Basics

Basics

 
Give me a man of a simple sort,
With an open heart and mind,
Who is free of schemes and of meaner thoughts,
With a soul that is pure and kind—

 
For he’ll gladden my heart and cleanse my soul

And turn me away from sin.
And this is true for a woman too 
In every land that I’m in.

 
We live in a world that is full of woes
That are born out of greed and hate,
So we need such men and such women too,
Before it is far too late.

******

 
Where caring and courage both are alive—
There, I will send my heart.
Where one or both have disappeared,
From there, we should all depart.

 

****** 

But if we are stuck in a land we loved
That is blighted by hate and fear,
We should think of the men and women—those 
Who had made it so special and dear.

 
I bow to the man of a simple sort
And a woman, too, of the kind—
For they are the salt of the earth—the best
That I ever could hope to find.

I will not ask of their tongue or faith

Or the land in which they were born,

Except to bond and to hear and talk

With a heart that is free of scorn.

 

2025, April 20th, Sun.
Berkeley, California 
 

Release

Release

We try to judge the act and not the person,

And this can serve us well through all our years,

But often we may struggle all alone,

And then perhaps could shed our bitter tears,

Had we not seen how others suffered more 

And so had gained perspective—being blessed

By traces left of humor that could see

The comedy of this, the “tragic self”—

And so could pause from misery to smile

And even laugh out loud at such a plight—

And so, amidst what seemed as darkness, find

The fortitude to still perceive the light.

****** 

We carry burdens, dense, of varied  weight, 

Of all the wrongs we’ve borne. And every grudge

Can add to these, until we let them fall

And so are freed to let the heavens judge

Our acts and those of others, breathing free

To hark to conscience, heed to duties left—

To breathe in peace and even take delight

In pleasures small and what we still have left.

This needs some practice, letting grasping go

Of fears, desires, attachments, rages—all

The things that snare us, all the chains we’ve wrought—

To find release from years in captive thrall.

2025, April 15th, Tue

Berkeley, California 

Rounds

 

Rounds

The skies of sunlit days have blues and whites

That give us cause to simply breathe and be.

The skies of moonless nights are dark, with lights

As distant as unaided eyes can see.

*******

There comes the dawn—that rising sun again—

And then the morning, noon, and afternoon,

And then the dusk—and then that night again,

Until the time that often comes too soon—

Or just in time for some, for others late,

When silently we’re told it’s time to end

The rounds that mark our lives and yield to fate—

To start the sleep that then will never end.

We know what waits us, yet we live as though

The day that is a life will be as bright,

As life proceeds, as in its fullest glow—

Until we see its evening turn to night.

******

******

How many rounds before, how many after

The current round of hours, of seasons, years?

How many smiles, how much of merry laughter?

How much of pain, how many more of tears?

****** 

Our lives are threaded through with darkness, light—

With joy and sorrow, pleasure braiding pain.

And so we weep and so we know delight—

As hunger makes us savor food again.

A life to live—and then to leave—ah yes—

With eyes that saw the sun and moon and stars,

With rounds enlivened by the human mess

But blighted sore by lies and endless wars!

So just as night and day are needed, both,

So also might be all our joy and grief—

Like sleep and waking, diligence and sloth,

Like thirst and quenching, reason and belief.

2025, April 11th, Fri.

Berkeley, California