Butterfly

The beauty of a butterfly is also in its flight,

but more so in its cocoon 

transforming through the night.

~ cb 2010 ~

Empty Page

Curse this empty page

on to which I stare

deep into the lines

Not written there

The thought

I thought

so many times

This feeling lingers

without rhyme

Scratched

across this line

a phrase

It comes from

nowhere

No passion raised

It's not what I

intended to see

a line not cursed

nor blessing be.

~ cb 7/5/11 ~

Cactus Cafe

I am the carvings on the ceiling of the Cactus Cafe

I am the backdrop for all the music

I drink in all the richness of the performance

I warm the the room with my textures

And feel the texture of your soul

I hold this space for you who listen

For you who play and sing here

For the memories created here

I hold this space for you

Here in this cafe

On the ceiling

I reside

For you.

~ cb 2011 ~

Lessons Learned

He stepped deep into a hole,

Deeper and deeper he fell,

Until he hit the bottom,

and found it was a well.

He stood silent in the water

and reflected upon the pool,

to quench his thirst
he cupped his hands,

and drank in the wisdom 
of the fool.

~ cb 2011 ~

The Dipper In the Lake

The new moon darkness set the stage for a night sky clear with a spray of stars, and the first star of the big dipper peeking up over the horizon. Millions, as we gazed across the sky, my brother and I. Time stood still on the lake shore as we sat and watched the ten foot surf rods propped on stakes shoved into the ground. When we cast them as far as we could out to the flats we would count as the lead struck the water. One, two, three and so on. Twenty feet down we guessed. About right, there where they lay lazy. The big blue cats were sometimes ten, fifteen, twenty pounds. They would hang out
there as if waiting to be fed. The yellow cats too, some bigger like the 80 pounder Thomas landed the night I wasn't there. He wanted so badly for me to hook a big one.


I was content to be there letting the night unfold and dropping into almost a trance watching the poles illuminated by our flashlight glowing against the darkness. The twitching at the end of the rods we ignored waiting for a big one to strike and commit itself to the fight, and drag the rod as if to take it down the ten foot drop into the water. A couple of times they did and we had to cast out and snag the rod to save it and land the fish; an act many did not believe unless they had been night fishing.

The faint light from a nearby town glowed on the horizon, but other than that the only light in the sky came from the canopy of stars rotating like the minute hand on huge clock; only choosing to move when you looked away. Occasionally a shooting star cut a white gash across the sky. Once it seemed like we could have reached up and snagged it in our hands. This would break the comfortable silence between us for a moment, but we soon were back into our trance watching the poles twitch.

Snap! Zeeeee! The rod was bending hard and we lunged not to lose both the rod and the fish. Rearing back with a hard tug Thomas set the hook. The first fight was on; the fish for his life and Thomas in a primordial warrior quest to be the victor. There! In us the instant rush of adrenaline followed by the laughter, fight and immediate declaration of size; as if we could judge it to the ounce while it was still twenty feet down. The funny thing was that we sometimes almost did, and ow we did is still a mystery to me.


The landed fish was freed from the hook and slid down the long stringer to the water where we had to watch that the family of raccoons did not wander over and pull the stringer out for an easy meal. The commotion would alert them that this was their chance, either the stringer or the bait sitting a few feet behind us in a plastic bag. Damn, they were brave and persistent at times. After awhile, another strike and fight. Another on the stringer. Later another, then back to quiet and the twitching rods.

We'd catch the changing stars during the lull. The big dipper now rising higher rotating around the north star, and we wondered about the the universe; the "something greater" out there. How many times have I stared at the big dipper and wondered what it was, or where I would be, or what I would be doing the next time I would be gazing wondering about the next time, or reflect on the many last times.

The rods no longer twitched and the action was slow. The small fire we had built was into embers, but enough to knock off the night dampness and to poke into with a twig or two. All was still. Quiet. The lake now like glass reflected the risen big dipper stretching across the water; its handle almost resting on the shoreline in from of us, begging for us to reach out for it, to touch its grand reflection. A sight neither of us had ever witnessed. It gave pause to the night. There was little need for conversation now. And we sat. Only a few reflections, perhaps of Mother and Dad; humorous to shake the melancholy between us. But mostly we sat in silent and watched the dipper in the lake.


~cb 2011~