On Community

Georges Braque
headforart.com

We no longer
come together to
listen to each other
Simply to deliver
our opinions
   Why is that?
Then wonder
why no one hears
what we are saying
Or actually cares
what we think
   Why is that?
So we withdraw
to our computers
to blog our screeds
out into the ether
in hope of likes
   Why is that?
Like little boats
lost in the ocean
of our individualism
without a harbor
without a port
   That is why!

“Only he who gives thanks for little things
receives big things.” ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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Birds’ Nests

Eileen Agar
pinterest.com

Life is then
a bird’s nest
woven strands
of yarns & twigs
scrounged thru
our years & fit
to our shape

Here we once
brooded upon
our tiny dreams
providing safety
to the fledglings
too small to fly
`til they flew

Here we now
watch & await
spring’s return
praying security
against storms
too strong for
our old wings

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New Year: 3 haiku

heavenlybrush.com

i.
the clean page
a tear`drop fallen
the true word

ii.
the mikan
severed into halves
perfection

iii.
the song`bird
follows no season
for its joy

Shinnen omedetou gozaimasu!

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A Year Ends

Pablo Picasso
cubismsite.com

A year ends
another begins
what is but linear
we call cyclical
A Mulligan

Resolutions
our attempts at
remaking the self
will go un`kept
by Epiphany

We are not
short`stories
but long`novels
trial & error
hammered

paragraphs
forever ending
not with periods
merely ellipses
Unfinished

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A Good Death

Art of Disabled Artists
facebook.com

Pvt. Emmanuel Mensah
Immigrant, Soldier US Army

He died
running back
into a burning building
trying to save
one more

A soldier
to the very end
offering his final breath
to leave no one
behind

A migrant
from the very start
who came here to be free
taught true freedom
is life’s gift

We won’t
recall his name
or recount his short life
only that his was
a good death

Posted in poetry | 3 Comments

Out in the Woods

           Joan Mitchell              joanmitchellfoundation.org

Out in the woods
the faint foot`falls
of a creature`choir
follow me as I walk
among the hemlocks
when I turn to look
nothing but silence
the strands of wila
waft in the breeze

On the soft moss
of the forest`floor
impressions of tiny
feet as tho in a dance
circles`around`circles
wood`elves lite as air
dancing to the tunes
inaudible as trickles
from melting snow

                             “Words, sounds, noises, monsters.
There are voices everywhere. Can you hear them?
Can you hear them? Not only voices in my head
and my dreams but in the mouths of the people
walking down the street. Everyone hears voices . . .”
                                                     ~ Benjamin Alire Sáenz

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At Midnight

Scott C. Haley Art
pinterest.com

Again
the choir
of coyotes
in the hills
is singing
midnight
in howl

the song
they sing
is at once
a requiem
to the lost
a lullaby
to birth

the wild
awakens
in my Lab
who listens
wide`eyed
whining
in grief

“A voice that is heard is never the same
as the voice that is spoken.” ~ Daniel B. Smith

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The Moments

Iskra Antova
123rf.com

The moments
are dripping out
of the spent year
like coffee thru
spent grounds

   drip drip drip

The last drops
going tepid pale
compared to the
steaming crema
first streaming

   drip drip drip

All that is Is
all that’s not Not
old dogs still find
new tricks hard
can’t trick a cat

   drip drip drip

The moments
are dripping out
of the spent year
like snow`flakes
at winter thaw

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Like Snow

Wassily Kandinsky
huffingtonpost.com

Like snow
on the limbs
Christmas melts
in milder air
mid`winter

The news
on air`waves
again mundane
the past year
in review

In a stable
only the ashes
remain of a fire
lit for warmth
and a birth

We are off
again to Egypt
hoping to escape
Herod’s wrath
at mid`night

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At the Border

Louis Toffoli
pinterest.com

At the border
a little family waits
having traveled so far
searching freedom
born of faith

In the evening
they await the dark
hoping against hope
to slip invisibly by
a border guard

He a carpenter
with skillful hands
She a simple mother
nursing the infant
held in her arm

It is the Infant
for whose promise
they take the journey
the One on whom
history depends

At the border
a little family waits
having traveled so far
searching freedom
born of faith

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The Walnut

Karen Jordan Allen
fineartamerica.com

Under
its dark hull
the hard shell
of the walnut
hides secrets
within

Inside
the little Boy
in the Manger
resides a Man
God with us
incarnate

Crack
a shell open
along its seam
taste the meat
ever`sweet
beneath

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On Our Way to Beth`lehem

Sadao Watanabe
pinterest.com

On our way
to Beth`lehem
we move like stars
across the night sky
almost imperceptibly
except by first light
we’ve traveled far
on paths wiped
by the wind

Few will find
any room here
or table prepared
to welcome strangers
to this House of Bread
where hope still hides
amid gray shadow
strung harshly
in razor`wire

Yet out back
a stable remains
where pilgrims can
still find some shelter
from life’s wearing wars
A space perfumed by
the scents of earth
Incarnations still
happen here

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