TO EACH BOAT, ITS CAPACITY

On river, lake, ocean or sea,
each boat has its
unique shape, size and capacity. . .
a weight to load,
a storage built for some said volume cargo
and some amount of total space
planned for how many an abode. . .

a certain length of mast or sail
or thickness of hull,
made from certain raw materials,
or others,

and perhaps some other means
the boat in given circumstance
quite trusty to propel.

Give it less that what it’s made for,
come even weather fair
and winds minor,
it may be hard to steady,
and its keel could therefore waver,
not sitting nicely in the water,
and resisting each tried and true maneuver,

But give it too much more
than it is fit to take,
and that may spell trouble
out beyond the prow
and also in its wake.

So, to bring aboard the folks and goods
within a range of right amounts
can, at times, be tough
without express instruction so to know,
for proper load and proper steering, then to execute,
in the end to take and jettison enough
at the right times

will be crucial
for a journey successful,
no matter what the riches, smarts or skills
that may be possessed,
by boat designer, crew and passenger,

For,
to be at sea
brings risks inherently
quite different
from making a like journey
in a more familiar mode,
upon a firm and maybe surer,
albeit sometimes longer,
o’erland route.

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YOU JUST WANT A BREAK FROM IT ALL

You just want a break. . .
from it
all–
from work, from play,
from concentration,
and from dissipation that begets boredom
the likes of which
is quite apt
to lead you astray. . .

a break from food,
from life,
from friends and loved ones
sun, moon,
life, breath. . .

and yet,
as good as it might right now sound,
that would be death,

and
in some maybe not so small way,
you don’t right now
want that. . .

so, with any luck,
you can find a way
to take a break,

and yet live on,

with momentum perhaps slowed,
but sufficiently strong
that,
when you go back,
you need not start from scratch.

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SHUT EYE-KU

Deep peace sleep appeal
The winks count forty thousand
Dark sparks endless light

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CALIFORNIA BUCKEYE BLOOM

California Buckeye bloom
on strapping sapling,
white like snow,
but come in spring
in form more of bottle brush
than broom.

One large tree, two minutes’
walk from there,
of said same kind,

but with broad
and forked gray trunk

for me to lean
and speak and smile
and snap a pic,

or capture video
of mighty tree
with me on board,
or, perhaps in tow,

as I take happy refuge
and draw greater strength from there.

The young and fresh,
the strong, deep-rooted old–
both of a kind,
both fruiting big round brown nuts
in fall,

that, come good luck,
perchance do drop somewhere
and/or are carried,
buried,
and take root,

to start another cycle
of buckeye life
afoot.

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MOTHER NOT HERE, CHILD NOT HERE

Mother. . .
. . .not here
child. . .
. .. not here. . .

This roll call of attendance–
not stellar.
That’s clear.

And yet,
what we we had
and what
we were or were never
meant to get

is part of
the chiseling, drawing and writing utensil
that the confines and myriad inner lines
of our lives and theirs
have somehow etched. . .

A warm hug,
a sad or angry interchange
all too easy, all too strained

an underpinning fear
relentlessly entrained,

a deep and broadly felt,
and wholly without outward water,
surface tense, gargantuan
and unshed tear. . .

stones tossed back
from lonely beach
into the wave crashed
sunset ocean,

whence we all came,
while held in heart
with each mind’s eye image,
profoundly scribbled
with each name
also sounding in
the mind ear’s segment
of my brain. . .

and a bay,
some stretch away,
on yet another day,
fed duly with more ashes,

sent off
with a heavens-channeling woman’s voice
that peels
through blue sky air
a years-before-requested
deeply sacred, ancient song,

in some way, understood, I hope
by some sea-swept
dust of bones
so careful left,

and by the scant few
among the present living
who stood by to hear.

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THE TACK ONE TAKES (WHEN DISASTER STRIKES)

when disaster strikes,
what ensues
depends
on the tack one takes–

a wavery one under heavy burden sinks. . .

her steady counterpart in face of fear
stands firm,

and to adverse occasion rises
to navigate anew,

in what’s just the latest
of life’s little surprises–

What would YOU do?

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TO BEGIN WITH SUCCESS (revised)

Bed in time. . .

head and spine
smooth draped
to sleep
in horizontal line,

the mind
a while to retire,

life signs low
like a purple flame
well tamed
on a
back burner fire. . .

Timely awake
the bed to make,
the self,
to rise, wash, walk
and thus
fill my blankest, purest,
early day
with simple tasks
that renew my world and me,
and in so doing,
in themselves,
spell strong success–

for that’s what sets
me up the best,

to travel well
with all my powers
around the clock and all its hours,
and through all
which, from that sparkling start of day,
will pass
and constitute the rest.

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BENEATH THE SHINING SUIT OF ARMOR

The flaws,
the wounds
that no one ever sees

beneath the skin,
beneath the shining
suit of armor.

There for so long
they’re apt one day
to flare beyond
the purview of what can be hidden,
so grief and fear and anger-ridden.

And indeed,
the storied hard protection
of the shining steel
must then be shed,

and replaced
by the will
of gut and heart and head,

to face head on
that heretofore unfeelable,

which festers deep
and which we’ve thought
threats to destroy us,

but which won’t heal
until we feel. . .

But we are loath
and halt
and feel not that,

an omission
that we deem
the best protection,

for us and those
who might find the sum
of all of it
unsavory,

but dig in our once steeled heels
and feel we must,
at good long last,

for
more than to chance the pierce
of strong long sword
or giant lance,
the mighty feat to feel
shall prove the highest
act of bravery.

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AWW, HECK! GIVE IT A TRY!

The heck with it,
it’s hard, but if you don’t do it,
there’s none else that is up to it,

even though,
or maybe,
even just because
you’ll get just one shot at it,
do or die!–

You may as well
give it a try!

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IF I CAN MUSTER UP THE HEART TO LOVE

If I can muster up the heart
to love and let be known
the love for not just me,
but deeply,
too,
for one other one,

It might as well be known
that besides that other one,
there are many more of you out there
to whom I’d like to send my love
out through the ether. . .

and it’s not really necessary
that you ever send me love back
either.

Just wishing you a pleasant beat of heart,
and, when your joy and sorrow
allow you time for a little respite,
I wish you a full, and deep-restoring breather.

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