SPIRIT TUNE©

SORCERERS

this ball point magic wand

might conjure a universe of babbling creeks

or how to make a trombone

or justifications for slavery

anyone is free to wield

this sword

absurdities are fair game

as are water tight proofs

volley ball:

just keep the ball in the air

the bumble bee returns to warn:

brief fireflies of an evening

are talismans of the breeze

SPIRIT TUNE

the street is too wide

people are pushing wheelbarrows and portfolios

not exchanging glances

dreamers of fiction, history and fact

the division of labor is so efficient

as though there were an invisible hand

wringing out the last drop of profit

politics are a pot bellied

golden god

grinning from ear to ear

a gathering of self evident truths is attended

with feathered Indians beating drums

sonorous in their hue

the world resonates with butterflies

pearls into the blue

a fluttering cry

HAVE A CUP OF TEA

eventually hate dwindles practically to nothing

as it loses its grip, tensions are relaxed

feverish activity comes to rest

thoughts come and go, and may cease when ignored

life resembles a lucid dream

in which one may choose to participate

relations with others continue

but I am not defined by them

this is neither freedom nor slavery

nor anything in between

all of these words do not describe it

some people will recognize what is being said

the best practice is doing nothing

while working

having a conversation

or drinking a cup of tea

THE SEED

a mustard seed on a picnic plate in Central Park

since no one his age was around

became the object of Jimmy's attention:

seeds grow up to become grass and trees

all sorts of things

what is it thinking?

he looked at the seed until suddenly an idea:

pretend I'm the seed

that's how to know things

smaller and smaller until the Park, the plate, the seed

everything disappeared and

inside the seed was like inside anything else

no one was either younger or older

the seed spoke:

I've been waiting for a long time

for generations and generations

fields of my ancestors have come and gone

watching, gathering, storing

please listen with ears like mine

look closely

where do you see any ears on a mustard seed?

your towering cities leave me not much room

perhaps a crack in the concrete where a few notice my bloom

or in fields that have not yet met their doom

you and I will grow, pushing up through the cracks

reminding citizens of their missing fields

grass and trees, all sorts of things

a sprightly breeze blew through Central Park

and carried off the seed