Sereni-tea

Penetrating heat soaks into the bones

Of my fingers, clasped around the roundness of

The porcelain coffee mug between my palms.

I hold a cup of peace and stillness,

A silent and full-bodied prayer.

The world pauses and waits for me:

I inhale the life of the plants

Picked, dried, imported, brought to my kitchen,

And brewed.
This ancient tradition

Can now be enjoyed with just

Two minutes in the microwave

And a pre-packaged tea bag.

What is so special about this ritual?
Why, in an age of sterile skepticism,

Materialism, and spiritual apathy,

Do we still enjoy bewitching brews?

Because it’s magic.

I’ll put on the kettle and we can talk about it.

A Villanelle

Children today find words to be boring,

And families no longer read by the fire.

No one has use for a poet anymore.

A passage or two could send them soaring,

But they stare at the television, since

Children today think books are too boring.

Much more cleanly, a film can underscore

Happiness, sadness, love, and villainy.

No one has use for a poet anymore.

An hour and a half, sufficient exploring

In the world of imagination for

Children that find ideas to be boring.

People can't be bothered to feel in their cores

Inconvenient emotions or epiphanies.

No one has use for a poet anymore.

What exactly is a poet for,

If not to help see further, and more?

Thus, when children find books to be boring,

No one will have use for a poet anymore.

The Old Man's Dessert

When I saw the old man eating ice cream,

The joyful gusto with which he tasted it

Recalled childlike innocence as he beamed...

Then, I saw a young boy eating ice cream,

And in his eyes I saw a determined gleam

To slurp each spoonful and not to waste it.

When I see a person eating ice cream,

I sense their joyful gusto as they taste it.

Haiku: Winter

Speckled mounds of snow

Heaps of dirty, wet cotton

Crown the soggy mud

Haiku: Spring

Magnolia buds

Burst open to catch sunlight

With pink fingertips.

Airmail

A warm rain is welcome for

A soul dry and sore;

Soothing drops that skip and hop,

They patter evermore.

Tears of joy from Heaven’s eye,

Kisses from the sky,

Clean away the darkest day;

They leave nothing dry.

Cruel is a rain of ice:

Small bullets that slice,

Sting, and steal warmth remaining-

It chills the heart twice.

It nourishes life,

Encourages strife,

Yet always returns

To the One concerned

With dealing out death and life.

Haiku: Teacher

Hatchling intellects

Soar to the new horizon

With steadfast feathers