The Black Hat

A most difficult

and dark home life..

a small girl 

carried her burdens

to kindergarten class

each saddened day..

There her emotions

were released in

explosive despair..

fears and sorrows 

expressed in her

most anguished way..

The teacher in 

a recalled moment

of quick inspiration

found a hat

a black hat in a

costume drawer..

The hat now named

the brave hat..

and when emplaced

the little girl found

some moments of peace..

Then her peace spread..

Wearing the hat

worked its spell

on each wearer in turn

including the teacher

whose day then most 

surely improved..

Did the black hat

an identity assume

of those shadows

outside..

And become absorbed

in each inner sun...?

breathing

how is our

breathing placed

in our center?

retaining awareness

for a few minutes?

an hour?

all day long?

this new awareness

breathing our center

connecting meanwhile

in here and

out there..

new consciousness

simply breathing

aware

being breathed...?

a good death

a new recognition
how we lived death
in north and south..
in our self inflicted
all consuming war..
death now found
in history's foreground..

his gettysburg words
conceived and dedicated..
equality and death
each soldier remembered
their sacrifice owned..
his words our grounding
death's equality lives..

patterns have repeated
more wars
fires and floods
those september screams..
careful accounting
from chaos springs..
and we know now
each must be named..

we have strewn flowers
many memorial days..
his address recalled
we repeat
none died in vain..
a fearful delight
each life seen equal
connected
by their blood
and their light..

back then
each soldier's family
fervently wished
in their deepest despair
for their loved ones
a good death..
these all now seem
to us good
very good for all time...

Poem is based on recent PBS American Experience program,
Death in the Civil War, and a book, Republic of Suffering by
Drew Gilpin Faust...

paint splotches

a day

with contrasts faded

hazy smoke from

distant forest burnings

skylight diffused..

traffic at rushhour

a monotonous din..

such muffled appearances

invited a more 

exacting look..

white paint splotches

 accidental decorations

to a darkened parkbench

suggests here a distant

supernova explosion..

a motorcycle pistons' 

high pitch report

 self identification

in the traffic din..

an airliner's orange 

contrails laced the

gray cloudless sky..

then a sudden appearance

a haloed quartermoon

light enhancement

with circular glow..

yes contrasts seemed to

speak on this day

bursting the haze... 

snapshot

our conversations

contain both

light and filtering..

the words we find

express our meaning

one snapshot..

instantaneous filtering

of a clearer light..

our words are

moulded by gates

constrictions

words sometimes strike

rather than flow..

one snapshot

of who we are...

a tall stranger

a lifelong pursuit

to be free

enough

for expanded

awareness

in the place

 we now stand..

this seems our

foremost quest..

attachment grows

surreptitiously 

as a virus ensnares

covers and compresses

until we cry out..

if stillness is gained

a tall stranger

centered nearby

unnoticed until now

watches our torment..

watching 

is found quite

enough

to loosen the bonds..

new awareness locates

that fullness

we are intended

to find...

a snail's story

spiraling in

and then out..
in our hand we find

a galaxy miniature

spinning a special

 story..

our mind's eye

projects movement

an outward inward

exchange
now and always

 becoming the other..

but the shell remains

fixed as a map

the movement  

a soulful creation..

 a still point

on our shell

finally gives rest to

our eye..

in the stillness

 a  torus we find

a sacred movement

a new awareness

mapped for our

time..