"Filled"

(Upon purchasing a new journal
On September 18, 2010).

Lovely leather binding pages
Sparkling with their silver edge,
Blank lines awaiting fulfillment.
Space for thought, room for
Expression; quiet moments to share
Beneath a blossoming cherry tree,
Beside the glittering open sea,
Amongst a pile of golden leaves,
Amidst the blustery winter winds
Pages fluttering and drops of rain.

Pristine now, crisp and clean,
Coffee stained soon to be, crinkled
Corners bent and shimmer dimmed.
Not worth a dime, yet treasured book;
Silent confidant for secrets shared,
Archive of fears, some joyful years,
Vial of tears and chocolate smears.
My life sketched with ink, not lead,
Encapsulation of my soul,
When the pages will be filled.

"Commuting"

(Composed upon returning home
Wednesday, August 25, 2010).

Commuting...there is always traffic,
Especially now Imperial Highway
Is littered with orange cones and
Seemingly spawning caterpillars.
Slow signs label the lanes and
Road construction ahead forebode
Blinkers and barrage of break lights,
Beeping car horns, and blare of rap.

The car ahead cuts into the right lane
Nearly colliding with my neighbor.
"Crazy driver!" I mutter aloud.

Light turns red and I'm stopped
Diagonally behind the Pontiac;
Its back window quickly lowers,
Expecting flash of a singular digit.
Instead, it simply rolls up again.
Reaching the top, it descends once more,
Then rolling upward, tiny fingers appear
Over the edge, skipping 'cross glass,
Playfully following the window's trek,
Flitting as a butterfly among buds,
Soaring and diving as a seaside pelican
Above the waves at San Pedro harbor.
Chuckling to myself and wiggling my
Fingers, as they rest on the windowsill.

Light turns to green and we once more
Crawl forward, as once annoying cones
Transport to first grade soccer practice,
Dump trucks to hearty preschool play.

"Incarnated sol"

(A blank verse composition
Of mid-August 2010).

The blazing ball of fire now sets westward
A shade of orange as vivid as the
Kenyan plain in the noonday heat of June;
Of tribal dance and lively drum beats free
The movement of life, fierce, shockingly bright
Yellow of vibrant hue, as lioness
On the prowl; a striking beauty, filled and
Overflowing with hot embers, ready
To ignite with passions deep; piercing,
Captivatingly rich Indian spice.

In the east, sweet pastels of gentle pink,
As the fragrant lavender rolls over
The Provencal hills of a distant field.
Timid beauty, soft and shy the silk shades
That paint the far horizon of the land;
Tender blush at a passing stranger’s glance;
An English rose garden blooms in the sky,
Reserved elegance, glories in the past.
Singular source of light captured, expressed,
In unique displays, as the heat of day
Gives way to peaceful, cool nights of summer.

Full moon rises in the desert tonight;
Driving ‘cross highway, my sister beside,
Genuine and honest, she won’t back down,
Taking charge and fighting for the distressed,
Freely, boldly expressing her desires
Unlike the introvert behind the wheel:
Quiet of spirit, seeking to refresh,
And often few of words, yet heart devout.

Reflecting, embodying golden rays,
Sublime paradox, incarnated sol,
As we travel back to the smog city
Rays of light diffused and stars to be hid
The stormy shadows seek the light to fade.
Even still each day ends in dusk’s delight.
Banker and social worker recognize
As a most magnificent sight t’ behold.

Some drawn to the east, others toward the west,
Still none deny the brilliance of its source--
Beautiful transformation it affects,
Glorious illumination imparts,
Radiantly transfigured by the sun.

"Blazing beach bonfire"

(Composed on August 5, 2010
Scent of smoke still in my hair).

You know the smell
Just after the sunset
The raw and reassuring
The organic sweet scent
Of burning firewood
Mixed with fresh sea air
Speckled in gritty sand
Smoke quietly billows
Soaking into your skin
Saturating your sweater
Tenderly enveloping you
In its warm embrace
The fire laps at the logs
Hypnotizing waves of
Gold and scarlet flames
Glowing embers beneath
Blazing beach bonfire
Towels spread around
Cool, damp sand underfoot
Soft guitar strumming
Beat of the bongo
A floating melody
And the crackling of the
Marshmallow golden fire

"Eyes fixed"

(Mind's eye on Mt. Wilson
Composed on August 5, 2010).

Overcome by the heat
Eyes fixed to the ground
Focusing on uneven dirt
Carefully avoiding a pebble
Stepping over a little twig
Altogether ignoring great
Mountain of plenteous pine

"Woe"

(Composed in contemplation of
Isaiah 39 in late July 2010).

"It is good news!" declared he.
Many years would safely be
Comfortable in his wanton haze,
'Peace and security in my days.'

Woe to the foolish, selfish king;
Wealth to the winds he did fling!

Rich heritage he threw away;
His own sons he did betray:
Plundered land, dispossessed;
Exiled and harshly oppressed!

Woe to me who would lazily lounge
Forcing others to desperately scrounge!

Seeking comfort, preferring ease,
My fleshly pleasures to appease,
Merely the status quo to maintain,
Ever overlooking others' pain?

Woe to us all if so become we;
I pray, O Lord, may it never be!

"A quiet evening"

(Composed in the stillness
Of July 24, 2010).

The sounds of the night
Sprinkler's mist descends
Distant honk of a passing car
The bark of a neighbor's dog
The muffled rumble of voices
Float from a television set
Palm fronds rustled by the breeze

Candle flickers, lamp is dimmed
Smooth jazz pianist on my iPod plays
While my pen glides across the page

A bit of the city's bustling remains
A few street lights turning yellow
Yet most families are now relaxing
In their homes for a quiet evening
Snuggled in their living rooms
Eating popcorn and watching a film
Perhaps laughing over a hand of cards

On the sofa I recline, journal open
Pondering the water softly trickling
Its gentle whisper in my window