In 1543 Philip was a prince,
and Spain remembered ever since.
he married Maria, his cousin,
then two years later, it wasn't.
She died in childbirth, rather morose,
giving birth to Don Carlos.
Don was disturbed, and very deformed,
in a Spanish Empire being transformed.
Emperor Charles wrote his son a letter,
on how he could rule Spain a lot better.
Philip set sail on his very first mission,
enduring dangerous weather conditions.
But a New Year's Eve party with Genoese,
was the reason they went to sail overseas.
Prince Philip crossed the dangerous water,
to dance with the duke of Italy's daughter.
At a feast, Philip saluted the host,
and to his daughter he made quite a toast.
As Philip and Charles traveled down the Rhine,
Charles thought a mosquito bite was a sign.
His arthritic knuckles had taken a bite,
a symbol of death that gave him a fright.
Charles was dying, he was almost dead,
So he had Philip and Mary Tutor wed.
The Queen of England wed Philip to try,
for an alliance with England, the reason why.
Queen Mary had a miscarriage,
that seemed to be the end of the marriage.
Philip's mother died, the Queen of Spain,
Charles retired, with nothing left to gain.
France attacked Spain, but the loss was great,
King Philip conquered them in 1558.
Charles was living in a monastery,
eating everything from bacon to cherries.
He was obese, about to face death,
and through convulsion, breathed his last breath.
Philip was in Bristol when he heard the news,
Mary Tudor died next, leaving no clues.
The ruling age of Spain had come to its demise,
kingdoms rise and fall, are any of us surprised?
April gray reveals our lack:
there are too few words
for the color green
Celery, celadon, chartreuse, olive,
jade, avocado, khaki, lime,
even emerald is not enough
The ground cover rises
in search of the promise
Sun will come
warmth will envelope
what lies in wait
crumbled curled leaves
and fallen trees
I am on a ship
in this open field
I am awash
but not of the sea
it is springtime
the prairie dazzling
in blue gowns
trimmed in green lace
a debutante's perfume
fills the open sky.
When I think of oceans
I float in puff-drifts
thankful for Nature's
beloved Beethoven's ear
the deaf pinnacle
of symphonic walks in the forest
a culture of music
he cannot hear the crickets sing
or the flutter of birds' wings
in the drifting fog
finding his way into the first note
then the second, then the third
like uncovering leaves on a moonlit night
one by one
until the crescendo is something
he himself can also hear
and maybe in the recesses of his mind
he knows what sounds
fly south for winter's breath
and those that fly north
to appear in movements
now there is a quiet
the soft rustling
of the forest floor
and the trees hang sad and silent
buried a thousand times
within the grooves
worn down by the needle
We're on the cutting edge
sluicing slouching scrunching
hidden in rotted beams
gnarled onion knuckles
scents of veal calves on the hook
glistening gleaming gloaming
drones on the updrafts
beyond cloud line
above tree line
deep in a memory
of Yellowstone lodgepole pine
where the air is thin
like your moist inner thigh
as you shudder in your dreams
deep in the ambiguity of night
where reality hovers
zip and zap
hugging the cross winds
isolated embers drift
and it's those moments
those forgettable slices
glimmers of immortality
that bind us
cosmic dust and glue
emerging from that primordial stew
where everything is possible
and anything goes
Time is an illusion.
— Hermann Hesse, The Seasons of the Soul
There is no time
except when made by me
also made by you
and by each his own
fingers not stopping
weaving cat's cradle.
Time came to be
when you thought
futures could be bought
and some day redeemed
but futures don't exist
except when imagined
in the stock markets of
when gaining more value
from aging scarcity
and pasts only respond
to demons emerging
in your dreams of
nourished by Electra
punished by Oedipus.
You think time is free
in the present of choice
through the eternal now
no regrets of the past
or hopes of the future
exalting in the moment
of having everything now
while the arcade burns
from fire earth and air
leaving only ashes
of what is then and now.
Time made must start and
time started must end
so you must live your
counting down your time
of measured days and life, yet
There is no time of mind
if no mind about time
just through mind to choose
what to do and be
to do or not to do
mindless as the lioness
in the Serengeti
stalking for prey
to be or not to be
mindful as the monk
in the Hagia Sophia
praying to god.
Lions stalk to do
and monks pray to be
and what it all means
for you and me is
to live to be real
in mind of no time.
Aesthetic, lovely May, you bring a scented, warmth, so fine, to Nature, year by year,
Arriving softly, quietly, you touch and breathe upon each sleeping life, so dear.
The empty branches of the trees, now blossom lovely, green and silky, shady leaves,
The dormant flower beds, upon your touch, will now awaken, by your Maytime deeds.
The atmosphere of fresh new life, brings fragrances, so sweet, which linger on, so well.
The Mother birds do make their nests on leafy trees where they, and newborn birds will dwell.
Sweet, lovely May of warmth and growth, your coming brings great beauty, scent, and joyful sound,
Dear graceful May, upon arrival, you bring joy, to all of Nature, once more, found,
Soon, blossoming appears, the grass turns green, and birds in nests bring music, as they sing,
All this because you come each year, and wake all sleeping Nature, as great love, you bring.
Enchanting May, you do bring music flowing through the now, all love filled atmosphere,
jFor you, sweet May, bring dreams of gladness, cheer, and love, to all of life, so very dear,
All nature now, does sing and play to music which is flowing through the flowered air,
For life, once more is heard by one and all, and brings a happiness of love and care.
Your coming, yearly, Queen of May, gives Nature, life, your love and beauty, bringing cheer,
All giving May, we thank you for the perfumed beauty which you bring to us, each year!
Today's sky unlocks him
after four months of Covid confinement
in his small room at the window —
my father — teacher, jokester — filling with fresh air.
In his wheelchair under vast blue,
his mind goes back to an O'Keeffe painting
he once saw in a museum. Though her sky had more clouds,
he says. Probably just to make it more interesting.
We circle the park, watch a gull dive for bugs
over the field, likely chasing dragonflies, I say,
confessing I'd always thought they only ate fish.
They'll eat your ham sandwich if you're not careful, he warns.
Another go-round as the sun warms his pasty arms.
His pink scalp glows under fine wisps of white,
and his hunched shoulders, bone thin, straighten
as he greets passers-by and scans the trees for birds.
Months of forced routine have grounded him
after a year of falls and fuzziness. On Zoom last week,
he told us he's taking history quizzes on his iPad.
I even got 100 once, he announced. Though mainly B's.
Now, I marvel as the sun pulls forth the man I feared was lost.
They're re-opening the museums and zoos this week,
I tell him as we head back. Not missing a beat, he notes,
It's going to be a real problem getting masks onto those elephants.
"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth."*
Science says with a Big Bang so our universe began
"So God created mankind in his own image,
in the image of God he created them;
male and female he created them."*
Science says with Stardust we were made from
Stardust that came from an astronomical bang
Made by a God/dess whose image we hold?
Scientific Knowledge vrs Biblical Wisdom
For if the God/dess made heaven, earth, mankind
For if the God/dess made the Universe
Would not s/he have also created science?
Science that we strive to understand
Science that we use to help our world
As the knowledge of our beginnings
The knowledge of our being
So too is the Wisdom of our creator
*Oxford Study Bible
My neighbor's cat rolls under the car eyeing me
like I should join her. I scoff, the days of rolling
under cars are long over, though I consider it, she
looks so comfortable in the shade her golden eyes
half closed. Around her like snowflakes the petals
of the dogwood flutter, drifting against her copper
body before flying away. I try to coax her out,
but she is not interested in me. I don't blame her,
often I am not that interested in me either. But I like
the cat and I like the confetti from the dogwood
and the sun that cuts through the lime-colored
leaves and the fact that the breeze is carrying
the whole day minute by minute and it all
Teach me to walk slowly
with my children, Lord,
To talk quietly and with
Let me give them hope not fear.
Help me to listen to their
So I may know when the sound
is idle chatter,
And when it is the cry
of a lonely heart.
Teach me to share my joys
and restrain my disappointments.
Precious Lord, light my way,
let me be a good example
Of a loving spirit.
How potent is the silent voice within the heart—
like roses screaming quietly
at the top of their scents.
Our inner self turns a valve here,
flips a switch there,
rechannels a thought, all undetected,
guiding the mind with commands never heard by ears.
We inhale a vital force sent up from the sun,
full of planetary power, star strength,
We exhale such love as we can muster from our
radiating peace into nearest air
and farthest galaxies.
We breathe our relentless ripples
onto shimmering oceans of spirit.
Each star hears our silence.
Our mental voice imprints itself
on a forgetless tablet of inner space,
indelible as a baby's first cry.
When we listen, the cold wind carries
the moan of mother earth
and the rising moon reflects
the sighs of setting sun.
Those who hear the universe
humming its silent symphony
learn to love each lento chord.
Strum my heart, you silent waves of love,
with your tuneful touch,
and help me sing the song of space
in the sanctum of my skull.
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