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Spiritual Poetry

Backyard Meditation

New spring life arrives
with a pulsing presence.
In the distance, a lawnmower wails.
Small creatures hard at work
in the sun's bright theatre.


My father is dying,
the current rite of passage
of generation baby-boom.
It hurts to the core.
His pain is so great,
I pray for his transition.

I loved him as a son
with the unconditional love
of parent and child,
I hated him at times,
for his anger, his impatience,
his immaturity and laziness.
Just another chapter
in the endless volume
called American Family Dysfunction.

But I love him so much
I wish I could set him free
(in the spiritual sense).
May this heart-feeling
expand to all beings,
in all times, in all places.

Eternal Embrace

This heart has giant arms,
embracing everything
in joyful one-ness,
loving itself.

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