Doorway

There is a
doorway.

On this side
of the door are
chore lists with
check boxes,
treadmills,
paeans to the
Puritan Work Ethic,
Codes of Conduct and
corporate
Vision Statements;
entire religions,
in fact.

On the other side
of the door are
songs that come
to the singer
in a dream,
stories that
come through
the teller
and wrap
the listener
in bearhugs of
feelings so
fierce
they contain
deaths and
resurrections,
pictures so
vivid
they rebuild
your eyes
from scratch.

Can we meet
on the other side
of that door?

I call it
The Mystery.
I’d love
to hear
what
you call it.

(Photo by Sean Thoman, UnSplash)

 

Perfect Crimson Blossoms

Imagine two
rosebushes,
planted by unseen
hands,

one in the
palace garden
of a storybook
princess,

one in a
cracked pot
on the crooked
steps of a
maidservant’s
hovel.

Each morning
the maidservant,
who loves the
princess,
places a perfect
crimson blossom
behind the
princess’ ear.

Each morning
the maidservant’s
barefoot daughter,
who loves her,
places a perfect
crimson blossom
behind her
mother’s ear.

Some of us
anxiously puzzle
whether we’re
more like
the princess or
the maidservant.

I like conjuring
the lesson of
the perfect
crimson blossoms,
and recalling that
a wise woman
said
“a rose is
a rose is
a rose.”

(Photo by Carlos Quintero, UnSplash)
(Wise Woman: Gertrude Stein)

 

The Tahiti Button

You know
that moment
when
you know
you can push
the button and
buy the ticket to
Tahiti?

Even though
you’ve believed
you couldn’t or
shouldn’t
a thousand times
before?

And then you
push it?

You know
that voice
that says
you’ve fallen
short,
you’re not
who you’d hoped
to be
by now?

The voice
you’ve heard
a thousand times
before?

And there’s proof,
right?
That towering
pile of
“coulds” and “shoulds,”
but you
don’t or won’t?

I’m starting to
wonder
what those
voices are
hiding.

I’m starting to
wonder
if there’s a
“do” and “will”
button
and

pushing it
is like
pushing the
Tahiti Button.

(Photo by Kristopher Roller, UnSplash)

 

Entitled

“Entitlement” needs a
press agent and
I’m applying for
the job.

Let’s start with
you.

In spite of
bad press
to the contrary,
you are entitled
to be
entitled.

Let me
count the ways, or
at least
a few of them.

You are entitled
to prefer a
motel bed and a
rundown dive
diner and a
waitress named
Beatrice

to a backpack
and a campfire
and a tent.

You are entitled
to stoke your
soul
at the
Spotted Cat Club
on Frenchmen Street,
listening to
Trombone Shorty
and
Leroy Jones,

instead of
hiking the
Pacific Crest.

You are entitled
to sit, alone,
on the business end
of your couch
potato patch,
waiting,
because you have
a poem to write
and
your Muse
is running late,

instead of
going to Roger’s
Super Bowl hangout, or
mowing the lawn or
re-ordering
the garage.

Or vice versa,
or all of it,
or nothing at all,
for a day or
a week or
a year.

You are entitled
to be
you.

(Photo by Vidit Goswami, UnSplash)

 

Pokemon Satori

Walking from
the car to the
Marine Science Center,
with the
grandsons,
eight and five.

Who have insisted
they must be
allowed to bring
Psyduck and Scorbunny,
their Pokemon
comfort creatures,
which they
clutch
with determined
ferocity.

I concede,
not wishing
to have my
grandparenting
license
revoked.
But
knowing
full well

I will soon be
the designated
carrier,
as the boys
scamper
in a dozen
directions
to view the
octopus and
other denizens of
briny tanks and
tidepools.

I lose sight
of them and
hope
grandma is on
tracking duty.

Now there are
looks askance
and
side-eyed
glances

at the old dude
who apparently
carries
stuffed animals
for security
purposes.

My heart throbs
with joy
as I realize
that being seen
as a man
who would
saunter about
brazenly hugging
toy creatures,
for mysterious
reasons,
and wallowing
in delight
about the
furtive attention,
probably means
I have attained

Pokemon Satori.

(Photo by Sue Gillard)

 

Luminescent Fish

I could be
mistaken,
I am not a
doctor of the
mind.

But I have
observed
that when
I am
sunk deep
in the dark
ocean of
dread,

that if I
drift lazily,
but eyes wide
open,
in a minute,
or a morning,

from the far
corner of
an eye,
I will spot

a luminscent
fish of
thought.

If I swim
for that light,

before long
I am floating
in a school
of thoughts,

just off an
island in
the Isles of
Mystery.

Now there’s
a sunlit
adventure
to be
daydreamed.

Would you
do something
for me?

If and when
this happens
to you,

paint a picture
of it,
make a movie or
a dance or
a song
of it,
or write a story or
a poem, and
let us ones
who sometimes
sink deep
in the dark ocean

see your light.

Photo by David Clode, UnSplash

 

Fractured Mirrors

If the you
that is aging
skin and
calcifying
boneworks
insists on
comparing
itself to
other
skin and bones,

do so with
a laugh,
preferably
at your own
expense.

Any other
comparing
is likely to
end in
a walk
down
a dark path
lined with
fractured
mirrors.

Comparing
is the
unimaginative
detritus

of the temporary
blindness
that strikes
you
when

you
get out of bed
without
remembering
to wake up

your
ageless
and
ravishing
incomparable
Soul.

Photo by Grace Madeline, UnSplash

 

The Light Is Coming On

How much of
what we do,
or worse,
“should do,”
is deemed
to be
in payment of
a debt,

by the Arbiters
of Holy Books or
The Keepers of
Accounts,
or worse,
deemed so by
ourselves?

We walk about
as debtors,
always
in the red,
feeling
overdrawn and
preyed upon
by the
debt collectors
of the
Soul.

Or maybe it’s
just me.

In any case
the light is
coming on,
as late in life
as it may be.

The only debt
we ever owed
was paid,
in full,

that first
moment
we gasped
a breath and
wriggled free,

that first
moment
we agreed
to be.

Photo by Isaac Quesada, UnSplash

 

Storyteller’s Art

I love what
you’re doing
with your
character.

A little
conflict
for redemption
later in your
story,

a little
failure,
or maybe
a lot,
something
to get
teary about
now,

then laugh
about later,
through those
tears of
jubilation

when your
storyteller’s
art
writes hot
romance
for your
part.

You’re so
good at this,
so real,
I’ll bet you
forget you’re
an artist,

and nearly
lose
yourself
in the beauty
of your
craft.

But that’s why
we love what
you’re doing
with your
character.

Photo by Sam Moqadam, UnSplash

 

Crème de la Crème

After years of
research and
practice,
I have for you
an exercise.

The Crème
de la Crème
of exercises.

It’s quite
strenuous,
so be well
rested
before
attempting it.

Sit in your
favorite
chair or couch.
(Couches work
best.)

Have your
favorite
beverage
at hand.

(Actually,
I hate the word
“beverage.”
For some
reason
it reminds me
of the
slag from
smelting
iron ore.)

Have your
favorite
libation
at hand.

Make yourself
as comfortable
as possible.

Take a sweet
swig of
your libation.

That’s it!
You’re
doing It!

I call this
exercise

Be You.

Photo by Jacob Rank, UnSplash