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This is a poem from 2019

I was that little old lady on a folding chair in town, with a cardboard sign at my feet, offering one minute eye contact

BANANA

Young boys

7 of them

Black attired

leather jackets, spikes,

clogs, chains,

hair all black too –

Mohawks, long flowing raven wings

and the bald one with the scar over his left eye

large gloves like bear paws
black boots with steel heels

leather trousers with zippers

where you don’t expect to see them

grinning with white teeth

in a not so comforting way

And then the leader:

He is clad as a banana –

ankle length costume, a small opening to his

shining ivory face, the banana stem

as an antenna on the top of his head

Little old lady sitting on a folding chair

in the marketplace, offering one-minute

eye-contact

The banana prince

takes the chair across her,

mops and mows and

the gang closes in around them

The more he grimaces the

softer her heart feels

how could such an adorable kid

not be loved

No word said

only eye looking into eye

then

universe beyond universe

opens

silent lakes

peaceful radiant waterfalls

after a month or so he gets up

and bows

they walk away in silence

there is space around him

like a yellow pupil in an eye

painted with kohl

Taking Flight

I wrote this almost one year ago, and want to place it here as a reminder to myself and anyone who might have lost the connection with our sacred Heart

The body is a strange machine
that acts from age old patterns in a mind
that are not necessarily my own, but borrowed
and manipulated by its own incessant need
to keep itself alive and working in the
same old ways that lulls it in into
patterns of a false security
that I and me are actually
separated from the you and yours
in much important ways – now breathe

And still I tend to think my mind is
very special and uniquely my own
while some of it may actually come from
the woman on the bus just recently
who in a very angry voice condemned
the human race of being selfish while she
herself were always tending to her nearests’ needs

and there I lost it, yes I did
and cannot find myself cause all ideas

are simply caught in fogs of helplessness

and fear of rest and presence, yes –
since most what happens here, that makes me
into someone who knows MORE than you
and boast about it, getting bits of almost peace
but not enough to breathe with lungs that
want to sing or scream or make of me

a spectacle of giggly joy

and maybe too, some kind of a butterfly that lands on someone’s nose and makes them
sneeze and smile and lift from earth
on wings they never knew they had
but now they yawn and smile and greet
each other as the old and sweetest siblings.

that they never knew they had

and here you are and there you are
and yes you smile
’cause there is simply nothing that is
more essential to the heart
than this

Credit: Samuel Austin on Unsplash