___

Photo: Life & Death, 2017 © Tim Graves
Poem: Within One Flower, 2017 © Tim Graves

 

 

The Joyous Dance in the Now

Dancers WM

I want to be like the leafless trees.

No, not the post-fall autumn trees,
but the aging branch-challenged.

I want to lose my leaves,
become less virile and firm,
more twisted and pained,
and still dance as each season passes.

I want to rejoice at life as it is,
not as it was or will be but as it is.

___

Photo: Dancing, 2017 © Tim Graves
Poem: The Joyous Dance in the Now, 2017 © Tim Graves

 

Runner’s Bliss

 

 

Hidden UnderneathWM
Hidden Nature © Tim Graves

 

running urban.
retail, noise, traffic, distracted drivers.

concrete, loose gravel, strewn trash.
watch out. don’t get hit.
running urban.

running rainy.
spit, drizzle, cool.

cool air, damp air, rain-filled air.
trust your feet. drop-fogged glasses.
running rainy.

running secrets.
pathways around and beside.

beneath, tucked away, nearby.
allow the ahhh. it’s for you.
running secrets.

running urban.
running rainy.
running secrets.

hidden nature.
runner’s bliss.

 

 

On a Summer Balcony

On a Summer Balcony

Breeze moves across bare legs,
knees remember long pants,
and toes yearn for socks.

The heat, so bright,
ignores the shadows,
on the northside.

Summer voices surf in on the breeze,
reminding the shadows that the sun,
will expose its secrets soon enough.

But for now the cool shadows,
are only pierced by rattling dishes below,
and memories within that do not forget.

 

Around the Bend

Around the BendWM

Yes,
as you say,
summertime often fills the water with voices.

But around the bend,
I reply,
that is where my eardrums cease to tingle.

And in the silence,
I am Gaia,
creator and creation.

Without tingling ears,
plastics or steel,
we are all one, interconnected.

The Myth of Human Separateness

The Spirit moves us together,
she dances around the edges.

An opening appears,
and she oozes into the space between us.

The Spirit fills the space with respect,
laughter, and comfort.

She dances joyfully,
overjoyed at our response to one another.

The Spirit smiles and nods,
bursting with joy.

“Aha!” she says, “I told you:
human separateness is a myth.”

 

89 Going on 90

greatsDrip. Drip. Drip.
The tears come.
Sobs burst forth.

Dad is in the hospital.
Again. And I’m so far away.
Phones. Texts. Not the same.

He’ll be heading home.
A new diagnosis: worry with a name.
But. Again?!!?

Aging. Loving. Living.
Life is hard.
Life is connecting.

Clinging. Crying. Worrying.
Embedded, oozing fears of loss.
Fears of impermanence, reality.

Drip. Drip. Healing tears dry.
Be still. The divine is here.
Extravagant love is always.

 

In That Moment

contemplative-afternoon2wm

Morning fog,
clouds hanging close,
the damp breath of God clings.

Truck starts, car glides,
delivering God’s people,
and the meeting house comes alive.

The joyful noise,
melodies & catching up,
fill the upside down boat.

Last hymn,
last coffee and cookie,
quiet descends as the last door closes.

Fog gone, sunshine out,
the celestial movement,
reveals itself through the shards of color.

In that moment,
I enter finding the healing,
embracing warmth of sacred hues.