Cave of a Thousand Wonders

Holes in the cold hard ground.
Dark, threatening, hidden places.
Quite dangerous abandoned mines,
ceilings collapse, unbreathable air,
hence the mystery of life itself
to young fledgling immortals.

What quirk of desire,
what dark place in a young mind,
seeks its analog in the earth.
As if crawling in the dark earth
fills the hollow in a black spot
in a young adventuring mind.

Light a match to make a campfire.
Catch a threatening snake.
Coast your bike down a 50mph hill.
Fist fight in a vacant lot.
Explore one or more old mines.
These are essential rites.

“Cave of a Thousand Wonders”
Every boy in town knows
precisely where it is.
While adults don’t know even
about its bare existence,
let alone its siren call.

Squeeze through that tiny hole
into the dusty welcome dark.
Down a rocky gravel slope.
There’s water in here today,
guess it’s gonna be mud city.
Shoes, pants, face and hair.

Bad smells at first cave-in,
not goin back for nothin.
Take the high route over
old, rotten, mud-smeared beams.
Then through the wide crack
to the blank and bitter end.

Hours later bicycling home,
stinking, muddy and tired.
Another successful tour,
the cave was ours today.
Sublime satisfaction, good day.
Where did that name came from?

Now you, my new friend…
Haven’t crawled it through?
Squirmed through the cavein?
Seen the muddy inner sanctum?
Had your light fail in there?
Where’ve you been after school?
What doing with your weekends?

Maybe something’s wrong in you.
Probly something we can fix.
We’ll take you in there soon,
see if you get it, be one of us.
Just don’t tell your mother,
shouldn’t have to tell you that.

Song Dog

Singer of many songs,
elegant high harmony.

Canonical howl at the moon
or loneliness, dark, cold,
is but one style, one voice.
Neighbors join harmony.
Crazy drunken solo virtuosity
mimes a drunken teenage party.

Behind the haunting voice
always the wiley hunter.

Master of disapperance
nothing gained in being seen
Changing, always adapting
Seeing all, rarely seen,
silent as a ghost afoot.
Eyes, ears, nose miss nothing.

Trickster knows what is life
besides one big mean joke?

Loves a wicked wild joke.
Sneak close in the dark
sing loud a wide wailing song.
Makes em jump every time.
Good for a private laugh
Cause they know who you are.

Elemental Boat

Pond is peace itself.
Great silent mystery there,
Treetrunk floats on pond,
knowing the peace of water.

We also know that peace.
Primal need to be on water.
Something in us just feels,
our ancient past manifesting.

Climb upon that old tree,
share in the peace of water.
Intoxicating motion trance
small push it glides away.

Perhaps only feet in space,
but far into a spirit world.
Sublime gliding, slowing,
time slows as well, stops.

Abide in that timeless world.
Eternity undisturbed flowing.
Reliably there, waiting,
Any pond, any log, any time.

Easter Egg Hunt

Five years hasn’t taught much Easter.
Jesus died then, still mysterious.
Then how does that Bunny fit in?
Don’t bunnies have babies, not eggs?
Easter eggs, from the Easter chickens?
Faith, this all makes sense somehow.

Sunday, dressed in church clothes.
Do that because mom says to do it.
How to function as a little boy?
Clothes like that make for hard walking.
Lose yourself, make one quick move,
shirt comes out, hair gets messed up.

Sunday strait jacket outfit blues.
Going to a small town Easter egg hunt.
Holding a basket, not sure what for,
hurried through the gate into a pasture
full of hundreds of running crazy kids.
Hurrying seems to be thing to do.

So start running, try to figure it out.
Notice a little girl reach into grass,
and come up with a blue Easter egg.
Why aren’t Easter eggs white or brown?
It quickly goes into her basket, as she
runs off looking around hard for more.

So that’s it, the grass is hiding eggs.
Quick then, look before they’re gone.
Start running, but that doesn’t help.
Only see eggs when they’re picked up.
Running, running, time is flying by.
Finally find one that was stepped on.

On and on, trying to copy the others.
Look where they find them, no luck.
Panic descends, no good for new ideas
for places that haven’t been found yet.
Time has run, no more eggs, it’s over.
Slow walk back to that gate in tears.

When You’re Scared

World becomes your foe
Change is in you, same world
No good comes of this

Your friends are many
Fear would have you blind to this
Trust them not you say

Normally nearby
Hope has fled beyond all reach
Heart’s comfort extinguished

Help was right at hand
Stuck inside, you let it pass
Lost, alone, fight on

No friends, hope, or help
Terror rules, no place to be
Best get over it

Spirit Feeling Spirit

A clear moonless night in the desert
reveals two cosmoi, one seen, one felt.

First the great careless, cold emptiness.
Eternity of guidepost lights, tiny wayposts
serving only terrible, endless immensity
Go that way and fall, fall forever.

Deceit of lifeless molecules, atoms.
Tortured confines of physical laws
Inconceivable distance, pressure, heat
Building blocks for life most unused

Again tho, endless life hides in vastness.
In every minute point on the dark sphere
life thrives, invisible by distance
to all senses but one, our spirit feels.

Innumerable beings, each with a spirit
radiating presence that paints overall.
Our spirit belongs in that cosmos.
Our presence knows that presence.

Waking Up Call

Surprise at first light:
Snug we slept unaware,
benigh warm air departed.

Step out into the reality
that was before our kind,
new humours preside.

Gray, still, damp, cool.
Half like water spilling
against face and chest.

Morning mountainside walk
will now be something else,
a swim through cool ether.

Everywhere reminding,
our world to live in,
but not given to control.