There may be a day
more promising than today
sometime in the future
but why wait?
We look to the rising,
put sails to the wind
though weather be dark
and ominous.
This craft of ours
sturdy yet slight,
carries faith as fuel,
direction by the stars.
Our ropes strain and break
yet we mend on and continue.
Of course we can be foolish,
commanded by a higher regard,
but we find currents
to guide past shoals,
winds to steer into open water.
Storm fronts will not deter,
nor the lack of safe harbor.
There is a port
sketched on the map
we carry in our hearts.
To the horizon we sail.

Settled in below the morning fog
within the motion and noise,
I sit quietly gazing
at gray skies and summer green
as an old stone or rough-barked tree
finds center in the earth,
patience within unrest.
Angels protect this silence
for it roots to the heart of the world,
joining those caverns to the light above
and one slim tendril reaching out with peace
on the great oak of life.

Sunlight on rain soaked trees,
sounds of the city awakening,
letting go into the new day.
There are always troubles,
ask anyone who’s farmed.
Progress and promotion
are salesmen’s words.
The earth isn’t selling,
she doesn’t profit.
She stores in winter dark
and gives in spring green,
yields to summer sun,
returns with gold in autumn.
See her in the glistening dew
the lilt of first light breezes.
We could be sad or broken
by the ways we suffer
yet four winds are blowing
and the day rises to meet us.
Wearing our many colors
isn’t it time to ride out once more
and give the earth our joy?

Stained glass by Linda Ethier Studios

There’s an empty spot
where you used to be,
brittle as a branch,
longing for touch.
Empty but brittle
that doesn’t make sense
you say with quick wit.
Well this is a poem
and you are a story
and the place you left
is brittle and empty;
I know as I touch it.
I drop your story
into deep water,
watch the tide line
curl around the splash,
dissolving hardness
with the weight of water.
The Earth forgave
so long ago
and now do we,
the empty space filled,
the brittle branch
become soft green
beside the changing sea.

photograph by Louis MacKenzie

When I’m tired
and aggrieved
I return to the earth
green and vivid.
The life of one petal,
one leaf,
here for a season
then passing.
You had many seasons,
many years my friend.
You brightened the earth,
brought a smile
and sharp wit
with gentleman’s grace.
I will miss you.

Michael Diamond
friend and colleague

Just when we thought
we’d reached the end of the world
the sea rolled over
on a wind driven tide
and a white plumed eagle
dipped into the sea
for a shining silver salmon.
Onyx black whales
traveled beneath the waves,
their arched dorsals raised
as they cut through the water.
Massive clouds fed by the ocean
scattered rain on the thirsty land
while raven sat alone in his high perch
telling tales of what had been
and what was to come.
Gulls careened above the rocks
and from the deep earth
came a thrum of great power.
Reaching the end
we had found the beginning
and in that place of quiet
our new found silence
nursed us back to health.

There is this time and this alone
to see your face and know you
over the years and miles,
the lifetimes we have traveled.
We’re here on Earth,
the bright blue jewel
with ages of torment.
How you’ve suffered again,
how determined you are
to be Bodhisattva.
Perhaps not this lifetime,
maybe the next,
but we know where you’re going.
You shed the skin of others pain,
hold to the light of understanding.
You glow in the dark
a beacon to the far shore.
Once more today
we see each other
and again this day
we know.

She calls to the world
with green leaves open,
her voice in the creeks
and rivers running fast.
She calls to the cities
of the proud
and the mind-made
with grief and forgiveness
anchored in stone.
Her voice is eternal
on the parade
of our passing
and while we are here
we yet may listen.

photograph by Sandy Brown Jensen

From the depths of root and stone
surrendered to air and sunlight,
all that color waiting in the dark
through long months of cold and rain
risen and turned once more
into the green leaves of spring.

encaustic painting by Eilish Hynes

The morning, the day,
these times we live in
have their price,
their pain and glory.
Suffer what you must.
Resist the little lies.
The catastrophes
of arrogance
come and go
yet somehow
we survive,
the gates of eden
ready to open
awaiting only
one kind word.