JakTraks

Rules of the Game

We play the game "Survival is the Goal"
offensively to wield a club of clout,
defensively so what we love may stay.

Late autumn falls again, the daylight's doled,
all women track the moon's circular route,
dense clouds drop rain to rinse out life's decay

and ferry nutrients deep into the soil.
Assume we then our axioms the same--
we're pawns unfortunately made of clay

aware the piece does not outlast its role
we cast for hope by throwing dice of doubt
to know we matter more than what we weigh,

our moral mud is plied to save the soul.
Yet we may choose the rules of mind with heart:
abiding those makes gods of us in play.

All Boats Float

if you're sluicing life a row boat
and your s.o. with a motor,
is this a problem or a difference
to be enjoyed, and employed?

my s.o. saw the boats as problem
while I thought the difference good,
I learned to race a motor boat
he learned to slow and take a look.

defined as problem it was wedge
as difference the very spice of life,
he criticized the rowing about,
in the end the wedge won out.

since outcome came from attitude,
in affairs of mind and heart
complementary should be
the yin and yang: not lose or win.

ban the opposites of life
unless your filling up the tub,
making ice or blowing steam,
playing the rival softball team.

True Blue Rose

This eternal rose is always a bud,
Always unfolding, always fully open;
Reason recognizes its perfume
Unsullied by assume or justification -
We call it love, are fed by its beauty,
May trust the scent to point precisely north,
A course for Life, one bold breath away.

Btwn Flat and Brat

Cats are brats -
(why I like them so much)
more fun than being flat
if you recall, before brat
was slapped out of you.

Not that bratty works at work
or in casual relationships,
the impulse behind it
what we should never lose:
brought back to innocence it
cannot bruise.

Brats annoy on purpose,
say what they think regardless,
push buttons for power pleasure or gain,
blackmailer, tattle-taler, truth sayer,
an assertion of self at best
or heart of manipulative player.

Innocent, its mischief,
risk exchanged for delight
yours and theirs, jabs at serious,
foil for how things should go,
It says your way may be necessary -
that its crap, we know.

It is . . .
a fine line to wing
carrying fire.

Alternate Endings

Rumi wrote his poems from Heaven
Frost penned at his farm,
Whyte writes from an inner edge
Dickinson from the heart.

Different places, yet the same,
Still I'd like to know
Where I write from most the time,
Where Muse and I are one.

Perhaps I write on top a bridge
(Perhaps the bridge: my poems),
To my right is cosmic flight
To my left are stones.

Underneath, mystery flows
Its running quiets soul,
Wind stirs embers in the mind --
Muse begins to row.

Poles of paradox: rock and space
By them I'm torn apart,
But on this bridge where two are one:
My Muse and I find art.

[alternate ending]
My muse and I both fart.

Down the Slide of Life on Waxed Paper

In grade school 1960's I was taught
in the second half of all our lives
brains lose cells
without regenerating,
the brain they said goes moldy, loses spark.

What a tightly wrapped box beliefs can be,
we didn't know that neuro-genesis
can happen even as our years wiz by
down the slide of life on waxed paper.

The old idea was a stultifying
inevitability. Lights off.
Now we know the current
flows into our future
holding open possibility.

Axioms all must end in question marks
or asterisks to signify a footnote:
though we know this to be true today
it could line the bird cage of tomorrow
for this is how it works: white pushes
black pushes white.

Sensitive beings seek to see and matter,
rational ones make discoveries,
mind moves to recreate itself --
the three shift perception and belief.

We stop a moment. Then seek to see some more.

A Sink Full of Paradise

For ten seconds
the dirty dishes in my sink were holy,
why then and never
again like that. Now I carry the knowledge:
the precious nature
inherent in plates, and our talent to witness
as a flyer for islands paradise,
allure of that one uplifted conversation --
a single perfect golf swing lets you play
for hopeful years, the rush to recapture.
Today the place
is looking most mundane (and dusty) so I
re-read the brochure,
bump-up the phrases in my mental bin,
relive the swing,
before washing my sink of ordinary.

Throwing Seed

It feels the bravest thing to do:
create your life as you want it
when the longing's not to hold a hand,
but throw seed into contrary winds
to fall where they may between blusters
taking root or not. Still, somewhere
in the one and only book of poets
every seed's possibility, recorded.

see artwork Here

Creative Fire

It is little good to sit
in a shimmying shapeless bonfire
throwing a wide
all encompassing circle,

if not also hosting a flame
come to a ragged point
through the crown of your head,
where bone was once soft.

Regarding the Whale

in my throat
swims a whale

spouting steam
jumping to heaven
and back

tremendous force
without hands
without legs

only the sea
carrying
where it will

my songs

Edges

Passion for God waxes
with our fear,
becoming a full moon
reflecting
all available light;
desperate hearts
may squeeze together
creating a high beam
to heaven.

Is this why
we scare each other
even to death,
letting fear for survival
bring us
to the edge of life,
a jolt out of numbness
for seconds
hours days or centuries
until we feel safe,
until safe becomes stagnant,
and the dance begins
once more.

What is it
that is better than fear
for bringing us
to the edge,
everyday,
with the threat not of falling,
but flying.

BIG BANG #2

laughter
is the savior with us,
alone or together
humor brings the fragments
into alignment,
for a brief space we are whole,

when wholeness lingers
we know what it is
to be whatever it is we are;
healing enters:
the pieces become
familiar with one another

creating scenes
not of suffering,
learning
there is no order to wholeness,
only movement
and mingling of bowls
full of jelly;

when all aspects at last
jiggle together,
working the same comic strip,
look out!
a big-bang of joy
will re-create the world.

Sir Chickadee and the Leaves

sir chickadee perches a branch
in the tree out front
his head snaps this and that way
to the beat of my heart,
he scolds me for this:
not sooner coming outside
this put-it-in-a-jar-and-save-it
august day.

the missus finds him
to share five minutes alone
planning nest upgrades
insectivore picnics,
my cat stares a black hole
through their arboreal universe
thwapping his tail on the grass.

its not like yesterday
when persistent winds forced secrets
from the neighborhood leaves
even as they shushed one another,
today the leaves bob on their branches -
buoys on calm water -
all talked out.

i close my eyes
feeling their gentle wave within
. . . within . . . within . . .
finding in the rhythm
delight, bright as the sun.

Creep and Eat Holes

you must creep little creepers
that is what caterpillars do
creep and eat holes in leafy greens
stretch - contract - chew

and so did I until the day
I wove myself a womb
wrapping past attempts to fly
around everything I knew

leaving it all suspended - hanging
a room without a view
wondering why so limited
when wanting the beauty of flight

anxious for a kiss of life
as well understanding wait
struggle and patience bundled tight
no room for insect bliss

until another nondescript day
wiggling to scratch an itch
was aware I'd made a tear
a bit of light slipped in

now I'm ever glad and grateful
my crawling self had learned
there wasn't anywhere to fall
though I knew not yet of wings

Stone Words

language cannot convey
the depth breath beauty or challenge
of poets' felt vision
yet poets persist

it is a mountain to climb
seemingly impossible
but you take the first word and begin
climbing resting struggling
exhilaration - moments when it seems
you'll make the point

then the scaling feels endless
but you keep going for the moment
you can lift yourself up
and plant your signature

on top of the world briefly
knowing the wonder of it is still buried
in stoney words
yet the rock contains a light
never anticipated

Forked

One way is a life-long pattern
thought processed, over and done,
the other ethereal as yet unformed
or informed as it will be,
should these diverging paths be one
or choose, forget the other.

This fractal in the road I think a test
for which I'm hoping there is code -
before deciding I decipher -
ah . . . no, the crux is this:

do I possess the nerve to portray wholeness:
each day an upper case Self,
not secure as a nested doll
but rather without doubt
live the terror all stops out
as the one I am.

nice quote . . .

In Seven Pillars of Wisdom, T.E. Lawrence says, "There are dreamers, but not all human beings dream equally. Some are dreamers of the night, who in the dusty recesses of their mind dream and wake in the morning to find it was just vanity. But the 'Dreamers of the Day' are dangerous people because they act their dreams into reality with open eyes."

Sip of Summer

the first hot day this spring
though the breeze carries
whispers of winter

bare arms legs and feet
buzz with the same joy
as the bee
flying zig-zag circles
above the evergreen bush

a tree bud
swollen with anticipation
reminds me of being nine
and ten days left
before summer vacation

All I Wanna Do

I am selfish
all I want to do
is write poems
insignificant or significant

to play with words
express things beyond myself
each verse a miracle of sorts

I've come to be annoyed
with people
needing help and attention
mindless chit-chattering
(myself included)

if I were able to write
to my heart's content
I'm pretty sure
I'd love people again

Order in Chaos in Order

the utterly ridiculous barrage of paperwork
expected to be done in perfection -
no kidding, perfection
or the state will withhold funding -
is another symptom of chaotic-itis fragmen-titus

so I've decided not to let it stress me out
or fight it or grumble grumble grumble
(well maybe a little grumbling)
I can look at getting papers' minutia perfect
as a sign of better sense to come
you know, the dark before dawn thing

being burdened with detail is part of the craziness
that needs to wear itself out apparently
come to a head reach its zenith
max out, until we are utterly tired
of our centuries-long adolescence

a lot of people have come to their senses already
call it enlightenment personal development
soul growth or light-working

sages monks missionaries mystics
change diapers twelve times a day
wash windows 44 stories up
buy out failing businesses
drive cabs and counsel clients everyday

that's why I won't allow
stupid irrational joy-killing record-keeping
anywhere near my heart:
when enough of us say "let there by peace"
it will carry the force of God

Brilliant

hanging on so tight
even when we loosen the grip
hard to imagine whatever
could be but that already known
like a brilliant new color
outside the spectrum of the bow

I noticed a little girl
in the park with a yellow balloon
and let go the string
we watched the balloon lilt the breeze
becoming in spite
expectant eyes
a Goldfinch in and out the trees

Sand In My Shoes

for a long time now
I've been walking in a desert
that's how it feels anyway

but I'm not thirsty
my soul's not dry
I am alone but never lonely

the hardest thing is not to panic
thinking this a huge mistake
on my part in my heart

perhaps I've found a source of water
within myself I'd like to think it
(though thinking is not how to drink it)

perhaps the sub-text of my mind
took it hook line and sinker
the reality it all is one

so what am I doing in the desert
maybe just to see the difference
from my sand-swept journey before

but I detect there's something else
something about emotions unable
to signify well experience of life

for my solitaire heart is full
as the midnight mohave sky
and soft with heat beneath the sun

Whatever is the Point?

ever get to a point where all seems pointless
which means of course you're standing on a point
that doesn't really exist

point is a sharp curious word to use
it indicates direction of perception
or a pixel print on digital paper
the former is to show someone the way
whether it be a finger or compass needle
the latter indicates a part of things

a third way being the essence of what's said
nutshells boiled down the bottom line
the crux of stuff a legal distillation
the gist the core a naked nub or pith

now to the point whatever is the point

sometimes people act like points and point
show the way model for or lead
and one human's a miniature of men
are iron ore zinc salt and seed
and one with courage goes right to the thrust
sharing daring baring what is meant

we show we are we share whatever is
so I present my thoughts because they are
and by this verse they now extend to you

- ness

if there isn't more or less
then all giving is the same
and all receiving
and every pain

then love is always what it is
no matter that it seems
somewhat lacking or too much
according to our dream

nothing can be stripped or added
to loveli-ness that makes it so
though music may sound loud or low
all vibrations dip and crest
and dressing up or dressing down
alters not respectful-ness

less could be some absent ness
and more
being opposite of less
each erode our peaceful-ness

maybe ness is heaven on earth
(and maybe its heaven in heaven)
that thing beyond dichotomy
a ness-ence of humanity

if there's anything that renders
me discernible from you
without better same or worse
it has to be unique-nessence
audaciously coloring human essence

Maybe For The World

wisdom's more than words
that weather shocks of time

it nests in quiet minds
open to one moment's
scent of orange rind
or the garbage bin
taste of grandma's famous fudge
or swallowing medicine
magnificent violet sunrise
or violent slurs on walls

clear perception welcomes
the sage to perch and sing
a private verse perhaps
or for persons you're with

maybe its for the world

shout it sing it say it
write it play it sketch it

what is relevant now
may be a firefly's flash
or glide on passing years . . .

where there isn't day and night
each held equally dear

So Far . . .

just finished looking at a cool site
about creating six word memoirs
the sum of me in six words
now that could be a lot of fun

knowing love as respect and wholeness

cats don't care about scummy toilets

drinks coffee, loves animals, is tall

never made a perfectly rumpled bed

hates to work, always had job

my vision has grown more inclusive

a non-people person becomes a psychotherapist

my life's common thread is poetry

searched for self that doesn't exist

born unique just like everyone else

a darker roast makes better coffee

know less than when I started

truth is known, all else believed

don't eat Oreos before seeing clients

I was right
it is fun

Head and Heart Romance

I'm taking an animal communication
class and we are four weeks in

learning how skeptical my mind
but how well I trust my feelings
and how the two work together
keeping me from fantasies
of talking with the ants cats
squirrels foxes birds horses
etc
while allowing me to know
the experience of close
communication with another
species

they balance one another well
to separate the real from not
but then
what is reality

maybe it's the great romance

Anthem

yesterday
the trees seemed immensely green
different shades of leaves glowing
in the sun
gently waving the tree anthem

I lay my day's reality
over all the violence
the hottest spots across our globe
hoping sometime we're wise enough
enough of us
to stop reacting as if a single
tree is more tree than another