Packing up a life
consolidating our closets
boxing up our wardrobe
and our words -
moving on, moving out
acting grave -
as we timely bury our past.

© charlie elkind 1/03/99

We are
bound in a furnace
born out of ashes
stirred and boiled
in a cauldron
moved and mashed
into pulp
stretched across windows
strewn over clouds
covered by lightness
covered by closeness
covered by infinite causes
extracted from water
extracted from fire
as we tunnel like moles
fermented with molds
making new wine
making new medicines
healing old wounds
laying wounded and worn
enlightened and shorn
from an internal weather
and a sense of whether
or knots.

© charlie elkind  6/30/99

Winter arrived late last night
the striated birches
were covered and bundled up
in tall coats of white barks
waiting patiently like frozen turkeys,
for the Christmas feasts to commence.

Faces of cold winter rocks
with silvery frozen scarves
that shelter their mottled gray shins and skins
are getting ready to drape themselves
in full winter attire.

This morning overhead, families of pines
danced, alone and together,
chattering in nature's cold swaying breath
anticipating our nearby
deliberate steps
as we waddled around
for a paced winter walk.

Last eve the moon
on high beam bright
hung in the sky
like a lucid lighthouse -
as we watched from our frosty windows
it danced in and out
through wispy white clouds
leading us forward.

We all wait
for nature to change its clothes
one last time --
it's preparing to party at New Year's --
as it departs, it will turn,
look around the room
then flick the switch
on the old millennium.

© charlie elkind  12/22/99

I happily, haphazardly
snatch July blueberries
from clusters of bounteous bundles -
a few ripe, unripe ones
fall through my fingers
to the melted mud below --
these descending blue pearls
make tasty snacks
for noshing birds
to munch and nibble on
and taste discernibly delicious
when washed down
with tiny sips of
freshly fallen rain.

Indigo/purple giants
that are really
hunks of huckleberries
are posed and pumped up plumb
ready to go an extra mile
to please --
they dangle, hang and huddle
in clumped bunches
like juiced up reservoirs
of sweet/tart blueness.

I love the way they dance
off their short stems
into my rubbing fingers -
the mature ones waltz
with ripeness and experience
letting my fingers take the lead
as we dance
hand in hand
and take our
first steps together
around the bowl room floor.

A few I pop
into my mouth
as the bowl fills up
and my tongue turns
a blueberry blue --
it's a blueness
I imagine that coats my stomach
lining it with blue cobalt

transforming my blood
into a swirling blue ocean.
My insides
now lie like an open nest
with flocks of
lounging bluebirds
painting and coloring their wings
by daintily sipping drinks
from lapis colored liquids
which leap and course
through my veins.

charlie elkind 7/13/99

Night before Christmas
tied up with boxing of gifts
in the present moment.

© charlie elkind 11/12/98

Standing in a used bookshop
wearing an old leather jacket
reading new words.

© charlie elkind 11/6/98

don't talk to me of water
when I am at the sink

don't talk to me of pain
when I am at the window

listen to the miraculous sounds
of flowers growing
out from seeds

flowers that taste the sunshine
but still long for a sip
of evening dew

accept that voice
which speaks
without words

that embraces us
deeply --
close to the heart
but has no hands

that walks on water
that has no feet
but lots of sole.�

if only
I could truly break off
a piece
and travel nowhere
to that place
of peace.

© charlie elkind 05/2008

we travel not right, not left
but find our center smiling
within, wherever we go.

breathe it all in
embracing drops of experience
that light our way -
as we dance freely in the
present moment --
flowing with
words and wind,
surrounded by sacred sounds
that sing softly amidst
our dying
and our dust...

walk out into each new day
like it was our last
don't wait for it to rain
don't wait for it to pour.

letting the flickering fire
within our open hearts
help to dry
the sorrow
of our
human tears.

© charlie elkind  5/2008
Charlie's Poetry - Page 8