West Virginia Mountains

A tectonic birth,
these mountains rising,
Their growth labor intensive
and not without a little dirt
(trees don’t really grow from rock).

Even the Himalayas
expand at an abominable rate,
Something like six centimeters
each year.  No wonder Yeti
gets unsettled.

I have never been to Nepal,
These mountains that stand sentinel
in my world grow slowly,
There is no Olympus Mons here,
not even an Everest.

We have no super aspirations,
Some days it’s hard to breathe at all,
but these are proud mountains;
they stand tall,
ever reaching for heaven.

Found Gold

A must read article!

Meet Me in the Middle?

Here is a quote from that article:

Rule by those who’ve managed to gain temporary control is not democracy, it’s arithmocracy. In such a system, those who’ve “won” rule, and others have no real say. But then the others invariably rise up and wrench back control, producing a constant lurch from one extreme to other, resulting in–let’s call it gutterocracy–a system of stagnation and decay.

It is the most sensible, most doable cure for any confrontation.  When you go to that blog
to read the article, please look around.  You will come away better for it.

 

 

 

 

a shadow of sun

there is a crack in everything,
that’s how the light gets in
Leonard Cohen in Anthem

the wall
a canvas begging for paint
blank

except for the shadow
of a maple leaf leaving the tree
and the gauzy beam

that sneaks in
under the curtain
a sign of autumn sun

touching the planet at a slant
reminding that shadows
are born of light

For Leonard Cohen

More nautilus than nightingale,
your many chambered shell
just armor for old scars.

With fishhook hands
we’d pull you back.  Into the light?
It’s hard to say.

Something
in the logarithmic spiral
of your life

kept you creating
those mirrors
of our troubled souls,

Something
kept you singing
your Bel Canto.

Sonorous the sound
that rose from sorrows,
from dreams and pain.

Your imperfections
were your splendor, and now at last
you’ve found your peace.

Your song echoes softly
as the forest wraps its arms
around you.

 

 

 

small truths

city streets wear the air of tents torn down
we shiver in the chill of knowing
there are no innocents

no need for seers; prophets and polls
prove unreliable

even the seasons seem to doubt each other
we face the coming winter

together

we wait for spring for history has long shown
no matter the foibles of man
come May the flowers will bloom