Tony's birthday waltz

 Speed is no indication of success. Just ask my friend, Tony,

A horseshoe crab. But do not expect words in response.

Let his wading waltz against toxic tides for near half an eon

Answer. Better to ask how he acclimates to the virus du jour.

Maybe it's his blue blood, or just immunity without impunity,

Arthropod (not crustacean) though he is.

No, he's not interested in the naming of the parts;

Dying (as most of us are) to be understood

Eternally and not just anthropomorphized as i do.

Regal in his own right, and more happy in the dance,

Slow and sure and not self conscious.

Irony in a shell helmet: Tony is the meek who will inherit.

Now my blank verse ebbs without ado to the

King Crab or Sand Sage (names more apt perhaps for one of Tony's lineage.)

 

Almost a Haiku

It was no error

my deceased brother-in-faith’s

poem was not haiku.

See for yourself:

Blue Heron

By Robert C. Goodrich, Jr.

Chameleon Bird

Brilliant, Dusky, Grey Blue

Delicate, Deadly, Dancer Bird

You see? It only

shows how form cannot hold

spirit transforming.

Just as I cannot

hold his turning page forever:

still as it takes flight.

June 15, 2020

Miracle

Suddenly, it filled me and took my shape.

Watching the stream i understood the spirit of it:

The water rushing toward stillness buoyed me in the moment.

Spilling effortlessly into eternity; raising its clarity.

This crystal oasis transforms the desert of sunlight:

bending it to a will not its own. i can see myself
in it; (not just 60 percent, but all).
Life abides
in each
drop.
Tears.
Rain.
Joy.
Grief.
Still,
with thanks i lift the wine of it and sip.

4-20-2020

God's Rose

4/20/2020

Written after reading an article about the orbit of the star s2 around the massive black hole Sagittarius A.

For Helen. Thank you for lighting my way for thirty years.

It was an elementary fascination of mine

One that circled many times with overlays

Of ellipses using a pen and plastic gear.

Later in my life, a moebius strip would challenge 

My lack of artistic talent to the point of no return.

Then, today, i read of a star that (over the past thirty

Years) scientists have traced and discovered its

Lines form a rosette around this sagittarian pit,

clover maze-like (over time) around that dark sun

Near our galactic center. Is this flower up above

Stonehenge mirrored? And what strange, unseen satyr’s

Sauterne accompanies God’s gift to us. This thought takes me aback:

Hurtling me through a time portal to your birth again

Starlit in my darkness, you began your orbit against all my fears. 

11-29-2019

Upon learning that an impossibly large black hole exists

The scientists found it and now we can read
how large it is: 70 times more massive
than our sun, yet dark and passive.
Still, light cannot plead
its case with it. How can we prove
that which we cannot see?
By the way it pulls at whom we
are closest; steadily and silently. No love
can escape it. There is no physics
(not even perhaps with the new fifth force)
to explain how dense the loss of its source
has become. And so we call on the mystics
to ease the pain akin to swallowing an atomic balm
to fill the space left (with a new star) after losing one's mom.

https://www.cnn.com/2019/11/28/asia/china-black-hole-discovery-intl-hnk-scli-scn/index.html

11-16-2019

Jacob's Ladder

What he saw in the desert threw him for a loop:
A ladder with Angels going up and coming down
In response to the question: "Who are we, Lord? What miracle soup
gives life to the bones all around."
We wrestle with the fact that our lives
are a spiral ladder of 23 steps that repeat
while the spirit buzzes amid the hives
of cells. He asked for a neat
explanation and got a DNA puzzle
that he would not have the tools
to assemble for millennia. So a muzzle
is what we get for fools
Errands. We cannot speak the way God speaks.
By saying "mountains," God creates a range of peaks
we climb up and down, searching for the soul in its evening gown. 

Happy Birthday, Gomez. 10-3-2019

Look, Squirrel! 

The phrase is used to tease our dogs, but with minor alterations
one could adapt it for journalists by calling it a tweet;
or “I’m 29 again!” when unwanted birthday wishes appear from friends and relations;
or “I thought it was April 18^th this year!” when taxes are due! Oh, wouldn’t that be sweet?
But throwing the newshounds off the scent only works on professionals,
children and others unrestricted by fact-checking can smell skunks
no matter how often they hold up acorns in their confessionals.
Better to open the restricted areas and let the bad air out than debunk
the emperor’s latest fascist statement by mislabeling it: “fashion statement.”
Is this the teapot calling the kettle whistleblower? But the sense
of the indictment (no matter how well-meaning) yields only abatement.
Once the squirrel takes off its costume or jumps the fence
called attention span and a video of a kitty cat captures the mice
of millions of computers.  We await a better mousetrap, when the squirrel doesn’t suffice.