She vanished into the yard.
Her daily garden inspection
Seeking gifts in the morning dew.
Snipping an offering from a toddler rose
She returned laying her harvest at the feet of the Buddha
Allen S. 6/15/2
You have been gone these several days
Today is your return
Your trip replete with deeds of grace
Compassion for one spurned
I too love you, unmeasured heart
So wholly full of love
That God decided from the start
To share you like a dove
Like the dog chasing his tail
We pack in frenzied expectation
Finally underway we breathe
Breath is the true beginning
Allen S 8/15/20
Gazing across the breakfast table.
Eyes exploring the depths of our love
How could we have survived the irregularities
The circumstantial catastrophes of old age
Ending together across this well worn dining table
Piles of correspondence surrounding
Leaving us to quietly speak to one another
Casting glances over circular conversation
Assuring each other that our hearts are locked
Irreparably, blessedly linked till death us do part
Allen S. 11/3/19
We ordered from the menu at our favorite restaurant and the wait-person complimented our choice, “Excellent choice!” As she turned to leave, I decided I wanted another item instead. (What? change my excellent choice? Well yes!) I wanted something else. I stopped her and told her of the change, “Good choice” she retorted as she jotted it down and turned to leave.” As she was leaving my wife added, “And can we have the appetizer before the main course? “Absolutely!” she chimed, (as though that was her intention all along) as she headed to the kitchen. But we had been around the block a few times and weren’t deluded. We have had everything stacked and getting cold in front of us, when wait persons don’t have the forethought to plan our meal experience in advance, so we know to remind them what we expect.
The entire experience reminded me how fed up I am with Superlative Language, (not to speak of half trained wait staff) you know, Service Language. I am so relieved, for example, that the doctor’s office doesn’t use it. When I go for a distasteful procedure I am relieved that I am not told I made an “Excellent Choice” by some person a quarter of my age. Hell, it is a necessary choice, maybe, but on any given day I would find it excellent to be choosing anything else other than having a tube placed in places that tubes were never designed to go. See what I mean? Just tell me I arrived on time and that the doctor will actually be able to see me in the next fifteen minutes (and that happen) and all will be copacetic.
Here is a poem to which this ranting gave birth?
Mediocrity (the poem)
What ever happened to mediocrity.
You know, ‘I’m Ok, You’re Ok.’
“What just Ok?
Yes … just OK!
Quiet, Peaceful, Stress free
Me – di – oc – ri – ty
Religious types have more difficulty
with extravagance than restraint
Restraint seems more their calling
Right or wrong,
Gratification? Delay it!
Deny ones self
What of the road less traveled?
Flying too close to the sun
Basking in abundance
Extracting beauty for the minds eye
What about awaking tantalized by a morning’s array
Seeing as for the first time
Opening eyes to the depth of the ordinary
Drinking in all surrounds
Smelling the sweet scent of compost
Hearing hummingbirds approach
Feeling the quiet between sounds
Cover me over with this extravagance.
Convict me of flaunting this opulence.
This unrestrained burst of appreciation
Charge me, yes charge me with simply being
Allen S. 5/2/2021
I am the wave
the wave is me
Tossed and rolled
by the incoming sea
I ebb and flow
feel a powerful surge
Lie limp left to dry
On the sand where we merge
© 2018 AllenS
Turning around I beheld her
Casting her garment
Over darkened valley
Projected from some
Beyond behind me
Catching me in deep surprise
Reaching recesses long forgotten
“There is beauty,” I said,
“There is something to live for
Some face to follow into this forest.”
Calling heart to abandon
Lessons once learned.
Laws thought immutable.
But what if her back is absent
Leaving no footprints to follow
No scent to draw me deeper
No embrace to cradle these aching bones
What if, when standing in her trace,
She dissolves like morning mist.
No cloak to wrap me.
No beauty calling my name.
No sleeper waking to my touch.
What if then I discover I am alone, lost in this forest?
Allen S 3/21/2021
Screeches cracked the ember coals of night
Sparks flurried consumed by the hungry dark
Chills course through my once lethargic body
Triggering a backflip into the safety of my tent
Trembling in the uncertain cloister
I yank my bedroll my chin still fully clothed
Ears wide open, I await the attack
Dark silence simmers the thicket
Suddenly great flapping wings signaled the lifting of some giant predator
Swifting away over the pine tops
Screeches to some distant prowling perch
positioning itself over another unsuspecting prey.
Allen S 3/28/2
My breathless heart caught notice of your radiant leaves
Blazing in Fall reds melting frost still clinging frantically each lobe
Framed against changing panoply of soft greens and yellows
Like some luscious fruit presenting yourself for harvest
Out of this body you came
Nourished by my decay
Drinking from my tears
Sinking roots into my soil
Allen S. 08/16//03
My heart holds clearly
One image etched on
You are now grown
child and love of your own
You have experienced
worlds I can only imagine
Yet minds distant eye
still returns to that moment
Holding you on one arm
Head in hand feet touching my breast
My heart vulnerable to your
I make the unkeepable promise
parents are thankfully doomed to break
Life has now welcomed you
into its waiting arms
has engraved my heart
This was written before the current wave of misinformation surfaced in the US. It is clear today that lies and half truths are an incremental part of governing strategy. There still may be some truth to which the poem still points.Allen Simons
No one meant to lie
Intended only half truths be heard
Desired the pain lurching
In delicate omissions
No one planned for the young
To lunge forth half cocked
It just seems to be the way of youth
The way of not knowing
The way blind to signs
And roadside shrines
Even God’s hands are clean
No traces of clay
No tell residue
Betraying loss of control
No one is to blame
It is just the way it happens
The way things are
The way of life as we know it.
THAT was a slap
In the face!
Pretending it never happened
Looking at me
As though no assault was underway
Stinging sweet demeanor
To ignore courtesy
Turning away this extended hand
I just want you to know
I felt it!
THAT WAS A SLAP!
Thought of the sound in your voice when I revealed
I had read an article you wrote.
“You did!” you replied.
“It’s just reporting, dad.
That’s just what I do.“
I get this way too
“It’s just what I do, I say, Nothing special.
Puts bread on the table.”
Somehow we minimize our gift
as if it is not enough,
not authentically us,
not the fire we want our spark to light
Say this after me
Memory holds past
Fast to us
While change only endures
Insecure in its presence
We take the lure of the sure
Lake surface releases reflection
Stream reforms its bed
Branches caress breeze as it passes
No fast for past, instead
All about is impermanent
All about is change
All round is reforming
Divine promise remains