Snail

 ‘Snail’             trgates, 10/15/2012

The snail glides

like a tank's tracks

deliberate yet barely moving

noisy in their world,

unnoticed in ours.

Wait,

it's the same world.

i wonder how loud they

think our silence is?

———————

Love the quiet and noise of those not seen or heard.You’re noticed by eternity’s love, today’s pause to behold. Trg, 10/2024

Precipice’s opportunity

 ‘precipice’s opportunity’ Trgates,10/17/2026

Looking for holy

Saints and sinners stroll alone

until the race’s end. 

’not only pretty birds’ TRGATES,10/04/2023;2024

saints and sinners

don’t change places,

they walk the same paths.

delusionals love perfect stories,

animals blind to their predators

painting pictures of adulation

from unwitting brute beasts.

myths and legends

of love requited,

while some divining

for holy ones —

St. Francis loved

what most see as

ugly birds,

harmonizing,

“and the eighth day is a good day.”

skunks, buzzards, worms, cockroaches

waltz to a mariachi band

through swinging doors,

often those called sinners

are beheld by

those they are gracious.

lions, lambs, wolves, elephants

recline with the others

after a herbivore feast

preferring this over

the supreme species

devouring of each other.

Francis, Seraphim, Maria, Rumi

and grandpa concur.

Washing away blindness

 ‘washing away blindness’Trgates,10/22/2026

in the way of enlightenment’s insight 

stands our not seeing 

that our blame of others

secures wisdom’s blurred 

by minimizing our ill behavior

as not as bad as another’s,

claiming to know more than 

when we knew we knew little. 

“a child shall lead them,”

if we dare remove our broken lenses,

washing our eyes in the pool waiting. 

removing the “if” in front of apologies

might be a good start too.

Mother’s womb

 ‘Mother’s womb’ Trgates,10/24/2026

awakened from your Mother’s womb,

this first baptism

christened into the first day,

like the sixth, saying

“Behold, it was very good.”

Her first looks

like your last ones,

hoping to pierce three firmaments

just to say hello again, 

to say thank you

for that first leap though the water,

and each since.

Angels wary

 ‘Angels wary’ Trgates,10/29/2026

There are Angels unaware,

wingless lovers of those before them,

winged messengers taking to safety,

Icons from each side

reaching up, reaching down,

Angels become aware

when reaching across,

sometimes like Cherubim 

or Seraphim 

covering their faces,

or ours. 

Angels unaware 

but to those in need of flight.

Egypt’s badlands 

to Syrian Deserts

to North American Bison plains,

each wondering if such flights sometimes cancel. 

for some 

we’ll introduce each other by name 

only on the other shore, 

in the meantime 

we’ll try to remember to say

thank you to each Angel,

winged or not.

Storytelling

 storytelling’ Trgates,11/1/2026

Once Buddha asked Jesus

what mattered,

obviously already knowing the answer.

they chuckled.

Buddha just passed it to Mohammed,

he also didn’t say what he thought,

“Allah’s will, God’s will be done “

yet another gotcha aphorism.

Gaia knew these guys didn’t see her. 

Jesus kept writing in the sand.

all were confused by the acronym

WWYD? and WWID?

an acrostic would just be wordy. 

What am I willing and able to do?

this certainly cuts through the bull s’. 

the crowd dispersed,

the sand was left for storytelling,

some well told, others 

for the tellers to hear themselves talk. 

Jesus smiled,

walking to the next beatitude’s hill.

Moment

 ‘Moment’  Trgates,11/03/2026

That moment of your children’s first breath, then their’s, you get eternity. 

The moment of your Parent’s, and their’s, and a Sibling, then friend after friend, 

only to be beyond words when it’s your best friend’s last breath, here eternity gently kisses your brow again. 

Wee ones see angels, fairies, imps, gnomes,

without a second’s interpretation,

seemingly to forget such moments later. 

Moment’s come and go,

so we say. 

this moment didn’t come,

nor will it go, 

it’s just here.

for a moment 

Sometimes I pray until I’m done listening to myself. Then I listen. 

‘Wind speaking grace’ Trgates,11/02/2023

Grandpa and Mother under well worn headstones,

like my oldest two children’s Mother,

like the Father of my youngest three children’s Mother,

like a Brother,

then Friends from wee lad days,

and Friends in hoary headed ones -

you know it’s coming someday. 

then it’s that day,

thought you’d be prepared,

thought you’d have the right words,

and then there’s none. 

ha, even me. 

“just build my mansion next door to Jesus,

and tell my Mother I’m coming home,”

sentimental gospel tune comes to mind,

thought it silly years ago,

yet not when you bury yours. 

the red earth welcomes them back,

leaves covering their beds,

under Maples and Willows,

the wind speaking grace,

Blessed Eternal Memory,

and we join in harmony with their

hymns, no doubt they

know what here we

intone, pray, whisper into silence -

love. 

with a Mother’s two children,

with a Father’s daughter, Mother of three children, 

with Grandpa’s, Grandma’s and Mother’s 

children, grandchildren,

with Brother’s sister, brothers, friends,

with Friends’ friends -

words attempted are eclipsed 

by words known,

“Love covers a multitude of ills,”

from one who before his last breath 

made sure grief would 

be bettered by another day,

“Behold your Mother.”

and the stone is rolled away.