Poem for the week: "Time Traveler"

Time Traveler

“There is no other place

to find yourself. Now is your only context,”

said the bearded man in the miracle portrait

with the lamb in his arm and a lion cloud

in the pale blue sky—reincarnation doesn’t matter,

nor does the hollow science that when the body

dies the self is no more; the only resolution

is the moment, forever the fertile womb

of the infinite universe.

He came from the future, the bearded man

in the miracle portrait, to open the strait gate to

a timeline of resolution; and for centuries the narrow

way of the living waters of destined purpose was

heeded; but the worm in the apple spoiled the

barrel, and the man from the future had

to come back again.

“There is no other place

to find yourself. Now is your only context,” he

repeated, and expounded upon the sacred mystery

of self-redemption, and the timeline of resolution

was re-affirmed upon the divine premise of accountable

effort; and when his portrait was completed, the bearded

man with the lamb in his arm returned to the future

and waits for the world to catch up to him.

Poem for the week: "I Am Where I Want to Be"

I Am Where I Want to Be

No more questing in the dry pages

of lost horizons, or climbing mountains

in the Hindu Kush searching for a fantasy;

and no more meditating in walled Tibetan caves

or collecting wild honey like a mendicant Sufi,

because I am where I want to be.

I could be sunning on a sandy beach in Florida,

cycling in Province, or sipping espresso in Tuscany,

exploring new writers for new thoughts and taking

up hiking or hobbies like Tai Chi and Mediterranean

cooking, but life no longer beckons me because

I am where I want to be.

Not every acorn that falls off the oak will grow

into its own tree, only the seeds that take root will

become what they are encoded to be; so it is with

every soul that takes root in the humble soil of

its own garden, growing where it has been

planted to become what it’s meant to be.

Poem for the week: "Doors"

Doors

Every door we open leads

to another world, but we don’t

have enough life in us to open

every door; and if we did, what

good would it do us?

Unless we know the answer

to this question, every door remains

a mystery; but we open every door

to satisfy the longing in our soul.

I opened a door long ago

that led to a world of possibilities,

and I could have become affluent;

but it did not satisfy the longing

in my soul, and another door

opened up to me.

The world behind this door

was strangely familiar and exotic,

and I explored every corner to satisfy

the longing in my soul; and when I

left this strange world, I closed

the door behind me.

Poem for the week: "The In-between Days"

The In-between Days

37 years old, much too young

to face the dreaded divide

with nothing but naked fear

and wanton desire for the time

she had left to live, with little

thought of the Other Side—

absolute nullification of her

selfhood and vague rumors

passed on from generations of

desperate hope—and like a

fierce tornado of unlived dreams

she sucked the sweet marrow

out of life to satisfy her craving

for personal meaning, keeping

a memoir for posterity of the

in-between days of her vital

treatments: 137 soul-drenched

pages of precious living.