So many decisions

So many decisions

For life and death

Even mediocrity

Every day.

The cats clean themselves

In the sun.

I wait for a ride.

I listen to hear the water run

Signaling the shower

Will begin.

The cats begin the next round

Of cleaning.

Ah the shower

It won’t be long now.

The cats continue

So many decisions

Minute

Big

All part of the

Bigger picture.

He says we will leave

At 11

Maybe we will.

Non-compliant

Compliance is as compliance does.

When I visit a doctor

For the first time

He or she

Wants to determine

How compliant

I am,

How compliant

I will be.

Will I set my alarm

For 5:30 AM

Take one pill

All on its own

Then

Go back to sleep?

No.

Will my pituitary gland

Behave itself

If I completely

Reorganize my life?

No.

She says the difficulty

May well be mal-absorption

Some people take

Twice as much

As I do.

Maybe they are

Non-compliant,

Maybe they like to sleep

In the morning.

Dental adventures

Made it through the cleaning, with my beloved grading papers in the waiting room. Now I wait... and floss.

Now the cleaning

Remember to floss

She says

This will mean

No novocaine

No drilling.

The dentist says

I understand

You had some adventures

After the last visit.

We’ll see you in six months

Unless

Unless

We see you sooner.

I will floss.

I will floss.

Life released

Liturgy is not as much production, as participation. No wonder I am tired.

I am no longer responsible

For the variety of liturgies,

Coordination of all the players.

In liturgy of course

That includes everyone

Who walks through the door.

Everyone who walks

Out the door.

Why

Am I so exhausted

Easter Sunday afternoon,

Even when I only did

Bits and pieces

Of Lent and Holy Week?

Now the tomb

Is empty and life released

Into the world.

Now comes the greening

Who wouldn’t be tired?

Bits and pieces

Waiting.

I did bits and pieces

Of Holy Week

This year

Following

Bits and pieces of Lent

Before that.

Now is the time

To sit in silence

While Jesus is off

Emptying Hell

Before he returns

Tomorrow

In splendor.

Bits and pieces were enough

This year.

And now

And now

I wait.

The bulletins are complete

There is always more.

The bulletins

Are complete,

Appropriate pictures

On their covers.

The actual experience

Will not line up

With those bulletins.

It never does.

Even though we think

Every jot and tittle

Is important.

Look at us

God

Laying out Jesus’ life

And death

And life again.

Look at us                 

God

As You fill the spaces

Between our jots and tittles,

As you color

Outside the lines

Of our perfect illustrations.

Look at us

As we look at You.

Butterfly socks

On Maundy Thursday, no less.

Today I opened

The sock drawer and on top:

The butterfly socks!

Universal law

Run with the metaphor, see where it takes you.

She says,

In death,               

He practices

Universal Law.

It is unclear to me

Whether he is lawyer

Or judge

Or if the system

(Such as it is)

Is unlike anything

We have witnessed

Yet.

As with my clients

I run with the metaphor,

Find the truth

That resides there.

Universal Law

Seems a good thing,

A very good thing.

Even carried to its extreme.

Like those trees that grow

In the Garden,

Like those trees

Bearing fruit

Each leaf offered for healing.

Run with the metaphor.

There is truth there.

Universal Law

Hung on a tree

For the healing

Of nations

I am a dinosaur

Learning new things can be frustrating.

I learn the I-phone,

Contact numbers

I only meant to send

To someone else;

Watch endless ads

My flip-phone

Never showed me.

I learn the I-phone.

There are more options

Than I ever cared to know.

I am a dinosaur,

Perhaps a peaceful

Brontosaurus.

I have always wanted

A long elegant neck.

Convergence of riches

Yes, the tree remains in the corner of the living room. The cats love it. In fact, so do we.

A convergence

Of riches:

Palm Sunday

Beginning of spring

Pussy willows

Fully greened

Kitten in the middle

Of the Tree

Once Christmas

Now Holy Week

Soon enough Easter.

We may drape it in red

For the Passion,

Perhaps plastic Easter eggs

To symbolize

The empty tomb

Yet one more tradition

To create

Out of scraps of spring

Branches of pussy willow

Kitten in its boughs:

Convergence

Of riches.

Monkey

This one stands on its own.

I used to think

If I found

The one right spot.

It would have me.

I would have it.

The world

Does not provide things

In ones.

To be sure

That is how we focus:

One thing at a time

Still

Everything comes

With tag-alongs

Hangers-on.

There is no such purity

Anywhere

Look behind anyone,

Look in front

Of anyone,

There is some version

Of a singing monkey

With a rakish purple hat,

Crashing cymbals.

Sure

We can pretend the monkey

Isn’t there

If we plug our ears

Cover our eyes

But then we’ll miss

The elephant

Leading the parade.

How much is enough?

It's good to have friends.

Yesterday I discovered

I did more than enough

Continuing education.

In the name

Of making sure

I had enough,

I did

More than enough

To ensure

Enough-ness.

Oh, Catharine,

I hear one friend say

How much more

Do you need?

Really

How much more

Do you need?

Climbing

 It's always a give and take. Sometimes we provide a lap,sometimes a lap is provided. Community.

When I read poetry

I climb into

The perspective of others

Rest in its arms

Snuggle in its lap

Sit at its feet

Content for a moment.

This is how someone else

Sees things.

I stay there

Awhile

Until it’s right

To venture forth;

Open my arms;

Sit down so my lap

Is available;

So even my feet

Are inviting;

I wait.

I write.

Camino del conejo

Rabbit road

Dream Spanish

Is an interesting language.

I must remember enough

From high school.

Last night I followed

A bike path

Named

Camino del conejo

Around and around

A lake,

An endless loop.

I did not see any rabbits.

The loop itself

Was endless.

Donde esta el conejo?

Donde??

Maybe one more loop around

I will see

That rabbit.

Hardcover books

This is inspired by Kelly Flanagan's latest post http://drkellyflanagan.com/2016/03/16/this-could-be-the-difference-between-a-life-of-suffering-or-joy/ Thank you, Kelly!

I admit...I have never read an E-book. I do write my daily reflections on a computer. But reading? Reading is a visual and tactile experience.

Cases in point: Terry Tempest Williams, When Women Were Birds. Spend the extra money and get the hardcover version. The flying birds are not in the paperback. 

Or try the hardcover version of George Saunders, The Very Persistent Gappers of Frip. Years ago I bought out the remaindered hardcovers at the local B&N, gave them to everyone at Christmas. A couple people appreciated it :)

If we wait long enough

For the paperback

To be published,

They may well be cheaper.

They are most always

More satisfying.

Even the paper.

My beloved

Waxes eloquent

About the paper,

The texture of the print.

He touches everything.

It’s the way he is wired.

In early years

He was a printer.

I have a book on my shelf

A bird flies through the pages

Like the flipbooks

We made as children.

The first pages

Are blank

Then the birds

Begin their flight.

I read poetry

Reasons for writing. And more reasons.

I read poetry

To see what others have seen.

Hear what others have heard

Taste what others

Have tasted.

I write

For different reasons.

Some I know.

Some I don’t.

Sometimes I bounce

Off others’ words.

Sometimes I watch the birds

Or cats

Or the lady in red.

Sometimes I mine my soul,

Remember dreams.

They give me hints

Of what’s going on

In there.

Oh yes

I say

That’s what it is

For now.

For now,

That’s what it is.

Ways of looking at the beginnings of rhubarb

Maybe I'll write something called Rhubarb Reflections. I love alliteration. I also love the other-worldly look of rhubarb's beginnings.

Here it is again.

Red knots break the ground

Promise rhubarb

Soon enough.

Still now

It might be alien growth;

Still now

It might be a body

Buried in the garden

Rising after a warm winter;

Still now  

It might be almost anything

at all.

I know

It was rhubarb last year.

Silent retreat

Home paying attention to smaller things, and some bigger.

Yesterday

Everyone called:

Loved ones,

Puzzling ones,

Ones I still ponder.

Today is for pondering

Today is for walking

Today is for waiting

To find out

What’s next,

My own silent retreat

With cats and turtle,

And hopefully,

Cranes.

The rhubarb begins

To emerge.

Perhaps I will make rhubarb sauce

This year.

Perhaps I will give the rhubarb away.

So much is unknown.

So much is

Yet to be determined.

Awake for the day

Beautiful day.

Awake to consider the day.

Cats warm

In the sun,

Messages on the phone,

People have been at work

While I slept.

Soon my beloved will call

From Florida.

As I slept,

He flew.

I wait to hear

He landed.

We are warm

In the sun:

Me and the cats,

Coffee in the pottery mug

With the broken handle:

It warms my hands.

Warm is today’s theme.

I am grateful

For all of it.

Up early to make coffee

I am more of a morning person than my beloved. Still, I am really not a morning person.

Up early

To make coffee

For my beloved,

To sit with him

Before he leaves,

Pour the coffee

Into his Bugs Bunny mug,

A dollop of cream.

Up early

To help him

Out of the haze,

Emerge into the light,

Kiss him out the door,

Then

Only then

Go back to bed.

New course

It is important to count everything.

I only tripped on one weight machine

Today.

This would have been

Par for the course

In past years.

It is an improvement

These days.

Woo hoo.

Celebration.

Would you like to sit down

A minute?

The trainer asks.

Why yes I would,

Thank you.

Then we move on

To the next thing.

I understand the sandhills

Have returned.

I wait to hear them.

Thanks

Sometimes only one word in the right direction brings the possibility of change.

Thanks

I think.

Thanks

I say.

It seems the right thing

Even when thanks

Is lodged in my throat.

Perhaps thanks

Will move me in a new direction,

Change the scenery,

Alter the weather.

Maybe thanks

Will bring a new beginning

Somehow

Somewhere

Fully here

For Erik on his 29th birthday... fully here.

I remember the day before

You were born,

Sunny and muddy,

Labor in short spurts,

A walk through the student union.

You waited to arrive

Until your due date

Even then

You had to be coaxed

Into the world.

When you came

You were fully here

Yes

Fully here.

Ibex

When the experts don't agree, we get to figure out which expert we prefer. The possibilities here are: ibeces, ibexes, and, simply, ibex. Were it all this simple.

There’s no agreement

On the plural of ibex

I prefer ibex.

More sense

Before the day is fully defended.

Does it make more sense

To write

While dreams still cling,

While first thing noticed

Is the squirrel hanging

From the bird feeder

As he drops seeds

To the cardinals

Below?

Does it make more sense

To write

While kitten and grandfather cat

Sleep together,

Until they wake up,

Become aware

Of what they symbolize:

Lion and lamb

Peaceful kingdom

Before they go their separate ways?

Does it make more sense

To write

Before the day

Is fully defended?

Evening poem

I thought to write tonight, having not accomplished the deed this morning. Alas... so many things have passed, the freshness is gone.

An evening poem

Cannot compare with those fresh

Written in daylight.

Haikus

I woke up a lot last night. I wrote haikus in my head to go back to sleep. I remember some of them were good. At 6 a.m. I realized I forgot to take my evening pills. So I took the important ones, cleaned the cat box, and went back to sleep. The haikus have all gone to that place haikus live. I remember when my son was five or six he would stress at bedtime about possibly forgetting something. What if I don't remember? he would say. I would sing him bedtime songs.

I wrote haikus all

Night. Woke up with haikus. Now

Don’t remember one.

Sometimes doggerel

Different rhythm these days.

Morning:

My beloved reads the comics

Out loud.

I write:

Sometimes doggerel,

Sometimes not.

The kitten chirps

At a light spot

On the wall.

I write:

Sometimes haiku,

Sometimes not.

Another bird

Has found the thistle seed,

It may be a goldfinch.

In winter

It is not gold.

I write:

Sometimes brief,

Sometimes briefer.

I wait for the goldfinch

To show its colors.

My beloved laughs

Out loud.

I write.

Jobs for poets

I tried to make this a haiku, but oxymoronic had too many syllables. Poetry.org has good intentions. Still,,, poets require life. This is why so many poets sell life insurance or are farmers, or see clients for a range of things.

Jobs for poets is

oxymoronic,

We already know

Poets have

Built-in jobs.

No need to look.

Thistle seed sock

There will always be a next thing.

An unidentified bird

Found the thistle seed sock

We hung

On the mountain ash.

One cat stares out

The front window.

The other sits on the placemats stacked

At the end of the dining table,

Keeps watch

On the backyard.

The unknown bird

On the thistle seed sock

Is part of the scene

Now.

Now

He is gone.

Now

She is gone.

Cats are good at waiting

For the next thing.

They always seem to know,

There will be

A next thing.

Cancellation

I suggested something last week which a client "took me up on." In truth I was hoping he wouldn't. In my best self, I was hoping he would. Often things are complicated this way. Then they aren't.

Someone cancelled on me

Today.

This same day I cancelled

On someone else.

There is time

To eat lunch,

Time to catch up

On reading;

Time to discover

Sometimes I do the best work

In absentia

When someone decides

To see someone else

Because of something

I said.

It’s not all about me.

Sometimes

Indeed

I wish it were.

Then I find out

Again

It’s not.

Reminders

There's a reason this blog is named what it is. It's largely so I remember. Sometimes I find that it helps others remember as well.

I write reminders

To myself.  All will be well.

All manner of things.