Garden Songs

Garden Snail

I follow the slick trail so I can take the snail
between my fingers and toss it over the fence
away from the strawberries and I sense
that the oily appearance of that trail
is much like the part of me most remembered
by those closest to me





Garden Song

When the power 
to view
all the morning 
glories that 
smell in with 
the sweetpea bush
and the strawberry
lay upon the
redwood chips
like melted
concrete
poetry

we will sing
aloud
the song




My Mind And Body

seem embraced on an earlier lifetime
when Christians were true pacifists
and were ashamed of materialistic concerns.
Where did they all go?
Am I the only one who feels in is heart
that the Christian Right is wrong?
Am I the only one who feels in his heart
that the Christian Right is a perfect
example of the truth that religion
is an opiate of the masses?
Where are the discussions that reminded
us that to kill an enemy was not an act of love?





Cocoon

there are times
we wrap up

meditate

and emerge

having
eaten through
the blocks
and bandaged wounds

to fly in freedom's
celebration





Outing

Climbing the ragged thorny hill
behind our mobile home park
we look down on tin houses
and 30 year old palm trees
so puny from here.

The thorns remind me that we are far from Eden
and as high as we travel we can never reach God
on this particular path.

Beneath our aging sneakers the earth
actually crunches in the heat.
The pond is almost gone in this drought.
Where do the frogs go, you ask?
I can't answer that.
Another child once asked me
where butterflies go when it rains?
I can now say - with the frogs.

There is something sacred here.
Perhaps our quietness.




The Stories

and songs are really
all we have to give
each other
and once the story
is told
it belongs to us all



-Soos