Autumn in All Her Glory

Meandering, painted forest all about,
Reds, yellows, golds, oranges,
Nature’s magical extravaganza,
coaxing us deeper within.

Autumn, screaming vibrant color,
Her sweet voice, ringing in our ears,
With gentle fingers, plucking harp strings,
enticing leaves to turn their final corner.

Migrating blackbirds overhead,
waving last goodbyes,
tip southward, then disappear,
into streaming white sunlight.

Tempted into submission,
we give her all we have,
Refilled, there is no containing,
what she gives back.

Life and Death: Two Sides of the Same Quantum Coin

Life and death–
Two sides of the same quantum coin.
Heads you win, tails you lose.
Call the flip.
Tails you win, heads you lose.
Call it again.

Life–
What our consciousness manifests
when we flip the coin.
Death–
What our consciousness manifests
when we flip the coin.

Life and death–
Two sides of the same quantum coin.

Chasing Cosmic Butterflies

Chasing Cosmic Butterflies The chase begins the moment we enter this world,
and it continues till our last breath.
Toltec wisdom says life is a dream, and
we are all walking mirrors—
Everything we think and feel is reflected back to us
through the great dream mirror of life.

Some dreams are bigger than others, and
our biggest dream is who we think we are,
which contains all our other dreams,
we chase through life.
The chase is born into us, and
so are the cosmic butterflies we chase.

The ego is a giant volcano, spewing millions of cosmic butterflies,
filling our lives and giving us more things to chase, and
making us believe we are getting somewhere, and
that we are becoming somebody.
But it’s all one big dream mirror playing tricks on us—
Making us believe that the cosmic butterflies are real.

Some break out of the dream,
but not without breaking the mirror.
Most continue to chase their cosmic butterflies—
Even the special butterfly that chases away all the other butterflies,
making us believe he is the only real butterfly we need to chase.
The only way out is to break the mirror.

Watching a Farm Awaken in Early Spring

I love to watch a farm awaken in the early spring,
Especially as the birds in the forest happily sing,
The farm knows how to be itself, profound and true,
Like the faded red barn, quietly beholding the view.

In this moment, the farm finds its serenity,
Between sips of morning coffee, so heavenly,
Tempting songs of cardinals, a melodious cheer,
Chips and whistles carried by the breezy air.

Who wouldn’t be captivated by this wondrous sight,
As darkness surrenders to the emerging light,
The old barn stands, with no complaints or pleas,
No need for a fresh coat of red, at ease it sees.

The morning fog, a gentle, subtle trace,
In the fields unplowed, it finds its place,
Soon, corn will grow in rows so neat,
And crows will gather for a sumptuous treat.

Gently I inhale the farm’s awakening charm,
Especially in the early spring’s tranquil arm,
Where the soul knows no bounds, it’s free,
Across an undefined horizon, a painting, you see.

Quiet repose, a vastness, the soul’s delight,
A pretty picture as the new day takes flight,
The farm awakens with beauty untold,
In the early spring, where dreams unfold.

Wheeling Christmases in the Fifties

Trips to Downtown Wheeling at Christmas
to gawk, shop, cackle, and dream,
Back then we weren’t afraid
to laugh, shriek, and be amazed,
Storefront windows overstuffed
with dolls, dollhouses, train sets, and toy soldiers,
How could we not believe in magic–
things we can’t explain, and yet love,
Best at night when all was aglow,
but Saturday mornings were quite alright,
Stone and Thomas, LS Good, Cooey-Benz,
Stifel and Taylor, Reichart’s, and so many more,
We were there, saw it with our own believing eyes,
and best of all felt it deep in our hearts,
Santa reminds us it’s okay to dream,
look back, remember where we came from,
and what gave our hearts delight,
May this Christmas be filled
with our cherished childhood dreams.
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