drought

all earth and creatures born of it
stand with pores opened to the sun
gathering force to strengthen them
while waiting for rain
or death - whichever comes first

the mirror man

credits Pedro Lash and luxegallery

the mirror man
sat in front of me
mimicking my emotions
repeating my questions

I thought
he understood me
because he showed
such a good empathy

one time I was about
to get too close
and fall on the slippery slope
of love simply because
I had worked hard many years
on learning to love myself

then he did something strange
he put on my face
a mirror
so I could see him
in my face
my face in his face
his face in my face
diving one into each other
ad infinitum

what drought
of candor
when exhausted of the trip
nobody
could see anymore
nobody
at the end of the search

on getting up i think
I may have hit him
with my arm trying
to break the ever so empathic mirror

I fear now I hurt him
or maybe just hurt myself
dizzy I can barely see
what remained of us
in those broken mirrors

perhaps memory was altered
I cannot now even be sure
if there was ever
really anybody
anywhere behind those masks
besides emptiness
and thirst

the master potter

his hands trembled just slightly
his smile showed his face wrinkle
his eyes only betrayed
the really young age of his soul

clear and blue and full of light
his yes were often washed
with the colors used to paint his pots
the colors he kept alive from old days

his voice candid as the voice of a child
he told us a part of his story
one cold rainy day in Oboga
when he made us feel close to the earth


his gifts came onto him through hard work we call art;
his pain and joy from the same clayish earth
me molded all his life
with his heart

do

do whatever you do
with your head
with your hands
do it well

be whatever you are
be yourself - without shame
aim to grow better
every day

give and receive
the gifts of life.
share yourself
with your friends