Time Spent Bewildered

Love replace hate 

wisdom replace ignorance 

celebration replace war

farming replace famine

truth replace lies

human replace monster

harmony replace explosions

trees replace guns 

plants replace plastic 

organic replace modified 

feelings replace phones 

connections replace isolation

teacher replace television

patience replace convenience

modesty replace clutter

laughter replace weeping

garden replace strip mall

sustain replace destruction.

Love restore life

wisdom restore reverence

celebration restore hope

farming restore sustenance

truth restore integrity

human restore nature

harmony restore grace

trees restore fauna

plants restore principles 

organic restore authentic 

feelings restore empathy

connections restore community

teacher restore foundation 

patience restore virtue

modesty restore simplicity

laughter restore bliss

garden restore Mother

sustain restore Earth. 

Pink is a must

leather is the face

fog is the morning

hot is the tea,

full of sticks and flowers.

Green is the wave

sucking viciously,

sandy is the floor

squished in to its full capacity.

Brutal is the walk

compacted with beatings,

broken boards,

heads smashed,

and skulls drying out.

Take off is the risk,

swallowing up humans

one by one

till the one comes,

working perfection,

‘not a spot’ clean,

‘not a speck’ out of place,

just pure pure,

just carved carvings

like a master woodworker

who has been carving green tubes

for 50 years in low tides

reeling, etching paths

with mouths mounted collecting data.

Pink is a must

direction is the way

where the master woodworkers

She used to sit here,

in this very spot

waiting for life to approach her.

She used to wonder when

her time to take it was.

Waiting wasn’t her strong suit

but it became her full time job.

She clocked in and never clocked out,

aimlessly awaiting her turn,

double shifts,

overtime,

through the holidays,

she became an island

of time.

One day a boat came,

she was just swimming with the dolphins—

she looked up at the captain and decided,

it wasn’t waiting anymore—

but living

and watching

each breath—

inhale—

exhale—

So she shook her head, “No”

and let the boat pass right on.

Because her island is

TIME

and she loves swimming

Working under waters of pressure--

swells of instability--

scores of storms--

all for the moments of serenity

lined in the golden beams looking up

into the connections beyond, 

looking towards 

into the connections around.

Each grain of sand speaks a story

unlike the next grain

creating its own unique shape,

its own unique shade, 

yet each grain of sand together 

is what makes the beach 

a whole.

Collectively embracing the wave 

in such a way,