PJ1961 Poetry (3)

A jazz man's soul through the wall
?piano tinkling, bass strumming ?
voice enticing in a sultry way ?
Still, the dark red rose ?
tight bud since before the snow fell
?outside my Seattle bedroom window ?
Yesterday a few moments learning more
?of a man who lets his hair grow long
?and says he'll settle in New York in a kinky moment
?kind of way ?
Remembering cotton wood creek frost hardened spring ?
barren tree's knots patterns drawn, ?
a rustle in red twig dogwood
?moose calving ?
Singing slow rhythmic ancient singing
?primitive satisfying ritual
?sun warming hoar frost melting on wild rye grass ?
Watching small yellow brown spotted butterfly
?dancing over turbulent Truckee River spring flow
?setting on mossy rock sunning ?
Grasping for reasons why ?
asking how it is we came so far without unconditional love, ?
monopoly is a game
?Breathing sweet alyssum honeeeyyyy sticcckkky
?sweet alyssum ?
wanting to push my nose deep in
?white bush hugging earth where bees work
?Tapping feet in time on
?grass blues~muse mind filled in sound ?
head rocking free feeling tunes self~tuning ?
Swaying looonng smooth rolling ?
legs swinging along roads open fields ?
stretching out sweat dripping down back ?
cooling body hot
?Placing a hand upon my breast warm ?
soft weight sensual soul feeling self~inducing ?
state of being in peace of mind and place ?
Touching my reason for being
?here ~ beauty in simple pleasures
?satisfying simple needs ?
warming souls to simple ways.

Tracy Chapman says it all so well
- all that you have is your soul -
the differences we share are really
?our similarities
?all based on common experiences as humans
?worked out in different ways?
and among those shared knowings
?our value systems lie?
and in those values
?common ground
- all that you have is your soul -
everything else is extraneous
?pleasurable and often
?inconsistent
?with the base values we say we hold dear?
tell me,
?what are they and why
?consensus omnium,?
is it possible
?considering that
- all we have is our souls -

Crossing via TransNica bus the Costa Rican border into
NicAragua, lush green forests swapped out for dust bowl
desert, dry, barren NicAragua
A thought crossed my mind, a nagging doubt, begging
for attention, had I lost my mind?

Giving it all up to the Universe, the only decision I made, was
how Far can I go on the money in my pocket, not
where, or why, or in what fashion I would live once
I got there... There... A hastily written note, an offering

Do you need some help? I have this skill, it’s rusty, maybe
a bit weak, but, I think, I think I can help... will You take me?
I need help, you need help... maybe together, we can find
what we need

The bus lumbering into Managua where cattle and
skinny dogs wander untethered, big kids, little kids
tossing baseballs in abandoned Intersections,
our lives intersecting, though I’m passing by

Wondering, I must have lost my mind
this desert, barren like dry arroyos with dead trees
In Texas, how can a medicinal farm exist here...
Must have lost my mind, the scene making no sense

And yet, the farm, up the mountain, a healing place is here
Where my heart was destined, I didn’t know
I’d be having a long moment of... It’s meant to be,
doing what is meant to be done, giving, no longer doubting