Do I Dare?
When I hear the no’s
I’m not really there.
My body may be in its chair
but my ear is pressed
to someone else’s throat.
Be careful who you ask.
Shoot for the moon?
the well intentioned earthbound say,
If you’ve read the history books
you’ve heard how few have landed.
Get serious. Save the planet.
Plant your feet on terra firmest;
put the telescope in storage.
Wider orbits are a myth
and even if they’re real,
a ticket costs too much.
It’s the struggle that’s our script.
Aim for the sun?
Not what doctors recommend–
look at those severely burned.
Ignore what’s warmed
or fed or grown;
focus on the melanomas.
Look how many others
mightier than you have crashed.
Just be smart–that is,
do what we do.
Accompany our misery.
Don’t just feel our discontent;
really make it yours.
The stars are lovely, yes,
but note their distance.
How many rockets ride that far?
Dreams are an escape,
a blithe indulgence,
not the means to anything
within your reach.
Keep doing what you’re doing,
listening to what we preach
so we can share the clucks and sighs,
the woe is me’s that bind us to our lot.
Even if it’s being what you’re not,
being glad for what you’ve got
is gift enough.
Maybe it’s not great—
at least it’s right.
Not crystal clear but it’s precise.
Demanding more is greed or blasphemy.
Grab hold of any branch
that bobs up in the stream.
Cling to any rooted life;
don’t think of letting go—
you know the price you’ll pay,
the bumps and bruises you’ll sustain.
Forget the blissful fool
who risks it all to find the life
he cares to call his own.
Beware the lightning and the thunder.
Heed, don’t bless and then dismiss the fear
for its attempt to spare you any pain.
Look down and see
how far you’ll fall,
look around for shelter, never up,
or worse—within.
For God’s sake, never wonder
do I dare?
Whether Ebb Or Flow
I pay attention to the clouds
the way that one would sit with sages,
silent as discrimination,
unattached to statements.
I understand that information
gathers with a walk along the beach,
warms or cools, clings and oozes
like the sand that fills
the Universe between my toes
then rinses off the way a dream
just comes and goes.
Whether ebb or flow
it tells me what I see
is never all there is.
Another front,
a new formation
waits behind each wind,
beneath the hat the sun is wearing,
behind the turquoise poet’s eyes
that never blurt their observations.
I can find myself
in their reflection
but I don’t ask for likenesses,
no interpretations
that I can’t or won’t release.
I accept the failure of predictions,
untie all my expectations
and stand ready for the rain,
the clearing,
any clarity that hits the rocks,
the short surprise of time
that carries me
as slowly or as swiftly,
as gently or as grudgingly
as I allow myself to go.
