The Umbrella

I stepped out into the world
with an umbrella tucked
firmly under my arm,
eyes squinting strangely
at the glaring sun,
and shying away from
the black clouds
now on the prowl -
a cadaver wading
through sticky roads
with other sardines
jostling in prying hordes;
until I happened
upon that little sparrow
who darted across to thaw
those long-frozen eyes,
and the yellow butterfly
with moist paper wings
who drew me into
her pretty dance;
and then, suddenly,
my skins, they crumbled,
strides moved to skips,
eyes became water,
hands paper ships,
roads turned to rivers,
and corpses to blips,
and well, the umbrella
was carried home that night,
with some flowers,
stones, fireflies and twigs.

Bliss

Bliss is
a quiet butterfly
stopping to kiss
a restful flower
speaking to the wind
in silence.

Bliss is
the tinkling laughter
of a child at play,
dipping into
each moment
afresh, alive.

Bliss is
a lone bird, circling
the sacred blue,
giving it wings to fly
into the light and darkness
of forgotten tomorrows.

Bliss is
a gentle river reed,
rooted in its giving
to the flowing waters,
that ebb and flow
with the ocean tide.

Bliss is
being lost in the
intricate lines and patterns
of a zen tangle,
where each part
becomes the whole.

Pods on an Old Tree

ripe, brown pods
hang heavy
from an old tree,
that watches them
with silent intent;
each an expression
of what is -
laden with emotions,
each pod is a reminder
that holds within,
a tiny seed
of endless possibilities;
holding each with love,
as it splits wide open
to release the seed -
that is the only way
the tree knows
to unlock its Self
and find its Bliss.