Listen with your heart.

When a child comes to you and holds your hand
So that you can help him cross a busy street,
Life has a higher calling. Listen with your heart.
When a bird builds her house on your window and sings for you
Every time you come home worn out and depleted
Life has a higher calling. Listen with your heart.
When a stranger smil...es for you in the street
And you watch your migraine disappear.
Life has a higher calling. Listen with your heart

Tell me what you want me to give you today

It did not rain much last night . It only showered.
Yet the creek in my neighborhood
Was gurgling with a flood of rain water.
The trees around the creek heard the sound
And burst into a white flower.
How can we learn to be grateful for every little gift we receive?
For all the gifts that we are?
All these celebrations awaken the abundance,
the majesty of giving, of sharing, of loving within me.
Oh dear!This body is small. I cannot contain this splendor.
This is my gift to you, who's reading this poem:
I want to send you a freshly picked bouquet of flower
but I realized that you are a garden of flowers already.
I wanted to give you a smile
But you’re the entire the sun, the moon and the stars already.
I wanted to give you an island
But it dawned on me that you’re the whole universe already.
So beloved friend:
I am lost in the wilderness.

Tell me what you want me to give you today.

Very close to you

beloved one
Today more than many other days in the past
I wanted to be very close to you or
you very closer to me.
with my glasses removed
with my garments removed
with my mask removed
my titles and decorations removed
my stories erased
so that I can see you with utmost clarity,
feel your beautiful warmth
drink your delicious breath
and become one with you.
with no barriers between us

Last night

Last night
I left my window open,
wide, wide open
and went to bed.
Like a professional thief
You came in very silently and
Wrote on the wall of my soul
I LOVE YOU MY CHILD!
I woke up in the morning
and never I was
the same again.

Behive

How regal is this hive hanging from a tree!
It is filled  with  the poetry of honey, sweet presence.
Aren’t bees great poets after all?
They compose honey out of joy and sorrow.

Don’t look for me in the past or in the future, my friend;
Look for me in the beehive,
in the dark alleys crowded with the homeless
In the crib where your child loses herself to sleep.

Don’t look for me in your head.
Or in your flawless grammar
Not even in your sweet dreams or dreamless nights
I am there when you run out of all words and sounds
And no longer know what to say.

If you only know
The beauty bursting in your chest
You won’t lie in your couch, watching violence on TV

You would rather go out and dance
Beneath the night skies.
If you only know
The the beauty bursting in your chest.

I wanna be a jar of honey
or a mansion with no doors,
a can of tomato soup
or a chain of giant rocks.

Opener of the skies
Please come, break me open.

Our children are not always children

Life is movement, up and down movement,
Back and forth movement
Even when we think we stand still
or we think we’re moving backward instead,
It is still a movement. We move with the cosmos.
Some of us move thru wind, some of us thru water,
Those of us who move thru fire would sure cook well, thru and thru
Or burn to the ashes of ancient music and merge with my soul.

As humans, we yearn to be parents one day;
To bring forth children and raise them
Awareness strikes and
We realize that we are not always parents and
Our children are not always children
Some days they are our parents
They can smile and laugh
Through economic recession
And mortgage crisis or bad harvest
And we heal thru their smiles.
Their pure laughs remove fear and anguish.
I have to admit right now;
Any one who lives in this moment is my MASTER.
Please come, take my hand.

This poem is inspired by a brief conversation between my friend Christian Korn and myself. Thank you Chris for inspiring me.