placebo physician

 ‘placebo’ is Latin for ‘I will please’

as a physician i have wondered why

my simply listening to some patients

has brought them more relief than

prescriptions or treatments

until finally i began to realize

that  i was not curing anyone

that the best i could for anyone

was to set as many factors as i could

in their favor so that something greater

than either of us could heal them

when persons experience being heard they listen to themselves as well

and often hear their own priorities

and see where they are caught

in traps of delusion or fear

how often i was placebo, listening

but it was not me who pleased

but acted merely as conduit

to that individual’s recognition

of strengths within

tender rain

tender rain, not so much falling

as gliding downward to caress

desiccated leaf and blade

in comforting slaking of thirst

engorgement and, eventually,

grateful, green satiety

even though i am older

so many took time to wish me well

yesterday that the warmth glowed

and i felt seen and loved

this morning i am remembering

what a treasure it si to reach out

with a word of friendship

toddler scooting

haiku

a toddler scooting

away, laughing, from her mom

all life is a game

words of the wise

one of the hateful parts

of lingering COVID

is the feeling of incompetence

of not thinking quickly or clearly

and the depression that spreads

into all that we had been able to do

and thus, the loss of joy

in the little things that delighted us

so, it will take determination to continue

in motion, a step at a time

a willingness to walk when we’d rather

stay curled up in our misery

a willingness to lie down to sleep

when we know only babies take naps

the grit to listen to and honor the needs

of our bodies as we put everything

into allowing ourselves to heal

adult, really?

how can a fourteen-year-old

be tried as an adult when he has been

raised by a father who defends

him at thirteen after being contacted

by police for possibly being the one

who threatened a school shooting

and then gives him an assault rifle

as a Christmas present?

when did he ever have an adult

to model himself after?

snapping trees

trees snap when the wind hits

ninety-four miles per hour

strangely, the type of tree, height

thin or thick factors cancel

each other out leaving the speed

of the wind as the determining factor

nearly all split under

the same degree of stress

dave

 a giving person

tall, masculine but warm

thoughtful and caring about kids

how they feel, how they grow

to see the good in life

and learn to laugh in love and faith

virus vs me

tiny virus topples huge habitation

me

virus which is not fully a live being

wins

by taking over the functions of my cells

conquering

cell-by-cell in transmuting sneak attacks

until

i feel so crummy i leave the field and go to

bed

fog murmurs

light fog hides the Pacific

rolling in quiet and muffling sounds

of normal day activities to distortion

until even early afternoon has a chill

a haunted feel and buckled deformation

that murmurs a garbled transformation

to a world we only thought we knew

pinks of dawn

haiku

unique pinks of dawn

carry the warmth of hope and

promise to renew

meanwhile

waiting, again, for response

from those commissioned

to critique, prepare for publication

offer staging directions

for the fourth Nandria novel

and the play between father and son

while i edit and proof

i need to be thinking about the next

stage play project that will challenge

my words and the pictures

in my head

seed within the words

 at times there is a seed

within the words

a core of the meaning

i am trying to reach

‘though what is on paper

does not say it as yet

sometimes i can find it

and re-work the order

of the words, or change one

or a dozen to get closer

other times i need hours

or days of letting the words

mewl in my mind until they

sort themselves into truth

or at least as close to it

as i am capable of coming

for the time being

shrinking

what i would do

but i do not

what i would say

but go silent

what i would give

but withhold or finagle

to donate less

each opportunity

find me smaller

forest stream

trickled run-off filtering between roots

of forest trees, seeking lower ground

finding tiny rivulets rich with soil bits

tumbling over pebbles, searching out paths, joining to form a crick, then creek

lower and lower into a stream where

my love and i lie on grassy bank

drinking in sounds of tinkling, slithering  dipping, crashing glistening waters moaning, singing, defying, bullying

plummeting to fulfill gravity’s charge and we, laughing, hold each other

joyous to be part of the sentient and non-sentient order that includes us

however reluctantly

little drains

little things that happened

never resolved, not quite forgiven

nagging bits that seem to be gone

until something else stirs the memory

and the irritation roils as though

a current event – the breath sharpens

the jaw clenches, the self-talk speaks

within my being, ragging what i

should have said to justify

my vindictive anger

and my hurt still draining my joy

and my relationship

frayed margins

frayed margin between

world and world

waters and land

gill and bubbled air

vacuum and atmosphere

electric and magnetic fields

solar wind and conflagration

sentient and non-sentient

conscious and unconscious

what we know of life and

why we exist within the universe

autumn in august

 a week now of mist, cool nights

morning dew bedecking spider webs

sparkling between blades of grass

until mid-morning

from green, leaves’ shifts of orange

then crumpled brown without even

trying on reds or yellows

let alone spectacular pinks, lavenders

or comely blues in which to greet

growling thunder or lightning’s

quick brilliance, with or without

fire-suppressing rains

yet forecast promises sweltering

heat’s return though probably not again

july’s triple digit dome of oppression

gentle oregon’s moderation unsure

as though it could no longer

read the calendar

z finch perturbed

trembling warm within my fingers

little zebra finch struggles

and then goes still

only showing signs of regaining

life when i set him back

into the newly cleaned cage

if only he could survive on his own

i would set him free to fly

into the vastness of blue

but he was hatched from egg

to cage and knows only the birdseed

i have fed him all his life

i watch as he stand, shaking a moment

then flutters up to high perch

and in a moment scolds

before partaking of seed and fresh water

bouncer

plantations of rubber trees

oozing thick liquid

assumed riches, hard-fought

in jungle’s sweaty labor

illnesses and terrors

but worth it all for wealth

until laboratory synthesis

created material with rubber’s

assets plus close supervision

of production and needed variations

plantations of rubber trees

left unattended in the jungle

by sweaty, malarial-infected

disillusioned get-rich men