Meditation

Wilted pink tulips

on a vase of tulips:
the pinks     whites     yellows
reaching upward             outward
way over the edge
opened wide to their silken centers               
until              inside out
suffused with the vibrant morning
light
they surrender who they are
with wordless grace
leaving only
small soft footprints
across the kitchen table
should I wish
to follow

Another “golden oldie” from two decades ago, first appearing in North Shore Magazine in 2005.

Rudder

 

val-vesa-436400-unsplash
Photo by Val Vesa on Unsplash

As if I hadn’t walked this path
thousands of times before,
I walked slowly from tree to aging tree,
crunching through their brilliant fallen leaves.
Rounding a corner, the boat-dotted sea
rolled towards an undisclosed horizon.

As if I, too, might not know what lay ahead,
I found myself, for once,
standing down from the helm,
sailed by a mounting wind,
waved through the branching shadows,
no hand to stay the heart’s rudder.

As if there are paths within a path,
many journeys, but only one destination,
my feet rose and fell on their own. Begin here,
where the current is strongest, my heart said.
And I strode through that tide of colour,
all the world new again, and I, young.

Another (older) poem from my chapbook “Stealing Eternity”.