Psalm 1

Blessed man avoids the path the wicked make.
No standing in the way that sinners take.
The Lord, his law, where he finds his delight.
Upon it, meditates both day and night.
No sitting in the mockers’ company.
The righteous man is likened to a tree.
By streams of water where he spreads his roots.
The righteous, in his season, growing fruit.
Not so the wicked, they, like chaff, are dry.
Away, into the wind, the wicked fly.
They, in the judgment, knowing only fear.
They will not stand, condemned, they disappear.
The Lord, the righteous, watches all their ways.
Destruction: there the wicked, all their days.

Dream of the Green Iguana

This verse I’m writing right at waking up.
The morning time, before my breakfast sup.
That I remember in my waking phase
a dream I had — unusual these days.

I kept a green iguana in a cage.
His size revealed advancement in his age.
No smaller than a dog that’s medium.
The cage, for him, a life of tedium.

But in my dream I opened up his door,
and like a bolt, four-legged on the floor,
around the corner, where it was he ran.
His urgency I didn’t understand.

I found him and two other greens as well.
To slake his thirst, went running to the smell.
They drank from water pooling on the ground.
The spigot leaked, supplied the water found.

The triune lizards drinking at the pool.
Not anything that I might learn at school.
The meaning of my dream to ascertain?
A reservoir by clogging of a drain.

And why this creature, neither dog nor cat?
The Cosmic Owl might give an answer pat.
No visits to the shaman recently.
A snake-dream makes me think much diff’rently.

So why do lizards populate my dreams?
A message to deliver, so it seems.
I saw iguanas when in Mexico.
The other day, a Reddit video,

but there, the ones recorded, small and black.
Not green and large, the memory I lack
of one like this; in waking life not seen.
What this persistent portent really means?

The Secret

Endured great hardship, travelled many years
and miles, while seeking for the truth. At last,
a wizened Buddha would assuage my fears.
Beneath a tree where often he would would fast.

Locked eyes with mine, I wandered to his glade.
He waived his arm to gesture his intent.
His invitation instantly obeyed.
His whispered voice, the meagre air he spent:

“Your thoughts create your own reality.”