Love is a tree growing light
From its roots to its buds
The seve flowing up
Through its trunk
Defying gravity
And all other odds
Every time it is called.
Love is found
In the firm grip of the grandmother
Protecting the child;
By holding her hands
On his shoulders,
To anchor him firmly
In reality with her life experience
And grit.
Love shines
On the soft side of the strong man
Seeing his child grow up.
Between scolding and rewards
Work and relaxed moments shared
During the time we are given
To walk a shared path.
Love is heard
In the laughter of the mother
Who know she may never
Get out this song right
And yet it is always there
To bind the tribe in the harmony
Of the canon.
Love tastes
Like sweet pancakes
And crepes
The children learned to cook
In a chaotic kitchen
Dusted with magic
Ginger, turmeric and canella.
She said all this is me
over a simple cup
Of black coffee
She then grabbed a bottle of water
And run to catch her train
The witch headed south
With my dreams on her shoulder
Giving her wings to fly
And I knew she did not care which train
Was going to take her
As long as she was promised wings
To fly her through dreams
Rising from trunks
Of magic trees filled with love
Over centuries
I touch your skin
Wanting to feel
The shape of your heart
Nothing more superficial than that;
I look at your eyes
Wanting to see
The hues that fuel your light;
Nothing invisible into that.
I listen to your mouth
Wanting to hear
The undertones that mellow your heart
And I am caught in you key.
I sense who you are
From the rosemary scent
And led by it I smuggle out
Tar colored shadows of past.
I pull hard at the roots
I extract and throw them out
To the deep space
Far, cold and appart.
Years pass and she comes
From nowhere
A sweet ball
Of fire that can make you laugh.
In three moves
You make your songs come out
From her mouth
Warm and light
And joyfully bright
As she dances around
A strange shape
That resembles a heart.
She was born a red angel
and learned to fly amongst them
Blue angles, but she sometimes had
strange behaviors like flying up and down
when all the blue angels were running from left to right
as they were rescuing souls
ready to drown in a river of loss.
While the blues were carrying them
from the river to the edge of the forest
to breath renewed in the shade
she liked to place them closer to the sun
in hawks's next and high branches
exposed to light, hope and dreaming
and only the vague memory
about what was happening down on the ground.
As i sat and sung on the banks,
i had a vision of souls that were turning like balls
of red fires and fly from the trees
into the summer air , amongst
blue angels marveling at their need
to be saved by beauty,
in vision, music, or dance.
She looked at me from her painting
With her candid smile
As she danced half steps in the air
And half foot on the ground
And she begged understanding
For trading her long memories of pain
For fluttering moments of joy.
Yet, as it happened the skilled painter
Was there to capture those moments
To serve as example to those who are
Contemplating half bravely
A similar trade
I looked back at her warmed by her smile
As she stood lonely out from the circle
Of dancers- the one contemplating
the past and still dancing forwards
With grace.
Call me Jack
The wanderer the wonderinger
The doer and sometimes undoer
The impatient builder
The singer and the gardener
The wanna be repairer
Just call me cause I badly need
A word to push me forwards through the day
Towards tomorrow
And fixing your roof to shield you from rain
Is the project I have always had in the back of my mind
I was just waiting for you to call and let me know
You want this done and trust me
Before I leave you will have a happy and fresh
Coat of paint
The jealousy of all cardinals in the neighborhood
And only the woodpecker will dare knock on wood
To wake you up and wish you good luck
Because I have trained her to do so
In the morning to give you a start
He is like a storm in my arms
Rewriting the rules of love and hugs
He twists and turns and rolls
From one cheek to the other
Butterfly kisses fly in the air
Around this child of mine
In an effervescence of spirit
My olive girl has dark skin
Made from chocolate
Softened with milk
From the whitest sheep.
She is strong in spirit
And the symbol of peace
She has grown gracefully
In a hard land for survival
Amongst rocks and clay
Under the bright sun
she laughs with arms stretched high
Towards the perturbable sky
As she breaths in the strength of the sea
He is but one the hero
And there is only one quest
We each get our chance
If being him and then along the journey
And the chance comes back
To the lucky ones
Once a day
Everyday of our lives.
There are two sides of one coin
And they can flip
Any minute
There are two faces to time
You can call the god
Good or bad
As he sends every moment
To us and asks us
To seek our balance.
The bridge, the trip,
The road and the river
The blue sky and the storm
And us are asked
To share the path
To coexist.
Be the hero
soak in and drink
The essence of time
Fluttering by
While we can
Let’s face the currents
And swim in and drink
The water of life
We are all fruits
Of the tree of life
Either soft on the inside
But hiding beneath
A hard shell ;
Or soft on the outside
Like peaches
But hiding a hardcore pit
Protecting our heart.
So many fruits
In this world
So much sweetness
But handle us with care
Before anybody gets hurt
At harvest
if you are tired of fighting daily battles
do you pick and choose
those for which you show up?
do you drop your guns
to you extract the sword from the stone
or you sit and recharge?
I stand here naked,
not of clothes
But of all defenses
Because I have decided
To let words rings true to their value.
You were listening for a while
And then your voice rang like a bell
In resonance with the loudest timpani
Till the walls let the sound sink into them
And the floor, and there was no ceiling
( anymore).
But then what happened to us?
Have we dissolved in fear or indifference,
Have we become transparent to lies
Allowing them to pass through?
Untouched are our bodies you think
Wrapped in protective feathers of faith?
Will we stand naked all over again?
This time in shame, because
The emperor’s clothes, as it turns out,
were too thin to be true .
With long strong arms powered by longing
the very distance between us
pulls us closer;
to void fills with voices like the sky fills with stars
when the night covers the earth
in darkness.
the music rises and each voice harmonizes,
the chorus is disorganized, organic,
exhausting
and yet the music persists in breaking the silence.
we are free to be friends, when we remember
our core;
who we truly are, what we stand for,
and what do we want from this blessed day
we were granted.
today is the day, the only today that will ever be
should we choose distance over love
or love over distance ; what kind of bridge
will you and I be?
Sandwiched between
The soil and the sky
I count the clouds
Waiting for clarity
Soaking it in.
And when the sky
Clears the ways
Of my thoughts
I start the day
Anew with light
At first I thought the art of eating in Japan
Was an unconquerable mythology
Of sweet sauces polluting meat
Breakfast that smells strong enough
To wake the late sleepers
And minuscule sweet treats
that counterbalance calories
By washing them with patience
And the pure taste of green teas.
I ALSO thought that onions role
was to anesthetize the feelings
and to drown in tears the thoughts
against eating raw fish
and while i was humbly battling all of this
Sweet friends appeared and thought me
how To eat with chopsticks:
Grain by grain, cut by cut
Gentle and delicate
Restoring the balance
And The feelings too came back
And if we are but grains of rice
Don’t we deserve
The joy of life?
The privilege to make some noise
To let the wind bend us
In a few directions
The sun light us,
The moon enchant us
Who’s going to see the face of me
And hear the voice of you
If we are all but grains of rice
Let us be merry for the season
We’ll fill your bowl a little later
With hard earned fruits
If our labor
I have scraped my knees
In beautiful corners of the world
I have bled and got bruised
By the road
When taking a curve here and there
Too fast or too slow
On a dusty fun motor
Ages ago.
And now that I look at me knees
I see silvery traces
Of bruises and all I can say is
Thank you for building with me
Memories.
I was never part of the picture
Never been part of the plan
I just happen to happen
And you own the hand
That made be be drawn.
The lines that you’ve painted
Are recognizable
For being bolder than bold
And they danced me
Into existence
and shaped me to flow
Into the painting.
Where is my fault
For being drawn
at the speed of a bomb?
saint nicholas comes on the 6th
and brings with him treats
some are sweet for the mouth
some are warm for the soul
and some are surreal
for example one might get treated
with fairytales and pictures
of 300 year old gnomes
of spirits trapped within the bark
of grass trees
looking and longing to be
one and free
no matter what the memory
of dark nights may be
this is the time to turn on
and towards the light
