who owns the sky

Posted by Gerry on August 23rd, 2014


when the wind swirls and around mountaintops curls
no one knows how patterns grow as the wind will always flow
down ravines air careens
pushed or pulled in patterns full
of meaning for those who wonder
who owns the sky

the sky is seen across time or dreams as limitless open space
meaning derived or arrived by happenstance in each place
by effects of interminable wind, blowing up or down again
half way down or half way up never clearly seen
except askew by the few who can see in between
sometimes seen as gates of heaven
moving life forward mystically like leaven
who owns the sky

the wind like breathe of God comes down
shaping space, then clouds, then ground
moisture gathered up above
comes down as snow or rain like love
to bring life’s beginnings or push us on
every night then every dawn
each day or evening like the ones before
buffeted in movement or in lore
though each day uniquely given
events or legacy somehow driven
blowing, swirling, whirling spaces
shaping or renewing faces
of land, or rock, even mountains moved
by wind and sky until it is proved
who owns the sky.
desert sky 1

August 19, 1994

Posted by Gerry on August 14th, 2014

Desert scenes

For * and **

I hate what this world has done to you,
Children of the desert.
Deserted in your own home by those who should love and guide you.
A child of three tender years
A child of five bitter years
Children of the incompetent
Children in the dust
God save you. And God save us.

Tears flow like rain on the desert.
The sadness of those who don’t even know you
Does not know the depths of despair which will haunt those of us who do.
My August is bitter and bleak, when the middle of the month will bring you to mind all the days of my life.
Like a little girl from my past,
who died at the incompetent hands of her mother.
My sadness is like the fire of the hot ground
on the soles of unshorn feet.
God save you.
And God save us.

The little heart of a child should not know such darkness.
Perhaps you don’t.
But the tired heart of your elders carries the weight of your lost lives.
We are not responsible for you,
we who are sent to respond to you.
Or are we?
Your parents could not have foreseen this.
Or could they?
Your God could not save you.
Or did he?

Like the summer monsoon in the barren desert.
Our tears, both silent and weak, are for you.
Can tears and heavy thoughts be salvation?
I hate what this world has done to you, children of the bleak desert.
The children of the tender and the bitter years.
The children of my heart.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 08/17/2000

Easter at the Tram 2003

Red petals

Posted by Gerry on August 8th, 2014

012808 UCSF 11 Long

Red petals
Reflected in the glass
Harbingers of beauty and the past
Hopeful or harrowing
I cannot say which
Streaks of yellow down to the stem
Like heartache and hope reaching within
Hazy like fog my memories twinged
God and I know where we’ve been
Now image moves on to solitary tree
Transformed through time passing
To growth of new things
Handing my heart yet another idea
Old trees and new things
Are what’s left for me

Kings Canyon - Life clings

To rise and fall in living it all

Posted by Gerry on August 3rd, 2014

Point Reyes Lodge 030814-09

On July 2, 2010, our son Christopher, broke his back in a bicycle accident. On July 2, 2014 my cousin commented on happenstance and chance. This is what ensued.

Whole lives built out of the most fragile of happenstance.
That so little matters so much, and so much matters so little.
Is it grace or blessing or curse?

You know, God does what God wants to anyway. +

Kindness goes unrecognized.
Cruelty goes unpunished.
Distraction changes a life.
The inconsequential becomes too large
because someone thought about it too long.

Hold onto the inner strength when the outer strength is buffeted.
Rely on the outer forces when the inner strength wanes.

Four years ago the curse of horrific injury,
And the blessing of lack of permanence rained down on us.
A broken back described as “some scrapes” by our protective friend.
Eleven days in the intensive care of modern health care.
Not knowing.
Only praying.
With little confidence, and all the confidence.
No choices mattered anyway until it was all done.

Every day it is something.
Some chance encounter.
Some instantaneous happenstance can change everything, or nothing.

In our darkest hour there’s still a light shining down inside.*

The power of denial moves us forward
Until the realization bursts forth
It is denial
Reality is more present and real
We do not control it.
We only control our response to it.

Pull back the curtain my fears have drawn +

Whole lives built out of the most fragile of happenstance.
That so little matters so much, and so much matters so little.
Is it grace or blessing or curse?
Whole lives built out of the most fragile of happenstance.
That so little matters so much, and so much matters so little.

“What’s really crazy is how easy it is to get them confused and, how,
in an instant, you can also know the difference.”

*Zoe Muth
+Iris Dement
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 07/02/14

Taken while riding .... the bus
The moon glow unused
for affairs of the sole heart
shining reminder
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 07/06/14

You are a legend among the poor travelers
These who are the most basic of gatherers
Bus tickets and boots pass through your hands
Helping each other as we travel these lands
Heartaches and travails pinch on the heart
Stories and past glories each played a part
Travelers arrive asking help after miles
Hoping to sustain hope despite all their trials
Each went down a path as directed or deflected
Care and kindness must be perfected
By you the legend among travelers
Aligned with the simplest of gatherers
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 07/21/14
Bayer Farm Santa Rosa 071814-15
There were no visions in dreams
Hopes hazy after so many schemes
No haunted or hallowed ground
Elusive answers yet to be found
Time passes beyond how long tears lasted
Now and then somehow contrasted
Memories burst forth unexpectedly
When lyrics touch a nerve introspectively
As particular songs find heartache
Stark realization of no second take
Hands still do their work to transform
Listening to the world still informs
Singing still bursts forth
But my love is not there, so what is it worth?
I know I will find it as I search o’er the earth
The heritage of all humans who went through their birth
Day by day
To rise and fall in living it all
To rise and fall in living it all
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 07/25/14
Point Reyes Lodge 030814-08