THE OPEN ROAD

peace, love, happiness & understanding

 

December 24, 2020

 

I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps…

 

—Walt Whitman, from Song of Myself

*

 

Since water still flows, though we cut it with swords,

And sorrow returns, though we drown it with wine,

Since the world can in no way satisfy our cravings,

Let us loosen our hair tomorrow and go fishing.

 

—Li Po  (701-762 A.D.)

*

 

Found Kin

 

Ardent champions of comradery,

our found kin hold a cherished place

inside the chest cavity.

Stumble into our lives when we

need you most.

Battle back the self-doubt with

Deeds, Words, Actions, Presence.

Blood being equally without consequence

or measured sacred.

Embrace me found kin with gentle

acts of friendship.

Keep the wolves at bay, my hearth fire

heart stoked.

Against the oppressing laden storm of

Breathing upon this mortal stage

Found kin, I love you.

 

—Jeff Kuehner

*

 

Elemental Thoughts

 

Storm grey clouds frequent windy days,

Shedding their sadness on the land

Before moving on.

I watch them through my window pane,

Wishing they would stay awhile

or maybe take me with them;

For a storm grey cloud at heart I’ve become,

In need of a good wind to push me—

Until I too shed my sadness.

 

—Joshua Barnes

*

 

THE MEANING OF THIS

 

We are a feather

made of wings made of birds

 

No boos

cheers or other

interruptions

 

On our way up

 

Yes our body has fallen

apart

 

But finally we are floating

 

Like this & this

is what we wished for

relishing in our not

expecting it

 

Here is the inverted valley

& every blade

of grass on the godhead asking

 

What are you

& who is your name

 

—Alex Tretbar

*

 

I do hope you enjoyed my depressing poem. Here is another attached to this letter. It’s a piece I’m working on, but it has been hiding from my attempts at trying to bring it to paper. Where do all these words hide, anyway? Maybe it really is in between the blank spaces of every page and sentence. I wish I knew!

 

Hindsight (2020)

 

Hold your breath a little while

The reaper’s hounds are on the loose,

Trailing along their invisible chains

Extinguishing life like a hangman’s noose.

 

Hindsight: Speaking of history, history’s made

Though the irony remains in man’s surprise;

For we’ve opened the door to find again

A trojan horse in a man disguise.

 

The questions now—Will we learn?

Will these lessons keep and pass?

Or will the hounds come again

When comfort blinds us of our past?

 

But worry not, just hold your breaths,

For now just try to dodge the noose;

And watch the hounds’ chains grow taut

When pharma bears its golden goose.

 

—Joshua Barnes

*

 

Think Twice

 

If you think once, that’s good—

you’re ahead of the game. But do

yourself a favor, and think again.

 

Think for yourself, for number 1.

Then think for others, and see

how you are woven into we.

 

Think for today, necessity.

Then think for what comes soon,

and after, all that rich unfolding.

 

Think for your allies, then for “enemies.”

Think for the human, then for Earth.

Think for comfort, then for deepening spirit.

 

When anyone demands an answer, say,

“I am of two minds. Give me a moment.”

 

—Kim Stafford

 

Your Sovereignty

 

By law, your house is your castle—unless they have

a warrant to enter, sift through your stuff, is your

fortress, unless the bank holds the deed, or you rent

at a landlord’s whim, unless it’s a tent by the river

waiting for the sweep, a doorway with a blanket,

a place to stand by the road with your sign, a park

bench bed claimed at dusk, unless you are an inmate

in solitary concrete cell with stories behind closed eyes

your treasure, unless you flee, a refugee running by night

with only your coat and muttered clutch of words for

water, please, bread, prayer, brother, sister, home,

unless you are a tribe, your usual and accustomed places

torn away by someone’s treaty, one who never saw

dawn come over a prairie, forest, camas meadow,

unless you are a wren, your home thickets

skinned, plowed, paved, and you are made

to move, adapt, or die, so just before you fly,

on a wire you sing a last ravishing run,

the song your shred of sovereignty.

 

—Kim Stafford

*

 

Winter Feet

 

Early morning walk

Down Broadway

Inner city sidewalk

Still dark

Still cold

 

Ezra, a man I’ve come to know,

Sleeps in a doorway

His blue tennis shoes neatly placed

Next to his head

 

His bare feet

Extend out from the heavy blanket

 

I walk on

Then turn around

Gently pull the blanket over his feet

 

Ezra whispers a sleepy thank you

I start to leave

He kicks the blanket off

 

Feet once again bare

To the bitter cold

Life as he lives it

Exposed

 

—Esther Elizabeth

 

Daily Bread

 

Another Vet with little means

has found ways to appreciate slices of life

He goes by many names

I call him Joseph

He waits outside the café in his

electric wheel chair

with his dog Buffy snuggling on his lap,

four stuffed animals in the basket behind him—

two dogs, one monkey, one cat

On each side two

decorative colorful wind whirls

 

I leave the café with leftovers

What do you have for me today

Hash browns, chicken sausage,

whole wheat toast

 

This is better than last week’s donut,

laughs Joseph

This is a real feast, thank you

Now let me offer you a blessing

before you walk on

 

I weep now remembering his words, the

sincerity with which they were spoken

 

Dear God as I know you

Bless this servant—

As she offers me this day my daily bread

I ask you to offer her whatever she needs,

for we are all in these troubling times together

serving one another in love

Amen

 

Amen Joseph

Amen indeed

 

—Esther Elizabeth, two poems from Encounter: Poems of Engagement

 

Esther asked me to include her email address. Here it is:

 

estherwelizabeth@gmail.com

*

 

What Issa Heard

 

Two hundred years ago Issa heard the morning birds

singing sutras to this suffering world.

 

I heard them too, this morning, which must mean,

 

since we will always have a suffering world,

we must also always have song.

 

—David Budbill

*

 

I hope these poems keep you warm.

 

May all people be happy.

May we live in peace & love.

 

Johnny