Did I create colors? Did I create water? Did I create healing for my cut? Did I create the glass cup On my coffee table? Did I create the couch I sit on? Did I create this room? Did I create the hum of cars Outside my window? Did I create the ability to hear them? The small self Grasps but can’t create Any of the basic things He takes for granted He’s a go-getter A problem solver Rolling always into the future But he doesn’t stop To appreciate what he has Right now With an open, grateful heart Once the small self is silent For a minute The gratitude operating system Can turn on
Category: Poems
Infection Reflection
A week, a week, it’s been a week A week since I fell Into the pit Where I couldn’t Think Or dream Or laugh But it wasn’t bad I have to say The comforts were astounding Sheets and TV Tea and sweets As my poor throat took a pounding It got to the point of fading out And so I did the math A doctor was worth it The pills were great And soon I saw a ladder Wobbly step By wobbly step I slowly climbed Out of the pit And now, After a week The energy Is starting to flow back Maybe I can go here Or there Explore this Or explore that But what lesson should I take with me From that pit Where I had sat? It takes work, I see now To scream And cry To get upset Work I couldn’t do In the pit It was just Much too hot The thing that was good About the pit Was not having to worry much About who’s right About who’s wrong About who’s to blame About the world All that stuff takes energy Energy I did not have In the pit There was no gym or cooking left No self-sufficiency I needed help I needed care The mental chatter died right down The voices and the crowd The neutrophils needed time to work Infections can be loud
Trees don’t want your money
Manhattan is a place Where the main thing to do Is spend money But at some point you realize That you’ve got Enough pants You shop and you shop And you shop and you shop And you reach a point When you look in your closet And think to yourself: “I’ve got enough pants” And shirts and gadgets too And at that point The advertising Starts to slide off of you Like oil on teflon And you leave Manhattan For the forest You hang out with the trees The trees That don’t want your money
feel the wind
there are times when the world seems to pull you this way and that when you swallow the struggle and you pull on yourself in these times sit, sit, sit with your hands on the keys be be be don't rearrange your furniture don't clean your damn room don't use this half hour "productively" just sit here and enjoy the folds of the day the fog lifts from the morning the wind comes in the world is alive with sounds feel the folds in your face relax yes, this is a note to self
A smoothie of fingers
"Trust in the universe" or "Trust in your gut" or "Breathe" A spiritual teaching is like A finger pointing at the moon Not the moon itself Is it my job, then To gather all the fingers As many as possible Into my basket To come home, and make A smoothie? Gory, yes But just imagine It's strawberry! It strikes me that this is What I've been doing More or less The diligent student from high school Is still around Trying to get all the points On the test The moon Is closer than you think I say to myself today To not forget it For I went there yesterday I didn't need anything to be different I was my own Perfect company The most effective pointers Are the simplest You just need one Or zero It's the moon you're after Not a smoothie of fingers (I read this poem on this podcast)
A conversation with a parking lot
A kayak is a translator Between a human and a river That lets the two Have a conversation Skis let us Converse with a mountain And surfboards With the waves I never thought I'd have A conversation With a parking lot Never thought I'd become A connoisseur Of different flavors of pavement Fresh asphalt is butter So smooth But a courser grain Is fun too The whirring, vibration Stays in my feet Even after I stop rolling Who knew that parking lots can speak? I know I'm not supposed to Think this way: "The universe will provide for you If you follow your heart" Or "Everything happens for a reason" I know "The Secret" is out of style In intellectual circles But I can't help think That my waking up at 5am this morning And not being able to get back to sleep Was the universe's way Of helping me Put some miles on this brand new skateboard First in a parking lot And then, gloriously Down an empty main street Morning, keep the streets empty, for me I sing in my head And board goes flying Towards a friendly car That stops Mid road "Automatic model" the driver exclaims As he looks at the rolling board I appreciate The good vibes he sends me The sun streams through the fog Near Syracuse University I roll back home And the universe sends me Some hate mail: A man with 2 huge dogs Says that the skateboard sound on the pavement Disturbs them "Go ahead," he says "After you," I say Out of politeness He growls at me and crosses the street Shaking his head For some reason, pissed Suddenly all the good vibes are sucked out of me And the neurons that evolved to keep me socially safe Kick in I shrink and tighten After I settle myself I can still think back to the sensation Of rolling, rolling The vibration in my feet The parallax of buildings Seeing the same street with new eyes Thank you skateboard I love you You showed me, this morning That life can bring excitement That joy can be found In the parts of life I previously prejudged Thank you, skateboard For showing me How to have a conversation With a parking lot