A Cushion for Your Head

This poem is by Hafiz, a 14th century Sufi master from The Gift:

A Cushion for Your Head

Just sit there right now
Don't do a thing
Just rest.

For your separation from God,
From love,
Is the hardest work
In this
World.

Let me bring you trays of food
And something
That you like to
Drink.

You can use my soft words
As a cushion
For your
Head.

Too Close to Home

"I argue very well. Ask any of my remaining friends. I can win an argument on any topic, against any opponent. People know this and steer clear of me at parties. Often, as a sign of their great respect, they don't even invite me."

Dave Barry

Empty Rooms

Last Saturday, 4 brave and unsuspecting friends orchestrated an "in-town" move, in preparation for the big move to Tennessee. Three-fourths of my stuff has either gone into storage or into friends houses to keep until I return to Houston. It was hot, sweaty, muscle straining work, but by 12:30 it was finished. I don't think there's a Hallmark card that says, "Thanks for busting your butt for me" but that's what they did and I appreciate it more than words can say.

Introducing....Mocha

Feel free to suggest a caption

Mocha's take on sitting gracefully

Angel

Tuning fork pressed against my spine,
you are constantly humming...
companion to the mystery of being

How have you lived in a revolving door for so long?
a counter-clockwise life with
faces exchanging faces...trapped in momentum

Your grip tightens on the gleaming bar,
pushing...
pushing faster
whooshing air escaping, hissing in your ear,
"Let go and FLY!"

Before gravity brings you back
you'll feel the vibration in your marrow
and remember having wings

Frog Song

As is customary in Houston in the summer, we have torrential thunder storms in the afternoon to cool things off and flood our streets. As the clouds dissipate, the water receeds and the thermometer once again soars to 100 degrees, creating a veritable sauna. This daily deluge also spawns frogs...lots and lots of frogs.

Tonight, the ditches in my neighborhood are full and the heavy Houston air is filled with frogsong. They apparently have a lot to say and they are going about it in cachophenous unison. Noisy critters...

The Dance

Seized by euphoria
seized by foreboding
seized by the dance of a thousand years

Released by love
released by mystery
released by the familiar cadence of our steps

Collapsing from dizziness
collapsing from fear
collapsing from the incessant spinning in my head

Living in love
living in wonder
living in the arms of days yet to come

Homage to Edna

As an aspiring poet, I marvel at the beauty and simplicity others have achieved...I tip my hat to Edna St. Vincent Millay...the girl had a way with words!


Witch-Wife
From Renascence

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.