SUNDAY IN THE PARK,
BY GEORGE

swwoooosshh, sswwwiiisssh, swwoooosshh,
the delightful sound
of strolling on Autumn's bed
echoes in my ear.
George and I -- leashed together, walking in
cadence.
He nuzzles the ground, whiffing the leaves,
the trees
looking for familiar smells
and a fragrance of past remembrances.

Sunday in the park with George
with our six brushes hooked to our feet and
paws
we paint the fields as we walk.
Crunching on blankets of pumpkin hue,
a squash on the cranberry,
and snapping down gently on the corn flakes.
Swatches of yellow silk
adorn the trees
as we saunter by.

George becomes unhinged
and tramples playfully over
brown seasoned leaves
appearing as a crumpled city of paper bags
bouncing in camouflaged light.

The yellow silk, the cranberries, the pumpkin
all blend in one as we walk.

Sun-day lives up to its name
a time for basking in the
Fall's glowing ambers.
Soon the tubes of paint will run dry
leaving only the burnt sienna, umber
and flicks of cotton white for use.

Sunday afternoons with George, in the park
his yellow raisin coated hair,
blending with the leaves
bouncing in the wind
taking golden retriever steps
on a golden retriever type of day.

© charlie elkind 12/19/98
STAYING UP TO LATE

Computer interactions,
shared space in time;
a puzzle, woven and interconnected
with pieces scattered and dispersed
across the circle of earth.

Unknown gender, unknown name
freely sharing just the same.

Secrets of the stars
from Venus to Mars.
Our lives
we animate and discuss.
Sharing moments
of energy
and distance close at hand.

Sometimes
our fingers race,
moving too fast
missing a key
locked in our thoughts.

We chat for hours
friends without faces
sharing our soundless lives
our hopes
our losses
but
we are free,
because we cannot see.

All I see is a screen
what if it's only me
talking to myself.

© charlie elkind 11/6/98
A RED AND GREEN FROST

Walking the dog, late Fall
colors all cleared away --
our breath making smoke patterns
in an early morning frost

We trod and crunch down
on little white ice crystals,
sprinkled and spread out like a soft silver
blanket
covering the brown-green grass below.

Strolling in a cloudy haze
permeated by a morning fog
that penetrates through the air and our
minds.
The air feels cool, crisp, and clearing
making us wrap up tight
in coats of cloth and fur --
we look around, ahead
both sensing soon that whipped white
mounds will
litter this wasted landscape.

The nearby houses adorned in
red and green
are lit up and all aglitter -
inside hangs the honored holly and mistletoe.

Trees and living rooms,
sparkling and ornamented,
are sacrificed on a family altar
near a fiery fireplace
hung with handmade stockings.
marching ever onward
unifying us all
within the continuous
white smoky breathing of our breath.

© charlie elkind 12/10/1998
ENDLESS REPETITION

Endless repetition, endless repetition
the mind, its thoughts - circle around
Endless repetition, endless repetition
try to stop, the more it sounds.

Endless repetition, endless repetition
things we've like to forget
Endless repetition, endless repetition
Ideas, situations we'd like not to have met.

Endless repetition, endless repetition
like a bird caught in a cage
endless repetition, endless repetition
like a mouse on a treadmill, caught in a
rage.

Endless repetition, endless repetition
actions, activities done without mind
endless repetition, endless repetition
like a spring trapped in a constant wind.

Endless repetition, endless repetition
slowly it slows
endless repetition
it goes.

© charlie elkind 2/27/1999
INDEX
MORNING MEDITATIONS

The healers gather to
celebrate the new day
some stretched and pulled
others just
have been
toweled down
from sprouts and sprays of
piped rain.

We prepare to enter -
unclothing our feet
stepping in
finding our cushions
then silently sitting
waiting for the gong to go.

At the appointed hour
the bellowing bowl
sings out three times
each call taking us deeper
deeper
and deeper
away from trials and toils
calming, smoothing
waves of emotions
maelstroms of mind.

We sit, and listen
hearing the brook
hearing sounds of yesterday
hearing voices of tomorrow
but letting it all pass
letting it all go
being, being
just being here
with others, and for others.

Our connections deepen
freeing us, to just be
to just listen --
losing time, losing space
stopping our momentary motion
as we mutely merge and melt.

Then we awaken
refreshed, renewed
holding on to quiet morsels
as we move towards
the bells of breakfast --
our faces
now turned around
to the deeds of the day.

© charlie elkind 08/02/99
MIRRORS

Open your hands
and let the sunshine in

take a deep breath
and breathe in the stars

walk through the fields
and feel the mountains
beneath your feet

embrace those you love
and experience your true self.

© charlie elkind 11/01/2000
Charlie's Poetry - Page 5
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