It is all right here

 – Kayaking life and several poems –

I ask You

 By Billy Collins

What scene would I rather be enveloped in

than this one,

an ordinary night at the kitchen table,

at ease in a box of floral wallpaper,

white cabinets full of glass,

the telephone silent,

a pen tilted back in my hand?

It gives me time to think

about the leaves gathering in corners,

lichen greening the high gray rocks,

and the world sailing on beyond the dunes –

huge, oceangoing, history bubbling in its wake.

Outside of this room

there is nothing that I need,

not a job that would allow me to row to work,

or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4

with cracked green leather seats.

No, it is all right here,

the clear ovals of a glass of water,

a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,

an odd snarling fish in a frame on the wall,

and these three candles,

each a different height, singing in perfect harmony.

So forgive me

if I lower my head and listen

to the short bass candle as he takes a solo

while my heart

thrums under my shirt –

frog at the edge of a pond –

and my thoughts fly off to a province

composed of one enormous sky

and about a million empty branches.

* * *

Warm turquoise water at the shores of Carmen.

A protected cove for snorkeling at Punta Cojote.

 Spotting Angelfish  and other underwater creatures.

 Spectacular mornings at Punta Baja.

 Again and again: Parvin and the dancing light on the sea – I’m sorry, I can’t get enough of both of it.

 * * *

 Let the beauty we love be what we do

by Rumi

Today like every other day

we wake up empty and scared.

Don’t open the door of your study

and begin reading.

Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel

and kiss the earth.

* * *


Droplets on the deck of our boat.

More sparkling fireworks falling down from the paddle.

 * * *

Crab tracks on the beach.

 The empty shell of a crab. I’m endlessly fascinated by this variation of growth: After some time they just crawl out of their skin and grow a new (bigger) one. Imagine you could slide out of your skin and make a new, better one. Well, and leave the old one behind like this.

 * * *

Petrified Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte at Punta Cojote.

 Frigate Birds.

You only rarely see these magnificent flyers on the ground; they seem to live in the air, flying almost effortlessly with unspeakable grace.

 I have never seen them catch fish, they snatch things in flight from the surface. They are experts, stealing catches from other birds.
You can occasionally see them, grabbing seagulls in mid air, shaking them down until they let go of what they caught, and snatch it while it’s falling toward the ground.

 * * *

 The wonderful Pelicans.

 They have another kind of gracefulness when they fly.

 In flight they can use their unique, long beak for steering.

 They are phenomenal divers. With amazing speed and great accuracy they plunge into the water with their beak slightly opened and catch the unsuspecting fish in the big sack under the bill. When they come up they wait a moment to let the water drain out of the sack and then raise the beak and swallow the prey.

 * * *

 The moon was almost gone early in the morning when I get ready for fishing, the last sliver of it casting its spooky light.

* * *


 by Klaus Kommoss

At Punta Baja you don’t look at the ocean, you are right in it.

Sea and sky is all around and land lies far away.

Late in the night the wind has long died down and the water is like a solid plane of black glass.

The moon has bowed out for a few days and left the starry sky in breathless, sparkling splendor.

In the south, the Milky Way spills over into its own reflection without any transition.

It feels as if we don’t sit on the earth and look up into the sky

but are suspended right in the midst of it all: stars up above and underneath as well.

The Milky Way, the rim of our own galaxy, spreads out, not only above us but all around.

We lie under the two lonely palm trees.

Space begins right behind the filigree of the palm leaves,

so vast, so empty, and yet the source of everything.

Ultimately inconceivable,

not due to insufficient imagination but because it is indeed the source of imagination itself.

Empty space, filled with energy, playfully inventing stuff!

* * *


by Klaus Kommoss

I sit in the night.

A gentle breeze investigates my face.

Gravity hangs on my body

like a sweet and never ending embrace.

And breath moves me,

ever so softly it sways through this body

like ocean swell.

Listen my heart,

listen to the whispering changes.

Listen to the message

suddenly there out of silence

as if it had been there forever.

Listen my heart,

and don’t change what you hear.

* * *

                                                                    Klaus  Jan. 11   2010

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