Are not suns. They do not shine For billions of years Racing through space Away from each other Bending nothing indelibly In gravitational waves No one notices. They race into our hearts Moving what matters Marking everything In their way Towards our need For another day Held together…
Kirk Gothier
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Last Bites
Our elder tree Barely bears, Weak limbs Reaching, Apples shaking Morning fog, Lifting up So little of What we recall…
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Trade Winds
Another gray morning Treetops shake Vultures rise, Circling endlessly Riding trade winds Higher than a kite! R Bloomin Orchard Bristles with fruit Blessed by rains Held far too long In changing climate Made of Vultures Past…
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Blossoms
Orchard buzzing As Spring arrives: Lust driven, Groin hurling, Wanton desire, Flying nowhere In particular. Love is in the air!
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Consciousness
What matters Is not matter. Nothing is Created Nor destroyed. Thought has Always been The language of Quantum Mechanics. Who’s on first?
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Heartbreak Forward
He made the mistake Of attempting to Tweet about The mountain We must climb With all our hearts. When the sun rises And first dew drops Mark starting points, Our iPhones Are worthless.
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Shelf Life
Here they come, Shuffling between Expiration dates. Moving in and out Because they can. Ants everywhere, After the crumbs Tucked in corners No one can see, Until they arrive. Happy Holidays!
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Banana Slug Derby – Dukkha Style
A big storm is coming, finally As I veer off the Grizzly Bluff Onto my favorite jogging path, Dodging Sword Ferns, Dancing around Spruce Guarding Zipporah’s Pond. A Banana Slug Derby Runs blissfully amok, Blessed by first rains Drenching forest floors, Teasing the senses Of all who roam Aimlessly fulfilled.
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Yes We Can
Open our hearts To the promise Of tomorrow, Steeped in DREAMers Coloring cooling waters Only clouds can carry…
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Last Phase
Sitting in my cozy chair Late into the night Looking up at stars By my campfire, Built with care Only elders know Everything is possible.
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Pursuit of Happiness
The work is daunting. As we struggle with each step, One hand is clapping.
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Contour Lines
Radiate outwards in countless dunes Lifting scorched badlands, built by decades Of changing weather and threatening skies. This covering has served me well. Wrestling with childhood friends, Embracing faintly removed lovers, Holding incinerated remains Waiting to rest with stars. My fingertips follow their paths, Circling endlessly in the plain Between elbow and wrist – A […]