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                                                Milk Ranch Gorge

                                                    Ice is stillest water

                                                       Suspended for a time

                                                    Before the course to origins

                                                       Begins again.

                                                    Language is a barrier

                                                       That opens into rhyme

                                                   With intuition’s guidance,

                                                       Tracking destiny for men.

                                                         Retrospect

                                                  Now I look for bears in trees

                                                     Along the Milk Ranch rim

                                                  Since the time we saw, asleep,

                                                      A bruin at dream’s end.

                                                      Judgment Day                   

                                                  Judgment Day is really many

                                                      (Night just flickered shade),

                                                  Sunny side a solar solid;

                                                      Time cannot recede.

                                                  Action for the state of knowledge

                                                      We attain and live,

                                                  Earth’s only a sea-blue planet

                                                      Mankind’s meant to save.

                                              Over Albuquerque

                                                 An archetypal mountain chain,

                                                 The Sandias collect the rain,

                                                 Crown sunset with scarlet spires,

                                                 Elevate man’s solar hours –

                                                 Frequencies are beamed in red

                                                 Above the city’s dreaming bed.

                                                 Ascension may be made by run.

                                                 La Luz victors claim the sun.

                                                 Garden at Giverny

                                                      So gardens of Monet

                                                          Can be

                                                      In bloom our mutual

                                                          Destiny,

                                                      Care for the Earth

                                                          As if she were

                                                      The only place life

                                                          Can ensphere.

                                                      Care for the Earth

                                                          As if the wind

                                                      Depends upon our state

                                                          Of mind.

                                                      Yes, care for Earth

                                                          For Eden’s grove

                                                      Can only grow throughout

                                                          Our love.

                                                          Instigate

                                                   Add an element that’s old,

                                                       The human mind that cares,

                                                   And a world of difference

                                                       Upon the Earth appears.

                                                   Flowers that were nonexistent,

                                                       Trees that now are dead,

                                                   Shall resurrect, and meadows be;

                                                       Fruit shall burst to seed.

                                                   Directed thought, communion

                                                       With others will make stands

                                                   Of trees an apt embodiment

                                                       Of our blue planet’s lands.

                                                      Promise

                                                       Eden as a garden

                                                           Grows first in the mind.

                                                       Dorothy, Deva-tuned, translated

                                                           Plants for humankind.

                                                       Earth is first a planet where

                                                           People share one goal:

                                                       To make more fertile, soils,

                                                           And harvest the human soul.

                                                             Inner

                                                     To water is a ritual

                                                         For plants inside the house.

                                                     Devas are domestic too,

                                                         Rooted in our spaces.

                                                     Water as a golden rule

                                                         Weekly will suffice.

                                                     Blossoms will suffuse their colors,

                                                         Home in all the races.

                                                     Predilection

                                 Left brain, do I leave you,

                                                      A quarter century done.

                                                 It’s not that I’m romantic, but

                                                     Homework was not fun.

                                                 Graduation is release

                                                       And more consistent joy;

                                                 Experience the teacher now,

                                                       To nature I deploy.

                                                 One coyote, curious,

                                                      Accompanied through snow

                                                 The hike that I chose yesterday to do,

                                                      One now I know.                

                                                         Restorative

                                                   Snows that fell, rise again

                                                       As flowers, shapes so sweet

                                                   Bees will come by them and lush

                                                       A honey within wax

                                                   That will feed the pupa

                                                       Through the summer heat,

                                                   Save from fire, forest,

                                                       And restore blue, higher lakes.

                                                                 Aside

                                                   I could read the night away

                                                       Were sleep not so required

                                                   That if I ignore its sway

                                                       I spend the next day wired. 

                                                                 Biker 1

                                                       My venture by the moon, subzero,

                                                           Biking, may toe-freeze,

                                                       But is worth the effort since

                                                           My frigid sight still sees.

                                                       Confidence is never gained

                                                           Before a try is made.

                                                       Yesterday’s snow-spangled meadows,

                                                           Mental now, won’t fade.

                                                       Gain for me audition. May I

                                                           Set before the king

                                                       Experience upon this world in

                                                           Syllables that sing.

                                                                 Biker 2

                                                       Dare bike I across the void?

                                                            I do.

                                                       Since there is a Denny’s over there,

                                                           Tea too.

                                                       All it takes is many layers:

                                                           Sock pairs,

                                                       A moon to chase, and open road,

                                                           No cars.

                                                        My resort is language, depot

                                                           Of dreams –

                                                       Arrival always guaranteed –

                                                           Vacant lanes.

                                                            Lobo Mesa

                                                    The silhouette of white mesas,

                                                        Each tree green beneath;

                                                    Flakes have not flown off with wind,

                                                        White branches will bequeath

                                                    A sodden ground for seeds to germ,

                                                        For worms to roil, for ants.

                                                    Two crows flew by as chevrons

                                                        Casting shadows on their haunts.

                                                                 Ramah

                                                            Do my Civic duty:

                                                                Allegiance to the plants.

                                                           Their legions unify

                                                                The earth and sky.

                                                            Ramah is a little town,

                                                                Home for cowboy saints,

                                                            Since their grove of trees

                                                                 Has grown so high.

                                                            Vultures nest the crown;

                                                                 Museum in the scene.

                                                            Seeds will do it all

                                                                 For sun and rain.

                                                            Gandhi 1

                                                          Life is like a jail

                                                              If you are not free.

                                                          Express at heart all men –

                                                              Incarceration ceases.

                                                          Gandhi pared life down,

                                                              Unclothed hypocrisy.

                                                          Truth became the way his love

                                                              For others still increases.

                                                               Gandhi 2

                                                          Gandhi was a little man

                                                              Who didn’t drive a car.

                                                          He was in essence India;

                                                              He kept a clock to be

                                                          Punctual. Simplicity was

                                                              All that he could share:

                                                          A way for men and women

                                                              To retain their history.

                                                          Garb was for the king and queen.

                                                              Gab was for the lame.

                                                          He sojourned in truth and left

                                                               Alive a token name.

                                                                  Lincoln

                                                             Lincoln’s resolution

                                                                  Lasts the living day:

                                                             Permanent, in marble,

                                                                  Is what he had to say.

                                                            “A house divided cannot stand.”

                                                                 Match simplicity

                                                            With this joking fellow –

                                                                  Just the kind of guy

                                                             To make one two countries

                                                                  Or attend a play.

                                                             Unkilled by the single shot

                                                                  The life he lived, and why.

                                                                March Snow

                                                             The snow is settling in.

                                                                 Melt is eventual,

                                                             Rotunding seeds, enlivening

                                                                 The world as it goes.

                                                             Every bush and beast adjusts;

                                                                 Every tree that grows

                                                             Affirms in cambium the bliss

                                                                 Of building what it knows.

                                                              Celestial Hike

                                                                Clouds, the largest river,

                                                                     Roll across the dawn.

                                                                I surge on the syllables

                                                                    They pattern, and move on:

                                                                Synapse in a forest

                                                                    Welling with the sound

                                                                Muir heard as the angels –

                                                                     Chorus-kin, root bound.

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