Today's Miracle During Which

The Hero Bravely Holds On

Long Enough To Be Saved

Mourning has its joys

by the side of a garden grave

in a moment's freedom

when the veil disappears

and longing allows reunion

with the longed-for

in spirit and in memory

a miracle sweeter than life

because it embraces also death.

That moment today goes a'wandering

expanding into tender quest

for a new garden rock

that leads the mourner

freely off the woods path

to a still creek sidewater

where a struggle to survive

is well underway.

Underneath a sinewy juniper

a big green caterpillar

its fuzzy back still dry

floats in a small patch of water

on its long thick belly

its myriad legs mightily

paddling in place

within a green algae mat

a foot or so from shore

heaving its back upward

over and over again

attempting to free itself

from its daunting predicament.

its lunges a prayer for escape

up and down

front to back

its desperation sending

tiny waves breaking

through the green mat

providing glimpses

of the dark water below

as its great strength sags

its back's urgent arch

creates attention for its plight

sending ripples into the unknown.

Underneath a low juniper bough

(Had it been caterpillar's perch?)

lodged at the cusp of bank and water

a flat limestone rock
whitened by the sun

and smoothed by creek flow

is gripped by the mourner

and dipped through the algae

to become raft

on which valiant caterpillar

rises from one destiny to another

borne from the creekside

its metamorphosing form

spent relaxed and flying

through the Spring air

to higher and dryer landing

under a cousin juniper.

Once caterpillar has recovered

and inched elsewhere

the limestone raft

will again be transposed

and placed carefully nearby

the garden of the grave

of the longed-for

where perhaps one day

when narcissus is blooming

a certain strong-winged beauty

will pay a visit.

The Fork in the Road to the Stork or the Toad

Old stork’s a good friend

bringing me my next of kin

girl boy scale of ten

joy hope win win

Where goeth cousin toad

hopping round its damp abode

disappearing by the load

croaking as its sky erodes

Every mile that we go

takes us with it in its flow

to the fork in the road

to the stork or the toad

Old stork’s soaring high

with driven gleam in its eye

slinging gifts across the sky

like Santa on a contact high

Hear toad croaking loud

a mating call to do it proud

used to be it drew a crowd

quiet now its head is bowed

Every night and every day

we are pulled along the way

to the fork in the road

to the stork or the toad

As stork takes the well-loved path

we all add up, we are the math

floating in placenta bath

borne by flying psychopath

Toad takes a different road

passing lawns too green and mowed

passing fields of poisons sowed

with its cracked genetic code

Every mile we begin
takes us only further in
toward the fork in the road
to the stork or the toad

Stork stork who art thou

come on out and take a bow

come on out and tell us how

you become a sacred cow

Listen toad and you will hear

how all of life is held so dear

just procreate and have no fear

ignore the chance your time is near

As we sit and breathe in traffic

could it really be more graphic

at the fork in the road

to the stork or the toad

Life is strong it will survive

says the stork in overdrive

never mind the empty hive

mutations will keep us alive

Ribbit ribbit gasp and choke

is that some kind of killing joke

laugh it up you can have my toke

I’ll be in my toxic soak

As our world tumbles around

can you almost hear the sound

from the fork in the road

to the stork or the toad

Old stork’s not to blame

works hard for its good name

just bringing life though all the same

a vacation wouldn’t be a shame

Old toad’s breathing hard

drying up in your back yard

frying in the sun like lard

flattened like a playing card

Every day, every night

brings us nearer to the sight

of the fork in the road

to the stork or the toad

Can’t we all just get along

honked the storks in surround song

life goes on, it can’t be wrong

and you know we all belong

Tell that to toad I’d say

as it whiles its time away

as the time becomes the day

when toad becomes a memoray

As we come to the fork

to the toad or the stork

do we pause at our choice

do we ever give it voice

do we use our mental torque

or stand there like a dork

have we wondered at our plight

can we flee is there flight

do we plea do we fight

at the fork in the road

for the stork and for the toad

Our choice is more than either or

if a window shuts bust out the door

go around and break some glass

break through the roof

break through the floor

get off your ass

get off your ass

Larry Piltz, 2007

In the Year of Our Toad

Spurred by Love

On his last mount

the cowboy cries

a lonesome roller

and practitioner

of the riding

roping arts

also known

as its poet

laureate supreme

one late night

saying goodbye

please stay

won't you

please

sobbing alone

one more time

to bay at the soul

of the lifeless moon

alone by the range

in the kitchen

of his exile

from the life

he'd loved

for an accident

thrown by life

from his horse

into the irony

of being the iconic

sad troubadour

of all the cowboys

lonesome yet

for a while

with no end

in sight

and poetry

to write

Larry Piltz

Indian Cove

July 17, 2013

Coming Together At The Seams

Everything's a gamble

even the surest thing a risk

all that's soft can conceal a bramble

even the warmest heart can be cool and brisk.

What brings us together can keep us apart

we won't always know what's in our own heart

so we dream what we dream on our own balance beams

and do our best to come together at the seams.

Coming together at the seams

as individuals or team

is life ever what it seems

coming together at the seams

Things can seem like this and seem like that

sometimes it's bliss sometimes old hat

sometimes a kiss and then a spat

sometimes you miss the old doormat

Yet we meet in midstream

hearts joined at the seam

two lives at full steam

it can feel like a dream

Coming together at the seams

Is life one long dream

or each moment exactly as it seems

in our eyes the kind familiar gleams

as we come together at the seams

Larry Piltz

Autumn 2012 C.E.

Indian Cove

Austin, Texas

Who Will Raise The Flag (The Flag Of Democracy).

A song for a mutual rallying for modernity and free thought, while embracing timeless tolerance and building sustainable, livable and lovable cities and towns.

http://soundcloud.com/larry-piltz/the-flag-of-democracy-who-will

Larry Piltz
U.S. Copyright November 11, 2011

Hasan's Beard

Not one to turn the other cheek
Hasan's Beard bristled at the charges.
Not guilty by reason of inanity!
Not even accessory after the fact.
Yet military justice had Hasan's Beard by the short ones
and Hasan's Beard would ultimately take it on the chin
in this enigmatic full-grown brush with the law
with the verdict-to-be not even a close shave
nor by a whisker but a shadow of a pretext.

This is a rash prosecution of ingrown justice
wrong in so many ways even on a follicular level
the trial more of a clip joint than a court of law.

They have not seen the last of Hasan's Beard
a growing problem
even after death.

Larry Piltz
August 21, 2012
Indian Cove

 http://www.statesman.com/news/local/judge-orders-hasans-beard-shaved-before-court-martial-2422326.html

Love Sublime

It doesn't seem long since the kids were little
but feels forever since we were young.
They've all gone out to prove their mettle
while we sat home and held our tongue.
Now we look around and see each other
with a sense of patience, life, and time
and feel so satisfied we bothered
to take a chance on love sublime.

Love's sublime.
It can't be measured in simple years.
It grows by leaps and bounds each moment
we give our hearts to what we hold dear.
Love's sublime.

I see the faults and shake my head,
check in with the mirror and laugh instead.
The door gets stuck. The car's got problems.
The news dreamed up some new hobgoblins.
The dog's slowing down. The kitten's still crazy.
Good thing there's no time to be lazy.
Yet here's that moment again when the stress peels away,
as we pause with each other on this perfect day.

Love's sublime.
Through the ruts, the bursts of joy, and the tragic,
it's just your average inspired magic
that helps us through each precious new day.
Love's sublime.

There comes a time when the curtain's parted
with a glimpse of life on the other side,
and you swing between tender- and broken-hearted
and wish for a place where you both could hide.
The sweep of the years overwhelms your senses.
The sway of your love and devotion's a tide
to carry you both way beyond your defenses
and beyond the time when you say goodbye.

Love's sublime.
You can read about the miracles.
You can long for wealth and fleeting fame,
but I can hold in my arms a living parable,
the mystery of love in the sound of your name.
Love's sublime.


Larry Piltz
June 25, 2012
Indian Cove