Yield

 

Yield

I come from an island whose balmy breezes
caress fragrant ginger along mountain trails
and the warm ocean bathes children
in salty laughter and wondrous joy

constant moments, every day a tropical season

yet I welcome the changing mysteries of seasons
commanding Earth to beat her divine heartbeat
in synchronous obedience to immortality

spring heralds forth dear life
to let it burst through sheaths and shells
with cries and virgin eyes
while tender roots pierce fertile soil

summer summons come hither and thrive
in warm soil exuding the fullness of growth
with bold gestures of play and conquer
that spread seed and life

autumn whispers the preparation for passages
of leaves and skins and breath
to perpetuate eternal legacies
of futures not lived this season

winter beckons the quiet solstice
of shortened days, lives and light
while dreams and hopes hibernate
as time awaits in cold patience

though I can nestle in island comfort
I yield to the voice of seasons

afterthought

IMG_0319she saw him across the field
alone, walking briskly
amid tall grasses swaying to make way

like the sea parting for
refugees, saints and the chosen
“my love!” she called out

as she ran towards him
stumbling in brambles and thorns
that were braided in weeds

forcing her to stop
her bare feet bleeding
as he began to fade

into the distant skyline
till there was no him
and she knew through her tears

she was just an afterthought
a simple punctuation at the end
of his last chapter

Maintaining Perspective

Turmoil in our midst
Leaders scoff at patriots
Warriors wither in wastelands
Glaciers cry in despair
Creatures choke in human filth

I want to raise fists red with anger
scream curses and insults
avenge sins upon the weak
mutilate despots and cowards

But then out of nowhere

I thought of you miles away
your heart heavy and sad
your body consumed by sickness
your turmoil I can only imagine

And I realize that this world chaos
pales in the shadow of our friendship

Good morning, my friend
May I just sit with you a while?

Tarry

She Warrior

Deployment.
Weapons anchor her girth.
Camouflage fatigues belie
the softness she reserves for her infant son
entrusted to a friend a million miles away.

And as she hunkers down
beneath desert stars in makeshift barracks
she prays.
Let him be safe tonight.

Home.
Diapers, schoolbooks, chores.
Her daily domesticity camouflage
the fierce warrior alert and poised
to guard and protect.

And as she nestles in
beside her sleeping husband
she smiles.
My sons are safe tonight.

2015-08-08 11.10.44

I posted this four years ago and am re-posting to honor Megan on this Veterans Day.