Tag: peace

No Rush

You don’t have to rush.  You don’t have to be in such a hurry all the time.  You don’t have to feel pulled in a hundred different directions.  It’s only the energy of the society around you, and has nothing to do with the…

Reception

Friends, I toss myself aside for you.  I become available for you.  I eat, drink, mumble, run hands through hair for you, scramble down the gulch for you, carry wood, fold socks, scrub pots, ever-fearless, requiring nothing. These are not the days of time’s…

Binoculars

Look too long at faraway things and you lose sight of where you are right now.  Desire and fear are pulling you in ten-thousand directions. There are other forces. You can turn more inside, see yourself more closely, as if through binoculars.  Just pause,…

Many Brothers

Connection erases age, weakens constraints, strengthens the bond of brotherhood. I have crossed many valleys. I have loved many brothers. Treetops creak and bang the way the screen door did in my own lost boyhood. A wind has risen.  Dying leaves pray for us…

Backbone

This poem first appeared in Red River Review in 2013. Backbone A favorite thing of mine, he said, is a hot drink in early morning, taken to cut through phlegm and shake rust out of the brain, usually around six o’clock.   And then…

Cooperation

The waterfall, with all its power and noise, took none of the majesty from the small stones downstream. And the stones, in turn, borrowed no wisdom from the waterfall. The two only respected each other.  

Circles

If I didn’t have to go to work today, I’d write a clever turn-of-phrase or a cryptic suggestion only you would understand the meaning of. I’d spend my time among the dead, paying my respects with a few well-put-together lines destined to become a…

Scraping the Windshield

I’d better leave these northeast winters before my sullen brooding turns to a measure of joy, as I grow content that the edges of the road are caulked with mud, frozen slush, listening to the clatter of another semi’s jake-brake as it breaks open…

Yuletide

The dawn sky wore Maxfield Parrish blue.  Crescent moon and her north star companion faded clean out of sight like St. Nick in the old rhyming story.  A pair of crows cawed, shifting to the next fir treetop.  The cat and I observed this…

On This Umbilical Earth

Gratitude and I had an argument, then went walking together, that morning when I felt a kinship with those turtles sunning themselves on a log. The wisdom of not being industrious truly belongs to them, but I picked up a strand of it as…

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