Wednesday, November 1, 2017




Iceberg, twice as big as Luxembourg,
has broken free of Antarctica,
it says on the news.
Impressed my mind, lifted me,
the birth of an icy island,
now adrift on the Weddell Sea.
Iceberg cleaving slow through cold ocean
will disturb the fish, the whales and seals.
Hard to believe it is real.
Stupendous sight,
to its own majesty nature kneels.
It belongs to you and to me
as much as to the arctic hare
and the polar bear.
Land is still yours and mine,
even if we are not there.
Uninhabitable, only for scientists to study.
Some of them say it is not linked to climate change,
such events happen all the time.
That may be so, but it still looks strange.
Iceberg, twice as big as Luxembourg,
has broken free of Antarctica.


Falcon moon.
That's what happens sometimes
when you are moved to find words to fit a tune,
you come up with something like falcon moon,
then you study it like syrup balanced in a spoon
till falcon moon leads to raven sun, eagle earth,
and you ponder what each word might be worth.
A swan glides through reeds,
sparrows peck at sunflower seeds.
A pebble drops in a lake,
rings circle out,
as you strain to be satisfied with what you try to make.
Only the lion paces with no fear over the grass.
It does not matter who you see when you look in a glass,
all of it will pass.
Obsession with the body seems worst in the west.
When the spirit is forgotten you cannot be your best.
Time with the one you love is a summer long song,
every note clear, every chord strong,
means you can get right what you used to get wrong.
Yes, time with the one you love is a summer long song.
Falcon moon, raven sun, eagle earth.
Wonder what each word is worth.


I sit in the desert,
old but not yet weak.
No one knows I am here,
waiting for the Sphinx to speak.
And when he does,
he will tell me everything,
complete the pyramid
from root to peak.
I am happy to be sitting here
in the desert sand
with nothing in my head or hand,
like a bird with a seed in its beak,
waiting for the Sphinx to speak.
I once saw a face in a drawing
that knew everything.
I stood and listened
for what it might say or sing.
The story of the silent seekers,
the mystery of the meek,
I wish to know as I sit,
waiting for the Sphinx to speak.


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