The Steady Ceiling

Perhaps a seat upon the roof, a sturdy perch above eye line

Where I could sit in peace, at night and watch the steady ceiling spin,

And ask the planets as they pass if they have heard, or,

"Do they know" just what the world expects of me?

I seem to find, though efforts great, I cannot have, fall short my reach,

This, not for you, this will not fit, have not the cred, what have you done?

But on the roof at night up high, there might be some celestial clue,

A word spelled out in font of size that sets my troubled, foundered mind.

'Takes in to care the "all of it," from tiny cell to Hubble's quest,

And where I fit, if fit I do.  I hope I do.  I'm yearning to...

I seem to find, though wonders great, I cannot solve, fall short my thoughts,

I missed my chance.  The ship has left.  The horse is gone.  The horse is gone.

Two stories up I'll stay 'till dawn and barely blink to miss the thing,

This faith I have in heaven's nod; there must be someone knows my part.

The sky, my constant, calming gift; with tired heart I'll search it's text, 

And look for what I need to do. What is it that I need to do?

...just tell me what I need to do.

Radiant ...

If the moon had arms, it would reach down and scoop you up.

Then, it would be the "second" most radiant gift in the heavens.

Si Tu me Vois.

This piece was composed, specifically, to be read, or spoken along with music you would recognize from Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris," "Si tu vois ma mere," by Sidney Bechet. Otherwise, the flow of it might seem odd. If you are too cheap to download the song, then have a friend hum it while you read, or phone me and I'll do it.  Boy, you're a lot of work.

Wake up. Breathe, and open up your heart,
Then slide.  Move, and feel your way.  Don't think so much.
Don't think so much ---feel - - -
Send worry - off - to some - where else.
Not - for you - today.
Put on that dress.
Yes that dress -


And sizzle - baby, just sizzle -


Comb back your hair - and love the ground,
Then find your tem - po, some - thing slow.
Then step. Step. And wind your way,
Like silk - - -
There is - no - need - to - fight - your -way -
From one - scene - to - the - next.


You can sizzle - baby, if you open - up your heart.


It won't take long - once you venture out,
For the world to wel- come you.  Yes this way you move.
This new way you move --- smooth - - -
You'll - find just how nice it is not to dance for any but yourself.
Let them dance their own.  They can dance their own.
There is nothing -  you need prove.


Then you'll find your place - as you move with grace,
Taking comfort in - that skin.
And you'll look around. Yes, you'll look around -
To see - - -
All those open hearts - moving with -  as if you were one.
So keep sizzlin' baby - that's how you were meant to be - - -

The Thrill.

The spring breeze surprised me; 'came up behind me when I
Let the dog out. I was standing off the step and felt the most
Gentle, warm kiss on the back of my neck.
It hesitated for a second as if waiting to check my reaction,
Then, draped so lightly over the rest of my body that
I thought I might float away.
It had not the corners or play of winter's wind, nor the
Heavy work of a hot summer's reduction.
Instead, it snuck in, perfectly fresh and warm.  
It teased like a lover returning after a long absence.
I turned, trembling, so glad to feel it, and
Breathed it in while it wrapped around me;
Both of us thrilled.

Crescent Moon

In the silence tucked between winter gusts,
I hear the beauty of the crescent moon.
The sound, echoing inside my bones,
Started inside my beating heart,
Ecstatic to witness its sky-bound love
Sighing its arc through day's shadow.


Delightful, eager in its sunset reveal,
The crescent's trace so clean and perfect,
Suggesting, perhaps, a tear in the evening sky;
A glimpse through to some kind of heaven,
Where Someone has left the light on.


It is this moon; this orb of sunny ricochet,
'Takes my breath, thrills me with each pass, and
Lures my thoughts from their tethered struggle, then
Flings them upward in a euphoric spray of possibility,
And charges my senses to hear, see, feel
Far beyond...heaven and farther.

Hang on.

Hang on.  Hang on tight.
The evenings of crickets and porch-light moths are on their way;
Richness of a summer's eve, and
Punctuation to days of sun. Oh the sun!
Robbed from these winter days; fondly touted as principle role
In the languid heat of a July afternoon,
Ripe with blossoms, barbecues, or the soothing liquor of
heated pine needles on a granite shore.


It is tough, this winter gauze, lowering from the sky, day after day,
Forcing us to know ourselves, tangling us in self and motive.
'Easy, as creatures of light, to find joy with waves and sand,
Or steaming over a snow-covered expanse brushed with 
Sunny sequins.
But it is under this fractured promise; thaw and grey and heavy,
That we are driven to endure the intrigue of our deeper thoughts;
Intense and haunting, stuck and rolling in this web of humanity.


Hang on.  Yes, hang on tight.
Dare to take on this posturing dullness and embrace your strength;
There rooted deep in the softness of your yearning.
It is rich and round.  It fills you and moves you, as it should.
Just be careful of the edges; the sharp edges of your more
Sneaky, unbeckoned ideas, prone to tipping and
Cracking toward oblivion if acknowledged. 
So don't acknowledge. Just let them pass.
Hold, instead, to the gauze lifting and the sun hitting its mark again,
And you, relieved, but stronger for its absence.

Effort.

There is effort in these days, settled after the
Slow blur of childhood,
Whirlwind of keys, to degrees to family tides;
Ebbing and flowing with
Challenge, delight and growth.
Time, though some question its integrity,
Is not the enemy.  It is not.
Time has arranged this; to find me here,
Deep into it, callused and spun;
Long ago past the point of no return.
Right where I am supposed to be.


There is effort in these days, unique and perfect,
Tumblers clicking to inspiration's gifts, to 
Solve problems thought unsolvable,
And to reveal the infinite beauty of
Pace, soothe, and heart.
Time, though some think it fickle;
A thoughtful facilitator, really.  Time is wise.
It planned a shift in perfect step,
Calm and patient, avoided the urge to
Try too soon and miss the goal, but waited instead.
Time waited; biding, biding.


There is effort in these days, but in one moment, a gain;
A subtle surprise of grand expanse.
With mindful guidance I am changed and
See myself a worthy soul, unbound from
Shadows, meek and timid.
Time saw fit to lift the shroud,
To draw me up in careful thought.  Graceful.  Brilliant.
And with new breath, new eyes, new heart,
In fresher light I see my past and
Take the future in my teeth.
But as I rise with appetite, a focus toward my best, my due,
A great injustice it would be, remiss, to wave time's mastery by
As just a thing, a passing nod;


It's nothing small.  It means the world; relief and zest,
And I am grateful, floored and new.

Delight's Fire.

I know I am here.
I do.
I have seen footsteps in the snow that have told me so.
I have spit steam from my breath, evidence of a beating heart.
And tonight, a brave shadow on the snow; gift of a
Crisping moon.
That's the thing of winter;  all else is quiet,
Dormant.
No interruption to reflection,
So when I find myself, all under my brim,
Drunk with the quiet and the 
Clean, cold edge of the air,
I gaze, undistracted, at the moon, stars, and  struggle to
Figure how to burn that brightly.
"How can I tag in?  Get on their map?"
Not for us.  I know, I know.
Instead, our fires burn within; mine,
Hidden magnitudes of young despair
Dampened so as not to disrupt, finally burst to molten,
Razing facades and defenses to
Thick, painful embers,
When all I want is to be full and choked with
Robust flames of delight.


I know I am here.
I do.
I have felt the pain and weight of steep decision.
I have soothed troubled waves of anger and longing,
Evidence of a seeking heart.
No longer a fool, I expect no league with the moon, 
But frankly use her tender shine as reminder of 
Life;
Dormant, vibrant, and all in the margins.
Shame on those whose fires languish for
Lack of intent or gut.
I would not trade my embers earned for any 
Hollow ease.
I can claim my footsteps.
I deserve my steam,
And one day, with diligence's promise, I will
Radiate delight's fire to a magnitude
Worthy of star's queries;
"How can we tag in?
How can we get on her map?"