the ocean is a backdrop

the ocean is a backdrop

magnifying whatever artifice

they can suggest served by

even light and air

i was like that once

exhilarated with the possibilities

of every illusion or dream 

i could conjure

i am still like them

my methods have become

more subtle and cunning 

with some resignation

i am not free of whatever

springboard i vaunted 

everything becomes ocean

deep measure

it consumes all of us 

this freedom 

---

Woods Cove

 

i’m told all situations/ will be rectified/ in "god’s time"

i move back to california 

face certain keen difficulties

.

i’m told all situations

will be rectified

in "god’s time"

which I guess means

now

later

never

or forever

.

because god is all that

inseparable from everything 

listed

forgotten

regained 

or lost

.

wrecks deep in the ocean

sunlit exalted snowy peaks

surprise parties

newborns

and solemn funerals

Bruce Lee Isn't Talking Today

Bruce Lee comes over, while I am discovering the dryer didn’t dry my clothes, and one of my shorts has snagged on a pin that keeps the dryer door shut, and it has wound itself around a bunch of shirts, turning them into ropes. It requires a lot of untwisting. Bruce sits on the couch smiling, twinkling his eyes while I untangle them. He’s like a cherub or an angel, just perched there on the couch in the living room, surrounded by paintings. When I get done, I close the screen door to the patio, and I smile at him.

“Are you talking today?” I ask.

Bruce Lee doesn’t reply.

He keeps smiling and looking up and down at the magic wonder contained in everyday things. He does that long enough, I can’t resist seeing it myself.

It is like the livingroom has become a fantastical garden, clothed in endless gems. There seems to be an inviting melody too, played above.

Then Bruce leaves.

It takes a bit, like a drawn out sigh — the other reality slowly seeps back in, like a fog.

But it is as only as full of sighs or as foggy, as I’ve decided to grow up. So I keep seeing hints of gems, and I’m reminded of bits of cosmic music.

If I tell Bruce Lee about this if he comes back, I bet he’d be proud. But I don't know if he’d talk.

— -

CM Evans

Quail Meadow

this word salad

 

this word salad

with robot dogs

a carbon neutral clown

able to cry and save the world

one flea at a time

----

me why

me why

looking for a window

into my own soul

for myself

-- -

we are all going towards the light

this morning just after sunrise

i am driving on the 405 to 

laguna canyon road

i am going towards the light

it is like the brightness is in front and

also going through me

in my rear view mirror

i see the light behind me 

in the reflectors that show the lanes

we are all going towards the light

any direction we are traveling

even if we think we are going the opposite way

the illumination shines through

everything completely 

it only occurs to me this truth

when the light is so strong

---

March 2

Irvine, CA

it is easy to fight

it is easy to fight

just disagree

-

my knees make a mountain

my knees make a mountain
when i lay in bed and read
i look over my book sometimes

this night i see a yellow one

i've climbed many mountains

this way with my eyes 

the route up can be dangerous

from avalanches of memories

tonight it is clear at the top

from that summit i could see

all the way back into my life 

almost to the beginning

but i choose not to look 

so far back or turn my gaze

searchingly into a new vista

lit equality with light or gloom

raised up the eyes find
what they seek

the wisest discover
their heart's delight

-

but for me i find it clear

the ground is frozen
at places ice translucent
blues and greens 

as if going in mid flow

then deciding to stay 

and hold snow 

some say this is

the hardest part of the year

but for me i find it clear

all i see and be

is firm yet flowing 

glittering full of halos 

glowing sighing

lit from within almost 

yet black is even darker

starkness holds us up

presents one side or

the other both mirror like

----

A very short story

 I do not want this to be my last sentence, but it is.

*

in the/ irish hills

in the
irish hills it rained
we gathered your great grandmother's
rocking chair
small raindrops fell
even a bit on the wood  
or like on us
when you placed flowers on graves
beneath a leafless tree

by the big cross 

with nothing to anchor us

the mind begins to look everywhere

at everything 

because we are strange

yet also family here

as your grief flowed 

we drove home

saw a few flecks of 

snow by those pillars

of rock like giants 

or the people we loved

and memory grasped them

in the forests all around them

then when the grey seemed eternal

the sky lifted and showed

blue purple and yellow

then gold 

*

for deborah

the ice stayed

the ice stayed
and a small pine bough fell
scattering green and yellow needles

countless small animal tracks

crossing there with a fox following

stalking them

seen last evening late

out the back window a sleek

dusky red animal with a tail tipped with frost 

seven inches of snow

projected to fall 

*

on this day of threats and promise

on this day of threats and promise
how big is your mind? 
whatever the answer
it contains everything 

in emptiness 

look at the sky 

see how it mingles

sustains or blows

with everything 

but not touching 

we work play or worry

in plain view of the mother

or father who sustained us

with the sacred or profane

unseparated purity 

always a feast 

no matter what

+

this day frozen bright and white

this day frozen bright and white
the snow in shadows a hint of blue
as if i had never seen this before
the whole world ready for us

not everyone is nice/ nor helpful or kind

not everyone is nice
nor helpful or kind

but everyone deserves 

to be treated with kindness

we live in a hell 

of self sacrifice otherwise

and our supposed virtue

in this like chains

*

flexibility to share

flexibility to share

and feel accurately

cooperate with cross people

technically minded

and slyly knowable

bringing out the best

from bad situations

with a pinch of excitement

and everlasting love

*

you were raised

you were raised

with a marvelous mind

keep looking

fall in love 

with everything

X

i want to see everything

 i want to see everything
in myself like i see in that
beautiful moon framed by a blue
deep dark night inescapable beauty

-

there is the sky endless

there is the sky endless
then there is the writer

what separates them
is lack of feeling in the person

though no separation 
ever occurs

and the sky is this

with no thinking

gradually gathering the 

wanderer below

through display deeper

than any discursive dream

season after season

in concert with the earth

--

i saw the line of black trees

i saw the line of black trees
silhouetted 
behind them a hill of snow rising up
the bottom was in shadow 
but still brilliant 

all around being built and soon

this peaceful glade will be no more

its simplicity 

yet carried on in my memory

i drove along the mighty parkway

passing all the homes 

their yards with a soft blanket of snow

and many tracks from play and pets

shadows on the sides of them all

but still brilliant 

everything is in motion going

everything is moving and will

not stop

i look inside to the horizon

to an infinite line 

seemingly unattainable 

but then suddenly crossed

almost like going through a shadow

ever infinitely brilliant

where all beauty goes

is gathered up

and sent back

carried on in memories

we all walk the trail of recollection 

if i remember this

i can be kind and go on

eventually go nowhere

and be there still brilliant

so empty i am full

just like the sunlight on the hill

or the shadows at the base 

every house being built

trees growing minds moving

that eventually stop

with no regret and no ending

just plain clarity that doesn't mind

--