Reformation

I stood in awe, barely aware of the camera dangling in my hand,

thunderstruck in all ways by the aged stargazer within my sight.

Happenstance, perhaps, but it seemed far more divine than that.

I was ordained to see this venerated ascetic of Tenmodai Wood.

His stairway trim rockily freeforming, the earthen base long gone,

with a body humbly clothed in simple brick robes- moss covered all.

The miter on his head, patina'ed green by 73 years weathering.

I stood, ankle deep in a carpet of grass, rotting leaves and loam,

paying homage on this not-yet-spring day, my congregation of one.

(Just background note about the poem above. It is actually about a very old observatory, on a hill, behind our house that I happened to stumble upon during one of my walks.)

Electric heaters have replaced the old metal drums’ wood-fueled flame

Once erratic, the crackle now is transmuted to a mundane civilized hum.

I find I miss the fire – the dancing lights chimerical touch on midnight black;

the worn spot on the stairs where tabi’d feet deftly pressed quiet passings;

the indefinable smell of old – history recorded by sandalwood and incense.

My eyes close and I bring forth who I was when these memories were made –

before the temple was rebuilt in gleaming gilts and straight-planed timbers,

before my hair turned silver, and my parents emerged in the planes of my face.

I reminisce and find it all sweet, yet, no sweeter than what is my current truth.

I am ready for what my future brings – for histories and loves not yet birthed.

The rope fills my hand, the muscles in my arms bunch as I pull back and release

all my hopes and prayers for those I love into the sanctity of a fresh new year.

        Mental Shower

juggling in my mind, ideas pitch and fall

aerodynamic flight, rebounding in my head

options shower in mid-air, cascading through my thoughts

sometimes jagged like glass, at times as clear as light

 Such is Elsewhere Made Of

I've been having these thoughts about language

rattling around in my head, bits and pieces

that afford me balmy moments of Elsewhere

away from my often detail-infested Somewhere.

The best thing is, when this happens, I look like

I’m masticating solutions to major work problems.

Such a good little worker I. If only they knew

that I have thoughts of flipping verbs and

transmogrified nouns rather than budget dates,

meeting times, and do’n the Bean Counting Boogaloo.

It’s more civil and a heck-of-a-lot more interesting.

Right now, I am working on how to name clusters.

A kind of penultimate collective noun conundrum.

I adore a drift of swans, not only for the image,

but also for the subtle play on words by the verb.

I like an exaltation of larks for the same reason.

But the one that has me stuck is the one for friends.

I mean, you’ve got your group, your bunch, your herd.

The whole lot of them sit there like toads in the dirt.

Short, squat and I sure don’t want to pick them up.

I like my friends. Do I want to saddle them with that?

Not in this life time. So, I think about what would work.

What twist of language would state the emotion more

elegantly? Crisp the nuance just so? Do them justice.

Questions like these form the fabric of my Elsewhere time.