Round Trip Ticket

I have no reason to hide it:
I believe I’m here
on a round trip ticket
from Paradise.

I’ve been visiting
this place awhile, but
I’m sure not ready
to go back.

Before I left Home
I promised ‘em
at least an evening’s worth
of entertainment
when I return:
videos and photos,
brochures and souvenirs, and
some really good stories.

Sometimes I forget
what I’m doing here.
I get distracted by
the silliest things,
like yesterday when the
clothes dryer wouldn’t work and
I totally lost my joie de vivre.

I also forget that
I came here with
a travel group
and we promised
to help each other
have a really good time and
to remind each other,
when we need it,
that we’re here
on a round trip ticket
from Paradise.

(Photo by Nick Fewings, UnSplash.com)

 

YouVille

Imagine your life
is a small town,
let’s call it YouVille.

You awaken one morning,
where you’ve been living,
on the outskirts,
in a bit of a ramshackle,
to be honest about it.

It dawns on you,
along with the sun,
that you’re the Mayor,
but you haven’t
gone to City Hall
in years.

You’re probably
the one-person
City Council, too.
Who’s been doing that
in your absence?

What happened?
You love this town,
you grew up here.
It’s beautiful!
Look at those views!
How long have you
been sleeping?
Who cares?!
You’re awake now.

Have some breakfast,
then go do what
you came here to do.

(photo by Monica Bourgeau, UnSplash.com)

 

The Big Game

Imagine that you’re
Sue Bird or
Michael Jordan
and the Creator is
the Coach
who is beyond thrilled
to have recruited you
for The Big Game
that is your Life.

But you looked
in the mirror
and for some reason
all you saw
reflected back to you

was some shadow
of a wisp of
somebody you
can’t quite make out.

Get up off the end
of the bench
where you put yourself,

go out, right now,
and get yourself
a new mirror.

 

Out of Line

How much time
do you spend
competing in those
Pageants
you insist on staging,

where you line yourself up
with family, friends, neighbors
and fret that
you’ll never even be
a Finalist,
let alone a Runner-Up?
Winning is
out of the question.

In your mind
you lose
in every category.

Next time consider
calling that whole thing off.

Instead,
write a book of
love poems,
including a couple
to yourself.
Invite your
family, friends, neighbors
to do the same.

Then let’s have
a book exchange.

 

Emergency Vehicle

There’s an Emergency
Entrance to The Mystery.
Think of it as the
ER for your Soul.

It’s built just for you,
staffed by
your Guardian Angels.

When your heart is
being attacked, or
you just swallowed
a bitter pill
by accident, or
you got crazy and
sliced open your Soul.

Call out and
keep your eyes open
for the Emergency Vehicle.
Sit still till it
shows up, so you
don’t miss it.

Rest assured
it will show up.
The Creator has
way too much invested in
your divine Self.

 

The Church of BuVu

My friends and I
invented
The Church of BuVu.
We pretend it’s
a holy meld of
Buddhism and Vudoo.
Our paperwork is in
perfect order,
so we’re official.

We’re all priests.
BuFoons
we call ourselves.

Our sacraments
are listed
on the menu at
the Bayview Restaurant.
Mine are hashbrowns
and toast.

We meet on
the Sabbath
to repent of our sins,
the deadliest of which is
taking ourselves
seriously,
followed by confession
of our failures to
imagine
more practical Love.

The only requirement
to become a BuFoon
is to believe
in your own
divinity,
but that requirement
will be waived
if you insist.

(Photo by Ellen Heinemann
from the Bless the Beasts and Children
Humane Society of Jefferson County and
The Church of BuVu of Port Townsend
0.5k Fun Run, September, 2019)

 

The Perfect Alibi

Try this
in the early morning
darkness,
when the accusers
at the edge
of wakefulness
have turned on you
with warrants
for your arrest
on charges ranging from
First Degree Malfeasance to
Failure To Love and Be Loved,
maximum penalty
Life In Prison:

Calm yourself.
Take a deep breath.
You have the perfect alibi:

The dates on their warrants
are Yesterday.
Tell them
this is Today.

(Photo by Ava Sol, unsplash.com)

 

Indolent Coffee

If you were to
attempt
one of these
random, goofy
bits of oddball prose
broken up into
apparently arbitrary
lengths;

What would your
prosem
(I just made that up)
be about?

Rain dripping
diamonds
on bedazzling
azaleas?

Lovers casting
ardent glances across
flickering candle flames
in a midnight bistro
in Tuscany?

Daredevils in
tights and tiaras
balancing on tightropes
that tremble and sway?

Whatever it is,
I hope it’s what
pedal to the metal
interests you
and
not what you hope
might interest me,
sitting here with my
indolent coffee.

(Photo by Zach Ramelan – Unsplash.com)

 

Sunlight On a Windowsill

In those moments
when you feel
the unease –
I mean the disease –
of wondering if
what you’re doing,
or not doing,
is approved by
the phantom overlords
you’ve been taught to
conjure,
to monitor your inherent
untrustworthiness;

In those moments,
my beloved ones,
my adored ones,
remember this:

All it takes is one good
belly laugh
to scatter those phantoms
like the dust you see
in the sunlight
on your windowsill.

Yours Truly,
The One Who Formed You
from That Same Light

(Photo by Mikael Kristenson)

 

Mystery Maps

If you gain entry
to The Mystery,
what will you look for?
I have some ideas.

Look around for
your Original Self,
see what you’re up to.

I hope to find my Self
outdoors at a café
in Paris,
writing over drops of
espresso carelessly dripped
on the pages of
my Journal.

You might find
your Original Self
trekking in the Andes
or on a catamaran
in the Mediterranean.

Speaking of which,
I’ve heard there are
lifeboat building classes
in The Mystery,
for those inevitable
deep water rescues
you’ll get your Self into,
one way or another.

It occurs to me that
“Love one another”
might be taken
to mean
draw each other
Mystery Maps.