You look like your mother.

                                            I guess I do carry her tenderness.

You both have the same eyes.

                                            Because we are both exhausted.

And the hands.

                                            We share the same wilting fingers.

But that rage  --  your mother does not wear that anger.

You're right  --  this rage is the one thing I get from my father.

                                            

To fathers with daughters:

Every time you yell at your daughter out of love,

You teach her to confuse anger with kindness.

Which seems like good idea; until

She grows up to trust men who hurt her.

Because they look so much like you.

How is it so easy for you
     to be kind to people,
            he asked.

Milk and honey dripped from 
     my lips as I answered,

Because people have not been kind to me.

 

Wintry Desert

The wind blows cold The sky pale grey The sun hidden. Winter comes to the desert. Snow falls in the mountains Frosting them icy white A beautiful sight against the palm trees.

 

Bloom Within This Lonely Desert

To see your face again, resembling the warm radiant sun.

After a long, dark, cold and lonely winter, holding you in my arms again.

Soothes and heals my damaged heart.

Since you departed, my life became an empty arid desert.

But, now your here, and blooming in my lonely desert.

 

Winter Wildflowers and Desert Plains

A riot of color, revealing the plain as you drive the vast ways in the High Desert.

Vivid and broad, the landscape evolved, painted in hues of the flower. Viridian and gold, violet and blue, the dirt itself reflects a golden sun, sets off a contrast, a vision of hues, no other place on Earth. The California Golden Poppy, occupies the space as the everlasting colors transform, the majestic camouflage of winters embrace, defying the rules of the cold winter norm. Deprived of water, for the desert's their home,they challenge the grace of the source, emitting small buds against the parched loam, life's promise, a powerful force. Life will out, and new beginnings begun, a testament to hold in wonder, for winters drought, under our burning sun, cannot deter these flowers.

 The Parting Cup

Of all the money I ever had,

I spent it good company.

And, all the harm I have ever done,

Alas, it was none to, but me.

And all i have done, for lack of wit,

To memory now, I cannot recall.

So fill me the parting glass, 

Good night an joy to you all.

Of all the friends I have had,

They are sorry for my going away.

And, al the sweethearts that I have ever had,

They want me to stay one more day.

But, since it fell unto my lot,

That I should rise and you should stay.

I gently rise and I’ll softly call,

Good night and joy to you all.

THE GUEST HOUSE

 

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

 

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

 

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

 

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

 

Be grateful for whatever comes.

Because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

-- Jelaluddin Rumi,

  translation by Coleman Barks

 

When I think of Panama, this is what I see:

Blue skies, ocean, river and streams,
     The dark green jungle, fields, and plants,
          The heavy rains and dry season breeze,
               And big fluffy clouds,
                    and the ships that would slowly glide by.