What Waits to be Born

The wind is sharp this morning,
the few warm days of summer
crowded like sheep into a small pen
by the ocean air, cool off the Pacific.
Clouds lower the ceiling,
pressing down on the high hills,
the channel stirred, covered
in small wind driven waves,
the grass bent over and yellowed
as the rains of spring recede.
I find myself in the solitude
like one of the old faces carved
in rock stepping down to the sea,
watching the water’s endless movement,
enlivened by the wind.
There’s no pretense beside something so large,
no point in expanding the self.
Geese waddle in my neighbors’ grassy field,
nosing their furry newborn toward the water
with their long craning necks;
most of their chicks have survived
the interminable sit and circling predators.
There’s hope in their hatched little bodies,
an ache in something so vulnerable
and a reminder to keep vigil
over what yet waits to be born
on this course grey stone
overlooking the windswept sea.



What Waits to be Born 2


10 Responses to “What Waits to be Born”

  1. David Kyle says:

    I love the waves of the lines as they move in and out through the poem. You get stronger and clearer with each poem you write.”There is no pretense besides something so large, no point in expanding the self.” Thank you.

  2. dennis lopez says:

    Islands either push you away or draw you in. Like you, they emit thoughts not found elsewhere.

  3. David Banner says:

    No point in expanding the self…the small ego self….who we are is MUCH grander than this puny thing…a false self made up of mental and emotional patterns…..

  4. Athena Coleman says:

    My favorite line is “There’s no pretense beside something so large, no point in expanding the self”. How different the world would be if everyone knew this and behaved accordingly.

  5. Robin Bryant says:

    A beautiful question. I’m discovering the beauty in silence, and how simply by asking the beautiful question the reply is already in motion for its return. No need to manipulate. In silence one can hear the voices speak and in that place of not knowing .. the knowing appears in this synchronicity with Life. I love the way your poem portrays the beauty of your surround, and your alertness to the vulnerable reminders they each hold. Thank You!

  6. Pichay says:

    …not even expanding “self” to create an “us”? I will ponder as my heart aches while accepting.

  7. Tom Figel says:

    Don, thanks for this and for all the work you send. I hardly think of you as “the old face”, though. With your vigor and freshness, you always are much more the young pup than the old dog.

  8. Maria Frid says:

    What does one do with the awareness of beauty? Often one does not comprehend its impact on the self and the question comes up as to what to do with the powerful information. I say meet the power with the same vibrational frequency. The vigil is alive! Thank you, my friend for the inspiration.

  9. Bill Dare says:

    What a wondrous wizard you are as you wordsmith from your Heart, my Friend.

  10. Don, the infinite and the finite revealed in one intuitive observation. I love the rhythm of it all. Blessings,

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