a young soldier follows his orders
an explosion rips apart a hospital wing
dust swirls peacefully in a sunlit shaft
people scramble to uncover the mother
whose hip is smashed her baby no longer
waiting to be born she screams please
just kill me now as she is carried over rubble
to an emergency room where soon
her wish for release is granted two souls
slip silently away ascend gracefully
over the battered earth into gray winter sky
in Bucha torture victims are unearthed
hands still tied broken limbs bruised faces
shot in the head or cudgeled to death by a
rough beast who eats russian boys for lunch
sends dark oily tentacles slithering
across the blackened soil and burnt crops
it twines around picturesque villages
where women are being raped with an audience
of husbands children & drooling faces in uniform
in zaporizhzhia a nuclear plant is shelled again
and again its hot angry atoms are barely contained
inside orcs are parking their tanks safe a moment
frozen on an event horizon where time is forever
where every atrocity is imagined and made manifest
a cave where morbid projections
march endlessly forward
and now they are here
evil intention that must be fought
om mani padme hum
a flower from the dark mud
satchidananda
the ultimate subjective experience
of unchanging reality
blessed be
JGM 091022
for 3 months before she died one or both of us was there in Jackson, NH where her cozy mountainside home twinkled golden motes onto gentle snow
she was determined to live to focus on what really matters in this precious shared time one aware moment softly drifted to another with no delusions
we celebrated Christmas sang joyously she was vitally alive among the notes bright stars wheeled through the sky a voice both pure and precise
January ended the inevitable cold settled in four liters of abdominal fluid were drained every few days her strength flowed into sad clouded bottles
February an ambulance came they carried her on a one way trip to a hulking hearse its engine clattered a menacing diesel arrival growled and departed
we said last goodbyes all night she vomited blood it overflowed the bag onto her face a mask of darkness a final descent to a writhing tattered chrysalis
with her brothers we planned services for her community the building was large full of bright souls who loved her and then just us two alone
in the building of furniture that was once her home icy rain fell a hard tinkling thickening covered the land i marred the hood of her car
a little white Subaru we leased for her she loved its handling and suddenly my tears flowed down over the cracked veins slid silently to frozen ground
and all around icicles blazed with bright white light images tangled among them an overpowering brilliance a stabbing scintillation
her things were packed away soon we would drive back brief owners of her vehicle but now there was ice to scrape blinding and incomprehensible
there is a time for words
explanations of perceptions of things
the way it feels to suffer the wooden weight
of certain knowledge yes there is plenty
in my world my mind wishes to deny
that we die for example just as love becomes
a heartfelt living presence flowing among us
my god let me grieve long and fully enough
that i recognize the preciousness of this
just let me rest here a moment in silence
i understand nothing, in all innocence, please
we were traveling back to a non-existent world after care-taking for months we were fully present with her during her final hours and afterwards packed up the house made arrangements for things no longer needed we did all we could to honor her sacred beautiful life
and now we were traveling back the first time we really had to truly feel the pain of loss the inevitable crash after years of affirming her wholeness the perfect unfolding of her path yes still true for she had gained serenity and a heart filled with love and gratitude not once did she protest or give up on life she was more alive than most when she departed
as the highway continues to reel out the world begins to recede there is a need to simply be alone to rest to grieve we are traveling back to where normalcy unrest disease unease continue to unwind before us
inside the house all of the screens stream by with fear-filled news emboldened kkk in charlottesville leave behind the injured and deceased and here it is August 2017 such sadness and suffering information can bring
a step or two from beneath the sheltering roof is the entire infinite sky and a delicious lingering touch of sweet cool air this bright summer morning in independence honey locust, towering catalpa, black locust and kentucky coffee bean hang heavy aided by recent unusual rains laden with full brown seed pods
my brothers and sisters the perfect place to fall in love is already offering its bounty
the fragrance of life wafts from the ground with a scent of harvest time the dead made fertile in the luscious earth i tell you plainly there is only birth to be seen in any direction i look
there comes a time when we too must stand in the way and when we do we look to the strong ancestral trees for our example patiently reverent in the black ground and surging sky
matter transformed to light cascades to us through the quivering leaves and back again within receiving eyes
wind that has swept back and forth over oceans of water and grass slows and sighs along our limbs eddies at our fingertips
wind chimes beneath our porch bump lovingly against one another a low mellow ringing contralto
earlier on the lake trail some pressed by gaze averted absorbed in the screen they come and they go voiceless and lost in the depths of the endless scroll
do not fear my dear for we will remain rooted here forever and a day as long as it takes knowing the fear carried in those furtive eyes of separation and despair
yet wherever we are together we invoke an invitation to be within and with each other
in this field life still flows unimpeded it rises straight from the center of earth wind and water
nothing is the matter and the ground of all being is in every locale accepting all that is without label or illusion
it rises
voluminously
as the sun is setting
over Independence
a harvest moon
closely draped
in a silvery shroud
the question seems to be
what pure thing
have we grown this season?
what thing
most beautifully wrought
have we to offer?
and what of this view
from the surface of the moon
a dark globe
slowly rolling its oceans
through a vast star strewn expanse
a dusting of tiny lights
clumped around bits of land?
it rises
John Greenleaf-Maple Poetry & Ruminations 