Mustard Seed

Mustard seed sometimes blow upon the winds,
They blow across feilds... their own, across strange new fields,
and through cities.  There many of the wandering seed die,
smashed on windshields, crushed beneath heavy trucks or unsuspecting leather shoes.
Some seed settle on windowsills and sow for a steady future.
They can no longer bear the dangers of nomadic life.
The rest they ride on the winds, onward looking,
feeling, singing, seeing and dying...they ride.

Quietening of Soul

Not much doing
Not a lot to say
I live by my mood
from day to day

...took an awful lot of work to grant myself            the permission
to live this way.

ChildBirth

Dewdrops delicately dent
the brittle balance
of moisture in our
garden and along comes
Sunshine.

Singing silver splinters
streak a shining sky,
clouds calmly clumsily clear
the channel through which
arrives "a" glorious day.

All this a mere prelude,
natures very own red carpet
rolled out, rolled out...
rolled out
for you.

The Condensed Yet Unabridged Conclusion to Anthropology... (theatrical version)

Act I

You:     Hey!  What are you doing?
Me:      Me? I'm just living in my narrow mind.

 
 Act II

Me:      Hey! What are you doing?
You:     Me?  I'm just living in my marrow mind.

The Fabulous 30s

   emancipation from the superficial bothers of youth -
   into the calm evaluation of meaning and purpose -  
celebration of elevation to the majestic heights of adulthood -
rich in humility, deep wonder, and true wisdom -  
...


what a crock of shit!

Self in the (re)Making

     Ink this life
           like blue on canvas
     Colour me deep

           in an absurd masterpiece of grace...