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?"

Orientation.

Orient yourself;
Chair and desk,
Moraine, and spinning, bursting stars,
Beginning of time, yours, now.


How was it that you found yourself,
Right then, in the meadow;  your arm a
Windbreak, haven for a red dragonfly?
'Needed you, as others have.
All the way along...


How is it, through all of this;
Storms, shrapnel, endurance,
That you have somehow
Tapped into the swelling ache?
'Heart's beauty and tempo.
Relentless...


How will it be to awaken with
Calm ecstasy,
When you find you have landed?
'Found your haven.
Finally...


Finally.


When?
Where?
And under which star?

Wiring.

There is no trick.
There is no scheme afoot.
No stutter in the turn of the earth,
Bent on your imbalance.
The answer to all of it is still
Right there inside of you,
Steady as it has always been.


You knew it earlier on.
You did.
You knew to let the winter wind kiss your cheeks.
It was natural, an easy tilt to marvel at perfect flakes,
And to twist to examine the footprints that confirmed you.
A smooth, tender part of it all, you
Processed the beauty of the world and 
Looped it back; your very heart wired in to the
Thrumming pulse at the centre;
It kept you safe,
It kept you lithe,
It kept you deep in the adventure.


But now, for some reason, you think it strange,
'Not for you ... when nothing could be
Further from the truth.
Remember your wiring.  It's still there.
The thrumming hasn't changed;
'Hasn't quieted.
'Never, ever weakened,
All this time waiting for you to come back.


Just shed your bark.
Relax your shoulders so your ribcage can move.
Soften ... and your heart will dovetail right back into it;
Match up with the pulse as if it never missed a beat.
And it will flood you.
It will flood you with wave upon wave of the 
Love that is right here for you; never ending.
And you will realize that your place in all of this is still,
Safe,
Lithe,
Deep in the adventure ...
As it is for all of us.


The others?  Those that have pushed you to
Cracking with trouble and bluff?
You can't wire for them.  You can't.
They wont' let you.
That's how this works ...
But in tending to yourself;
Loving yourself,
Sincerely,
Intensely,
There is a chance, if they get close enough;
Curious of your bliss,  they'll get
Washed, drenched in your waves,
And wire in without even knowing it.
No trick.
No scheme.
... no extra effort.


Just you.

For Winter Solstice...

Feel her.  

Feel her roll, and sigh.
Gently, gently feel her under the stars,
Shifting, turning, sighing in the dark;
Deep, deep in well-earned slumber.

A shame to not look on her, to not 
Be there and watch as she dreams;
Remembers the summer's work,
Autumn's glory, and
Delights in themes of spring's surprise.

Hold her close, our earth, in all her beauty,
As we nod tonight to the sun and its return.

Brief,

This moment of change, tipping toward
The blink of dawn;
A flicker, now charged to beat the last,
Marking the coming of puffed days,
Fuller and fuller of trumpet's call;
Duty, adventure, and the hunt for love's blush.

The night gives way, with each of her turns
Until, once again, she finds the longest day
Adorned in sun's tender shadows.


But now, tonight, we are a half from that,
And though eager to pass right to spring,
Slow here at winter's door. 

Take stock of yourselves.

Soften your edge, and rest, because
You too have turned;
Weathered the seasons, some easily,
Others with great effort.

Those triumphs you have had, those successes that have
Somehow lost their vividness, faded–
Bring them forth again.
Sharpen their images and make no bones about just how
Important they are; each and every one.

And challenges?

All of us.

Be grateful for these, and look to them, depend on them
To summon the very best that is in you;
Your strength, your brilliance, and the
Realization of just how powerful you are;

– and you really are.


Through all of this, adventure, breath, comes the opportunity,
The gift, at just the right time, to 
Tap into something bigger than all of us;
A wellspring of love, rooted deep within the earth.
It's always been there, turning with her, but now
Tonight, we can feel it tugging at us,
Offering its embrace and guidance as this dark
Gives way to light.


Take it;
Shake free of the past.
Brush off the old dust and tedium, and
Emerge. 

Emerge to the new light, with all of this
Love, and grace, and beauty;
Fill your lungs– you are

Remarkable.


Stand and raise your glass.
Welcome the sun, the lengthening day, and the
Fresh chance to move ahead with clear perspective,
A re-energized heart, each,
And the fondness and respect we have for each other, here,
And those dear to us, presently, elsewhere;


To the sun!