Tuolumne

Did you detest
this alien life:
Your voice lost
in monotony
of daily song?

Russet hawk
keening above you
in the blue;
Between granite walls,
his beating wings
center the void,
and the pulse
of your sad blood.

Yesterdays
are made small
at the caress
of a raptor's breeze.

From the collection “Long Goodbyes”
copyright 2009
by S. Parker Kincaid

Nature by Frances Clem

Nurturing unseen growth
as Winter lingers too long.
Until, at long last,
Sweet tweet! Cheery chirp!
Birdsong celebrates the sun.

Shhhh! says the breeze
through the trees.
Branches fingering the sky
Limbs lifted toward the sun
as a lone bird circles,
silent,
Watching, wary of humans.

Heartbeat of drum rhythm
blends birdsong to the beat
and soothes my soul,
cools my heavy heart.

Sounds, smells, and sights
keeping hope alive.
Welcoming Spring.

Man Among Boys

I hear you talking but I don’t see how your poised
The running of mouth didn’t add up to a sufficient fund
That tough talk around here gets you none
How do you really feel?
Can you even really kill?
Slept with sin on skin or did you wash it off?
Cottons too soft to squeeze or at least for me
Squeezing of flea popped under the pressure
You have had success in killing your successor
The ego can be parasitic
Ignoring it is ignorance
The removal can be therapeutic
But identifying your identity is a bit of a introspective intrusion
Smooth when asked to speak of feelings that were felt
I guess it all wasn’t beaten out with belts
I am no longer afraid to ask for help
No longer caring what you think of the man that I am
So go tell your friends to go tell there friends
We all are wrong when we judge another man
By his exterior or demeanor
Instead by his conscious actions
Don’t just read the words of this caption
See past what the eyes can see
Somewhere over there you can find me
Just Remove the veil

A Peace Poem

Peace is the inner dove that whispers as I take a sip of my morning coffee.
Peace is the sound of soft raindrops on a cloudy day.
Peace is the moment I breathe and realize the breath of my body breathing.

Peace is the inner joy my soul sings every morning.
Peace is the feeling of waking up and smelling the crisp air of another day on mother earth.
Peace is being at ease in my skin and with all those around me.

Peace is the joy of stepping on stones in fresh streams of moving water.
It is the sun that shines through my life and keeps me living everyday -relishing in it as the sun goes down and knowing that, tomorrow will come again and another day will bring with it endless inner peace.

Peaceful Waters

The moon shines
Its light down
And there is no sound
Quite as sweet
As the silence
Over still waters.

Joan Noeldechen

Rama’s Peace

La distancia de tu pecho envuelto de murciélago de noche, de palmas, de fantasma
I missed you so I wrote you a letter: of time’s housekeeping, dark sunsets, a shrine of poppyseed teeth, the sands of mystics, the childhood of rain-storming, the stone skipping of public libraries
Peace is a rare summit. The dove clings to an olive branch. The palms of youth find their bodies of prayer. Your nude jewel was the parsed breath of Bhagavan. Sunday rituals of childbearing.
La sombra de tu teléfono de armas. I’ve left the invitation to your wedding in the drawer ruminating over the sutras of thighs. Cities of peach and the light refractions like an alphabet of worship. The tendrils of pale blue arms, limbs in ritual. The babysitting of quietude. Do we bloom in the Indian summer of pearls?
The chirping of stars from your opaque fists.
The unknown numbering of bedrooms.
Your staff of peril walking with God’s fingering
The stone wash jeans of forget
The jasmine of your voice that meets me in passing. Your known hands pressed into me. You’ve won me over. I recognize you from another lifetime. Extranjera y a la misma vez conocida. Vestido de luz como lágrimas de almendras. Tu cara de palabras amargas y dulce. Labios cruzadas como calles que corren a la Nirvana. Your jasper mudras are the storytelling of Arjuna and Sri Hari Krishna. There is peace in the hospital of patience. The ease of letting the mind lose itself. The Satsangam of our peopling. We were rivers of the solemn Ganga attaining moksha. Your tears of dying were the forgetful nature of Rama/ Hanuman reminding Vishnu of the florets of eternity.