When the sun came out, oh what a sigh of relief;

a consistent cloud-covered sky makes life bleak.

Clear blue canvas — yellow sunlight touches the grass.

I breathe IN the clear air, basking – but alas

the wind [curtains closing] shifted the gray clouds back.

Life is smaller, a need for introspection, a knack…


When sunlight (branches a sieve) reaches a leaf

It hopscotch, picking and choosing which surface shines —

Shadows and lights, however dazzling, can be brief;

So I focus on what I see NOW – and its “mine.”


Treetops – interlacing fingertips

Life-light’s stronger when it has to fight

to get through…

I’m in the shadows looking up…


Too many details [in life] confuse me.

Why can’t homo sapiens learn how to JUST be?


A bird scurrying across the sidewalk’s basic

focus – deciphering “our” mosaic.


Math’s solvable problems are named trivial.

Is “difficult mankind’s only pivotal…?


Listening to birds sing soothes the soul;

a plain pleasant pleasure which makes me bold.


I think we need to harvest trivial.

Ordinary” is the foundation of experience.

The Addiction

Can the Elixir of Life be drunk through Math?

Will the Geometry of your “room” suffice?

I say pick up your ruler and measure [!]

Glancing towards the blue sky, linear path –

Meditating on your toes not so nice –

Savoring the Wind is what I treasure.

Look UP or endure some psychologists’ wrath [!]

Sunlight, glittering gold coins, roll the Dice –

Contemplating green tree tops is PLEASURE.

Seeing what’s around me is my intent…


 If music be the food of, let’s say life —

What, though, about the wind or birds singing?

At heart, I prefer the center, the breath.

Prescription, there of, PLAY; pick up your fife.

The wind’s “ringing”, sustenance bringing.

When birds are soaring it’s my shibboleth.

Wind’s capricious, though, can cut like a knife.

At dawn, various birds are twittering.

The Phoenix (firebird) escapes from death.

Could meditation spur me to lose weight?

THE POTENTIAL ART OF “FAKE” (a theatre of the absurd piece)  

Cloth man, stuffed with straw, stood in the corn field.

Will the lie deceive the crows, weapons wield.

The mad bird squawked, flapping its wings wildly

until the predator left quietly.

When a Possum feels threaten it plays dead.

A brilliant trick, is this creature well read?

If a dog wages its tail with abandon

Is it glad or scared [?] too much depends on…

the CAT, who doesn’t care where the wind blows.

Faker!  Pretense!  Cats just like to lay low.

Nothing Ordinary Here

Mulling the magic, ordinary days…
Do cows ruminate on the grass they graze?
When birds are soaring high in clear blue skies,
The essence of the moment fills my “eyes”.
A Day’s magic distilled into minutes —
Cat’s curiosity knows no limits.
He leaped up on the tree, claws extended.
The moment didn’t last, but ’twas splendid!
Did the magic linger in the cat’s mind?
We find greatness in daily tasks well mined.