Inside Out

In every person’s eyes,

where all geography is dismantled,

what rests is never a matter of simple silence.

Inescapable tragedies and betrayals, 

and desires for revenge

are never worth that kind of effort.

Our vision is softened

by the migration of gentle shadows,

lovers’ whispers, babies’ laughter,

and friendships that lift us effortlessly.

Things seen and unseen,

rainfall and lightning,

births and deaths,

the transit of Orion,

the passage of time,

and doors opening to the sacred

all have their own pulse,

their own resonance and coherence,

and their own music that sings

of starry-starry brilliance.

From: Memories of Things Left Behind

Unpub. MS p. 23

What Hope Brings

I have traveled throughout 

the western states, and I have seen 

some breathtaking scenery

from Yosemite, the Cascades,

Snake River, the Grand Canyon,

to the turbulence of the Pacific Ocean

where it meets the Columbia River.

I have seen magnificent sunrises and sunsets,

Roosevelt Elk grazing outside my tent;

eagles, hawks, ravens, gulls, and breeching whales.

All of these things made my chest ache,

my breath deepen, my arms stretch out,

wanting to take all of it in to my body.

I have a notion that true love,

however defined, would be like that, 

and that lovers would look at each other 

like they would look at the beauty of nature;

their chests would ache, pulses quicken,

breaths deepen, and their arms would

wrap around each other in a way 

that says, I will never let you go.

Such is my fancy, my dream, my hope,

and hope will always bring good things.

From: Small Places, Big Places, Everywhere

Unpub MS p. 44

Up The Fall Snow Down Flake

Late winter, Coyote staring at a creek

This side of madness

is the last place of the downy flake.

In the up of the waterfall,

only the mad look would know to 

among the worn stones round and smooth,

where water like rambunctious children flows,

where leaves like rudderless boats

for the seasons dried

to their next life are carried,

where up the flake of the snow down falls.

From: The Coyote Writings

by Marc A. Crowley writing as Coyote

Soon to be published, p. 5

An Unexpected Chorus

Hereford, Arizona 

June 

Like an orchestra without a conductor,

the spring winds meandered

in a confusing atmosphere,

fearful of commitment 

to one season or the other.

They brought rain at the wrong time

of the year, but no one complained.

Long and deliberate, these storms

through the grassland, with cloudy days 

that looked like December, 

with distant lightning,

not what we would normally expect.

Such an unusual June it was,

a blessing that the heat didn’t rise 

too quickly, that wind blew softly at night,

that water from slow, circling clouds

came and went, came and went.

Awakened at 3:00 AM from my 

dreamscape into a light rain,

lying in a warm bed of combined solace 

and excitement, I listened to the splatter 

and distant rumble mix with the 

rancorous howling of a coyote chorus.

Then I remembered that whatever arrives 

from unexpected places, music comes with it.

From: Small Places, Big Places,

And Every Other Thing In Between 

Unpub. MS p. 50

Early Morning

Under this clear blue sky,

sitting on a towel in blue jeans 

and a red Tee on damp steps,

sipping coffee with the sunrise,

orange and yellow;

wisps of high clouds appear

as if from dreams of ideas,

barely thought out, 

stretching themselves fearlessly.

I’ve seen this many times before

while wandering Pacific shores, 

deserts, and from the forest’s edge, 

how they will blend together, 

shades of white on white, 

as on a painter’s pallet,

without effort,

without the heave of collision, 

creating again and again, coalescing

into something imaginative and new,

and all we have to do is wait and watch.

From: Small Places, Big Places, Everywhere 

Unpub. MS p. 7

The Silence Of Wild Places

Mill Creek Campground, 

Northern California

After two days of driving,

feeling odd and out of sorts,

finally camping, I craved

to know the silence of wild places.

That afternoon I put my ear to the forest floor,

listening for the rumble of Creation

only to come face to face 

with a bright yellow five-inch banana slug,

shouting to all the world,

Here I am.

Its eye stalks moved right and left,

up and down, independent of one another.

Its lower tentacles sniffed for food,

scraped into its mouth by its toothy tongue.

Down here it seemed so much larger

(along with everything else),

a little creepy but not so menacing.

It wasn’t intimidated by whatever

light and shadow I resembled.

It moved silently and fearlessly

over the forest debris.

That night, while gazing

at the mass of the Milky Way,

I thought the one thing I would like

to see before I died would be a supernova.

Yet I was astonished that the most elegant

thing I saw that day was the banana slug

and the reservoir of silence 

that was the forest floor.

From: Memories And The Things Left Behind

Unpub. MS p. 16

A Way Of Praise

In praise of sunlight and rain,

constellations and the passage of time,

fierce love, and eyes that gaze deep into another’s;

the migrating shadows of mesquites and saguaros,

orange poppies that coat the desert floor;

a baby’s laughter and crying,

the hugs and kisses of lovers,

the healing breath of Jesus,

and faith that knows the vastness 

of Mystery and things unseen, 

and prayers that rise 

in whatever way 

they must.

From: Shorts: Short Poems On How We Ramble

Unpub. MS p. 40

The Not So Exhaustive Advice Of A Subversive Teacher (Retired)

Learn how to use solitude for growth and insight.

Look at landscapes and cemeteries;

notice the texture of things.

Get out of the desert in the fall.  Go someplace

that has fall colors.  Paste them onto your faces,

necks, and chests.  Walk proudly.

Laugh immeasurably.

Learn how silence opens the soul.

If you crave magic, paint with the brush of wind.

Walk along a river.  If it’s dry, walk in it.

Wish others well, even if they cut you off in traffic.

Do things that can’t be digitized.

Say things that have no questions.

Ask questions that have no answers.

Stand your ground when it’s right; 

compromise to move on.

Don’t live in fear. That’s living life half.

Kiss. Don’t forget to kiss. Add fire often.

Love passionately and fearlessly.

Stand naked in the rain.

Rejoice in the variety of life.

Seek spirituality.

As much as possible, remain loyal 

to your friends and family.

Proper grammar will not ruin you.

Do something creative often.

Make no more tracks than necessary.

Remember, there’s always a “work around.”

Praise the sounds of nature like music.

Never forget those sounds.

Read books.

Learn to cook.

No matter how old you are, 

you are always young and good looking.

Remember how the kindnesses of men and women

move through the universe.

Clean off the day with a prayer of gratitude.

Practice forgiveness and redemption.

Say, Amen! 

Often.

From: A Preface To The Universe:

Women, Getting Older, and Other Mysteries

Unpub. MS p. 17

Sacred Realm

Nature is a sacred realm. Lightning strikes where 

it needs to. Nature knows how to make her point. 

There are a hundred paths in your eyes. 

Each one can take you to the Divine Presence.

Age is upon me, but I am not frightened by that. 

More than ever, I crave the essence of all things.

One night the grasslands awakened me, No one 

has seen such trumpery grip the throat of a nation.

I meditate and remember my blessings. 

It’s the righteous mobs that terrify me. 

From: A Rambly Search For Innocence, Time, and Love

Unpub MS p. 4