Twenty Thirteen Fading: Janumay

These yester months are vanished.
           Filed into vacancy
           where yesteryear and yesterday gone
           without trace.

We hold so tight to morrow
            beckoning every pleasure to alight
                              every best dessert
             but our grasp is lost.

                               No matter the glove,
                               we cannot hold shadow.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: June

Karma Yeshe Donden:
             survived near-fatal birth,
             portrayed in the wrinkles of an old man,
             great dark eyes survey his world,
             he lounges naked in golden bath of sun,
             invents throat songs,
             quaffs deep droughts of formula from father far,
                                 (whose bedside portraits
                                   recreate Karma's smile
                                   over and again twenty four seven)
              discovers new ways to animate
                                    his tiny new born limbs and fingers
              learns the lines of his father's face
                                    within frame of eye phone.

Will you one day know your white dry grampa
               who lives across the Earth?

               Better know your father first.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: July

Al Gore, our planet's hero,
      gathered a great host of champions
      told us why our voice matters:
                  we're burning
                  the only home
                  we've ever known
                  blindly slaking unquenched greed.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: August

Tessa's gums sliced open
            jaws sawed
            face rearranged
            blood drained
                                  and clotted
            neck swelled
            tongue numb
            throat dry
            IV dripped
            lips drooled
            teeth wired
            tears splashed
            milk shaked
            pills crushed
            pain killed
            syringe squoozen
            elastics bound
            body weakened.

            Ever so slowly,
                                       strength returned.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: September

Culminating harried grind
     of many months,
     maelstroms of complaint,
     tummults of to-do tickets,
     tangled hass of thorned canes,
     mangles of meetings,
     persona postings,
     eclectic dysfunction

     :
                  a date in the sand
                  September 5 arrived
                  our new site went live.

                                 such as it were.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: October

One large throng
Forty-three strong
Filled our home for an evening.

That aside,
Recollections hide.

But the Nyungne Retreat
sparkles still, in memory's eye.
3 days: no words
2 days: no food
1 day:  no drink
Every day: many mantra songs, Sangha's voice
                  spilling light, counting jewel beads of
                  praise to the Prince of Kindness
                  our melodies burnishing the gold of the Buddha's
                  elegant poise.
                  Our bodies falling, sliding over polished wood
                  as monks clicked time.

                  then, a quiet dark bicycle glide
                  to Chandra's B and B.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: November

one mere month ago
now vanished
busy let it slip away.

Twenty Thirteen Fading: December

Son Two, Daughter One going, hurtling, preparing to
                                        be unprepared for vicissitudes:
                                             - of the floss-loched, green eyed variety
                                             - of the ship-rocked, mirror iced variety.

They wing carbon streaks, inflame the stratosphere,
          wend toward sweet showers of the
          brilliant blossoms of the spring times
          of their lives.

Not long ago, we yodelled days of Christmas,
          gorged on grass seeds, cranberries, pine nuts,
          squash cubes, yam mash, wine red,
          sprout balls halved,
          pilafed rice, mushed rooms, gin fizzies,
          un stuffing.

          we chopt the tree on dead ostrich acre,
          calmly watchd by golden eyes of the ghosts of eviscerated lions.

          we tapped Caped Breton's beat,
          seated in Royal velvet,
          high above nodding silver sea of old folks' heads.

          We gamed, movied, gifted,
          mouthed a great multitude of discussion.

Not long before, we crushed twixt
          meatstick gnawing Five X bodies,
          droop wadding with slogan breasted
          T shirts
          down main street Disney land.
          We loggered a water fall,
           ears puffeted by drunken skeleton gun fight

(while roads upon lanes upon motors upon tires wrapt round us non stop)

           We toured the halls, the fountains,
            the arched golden futures of possible.
           We clattered up down Knob Hill
            from Hong Koing to Osaka.
            posed 'neath Santa's beard,
                                 cloaked in twinking fog.