At The End

Branches shrouded in early morning mist

Living trees are ghosts

I see them through my window

How does life return 

to their branches

after Winter's embrace?

New Year's Eve

As the hands move across the face

will they cover the eyes

or look at the passing of time

Ask the Darkness

Burning through the night

Flames on the horizon

You ask the darkness

what next

as it slinks away

until tomorrow

 Is it a fire or the dawn?

Snow Day

Untouched

the snow rests

covering everything

within sight

It's warm in here

though 

I still wear 

a sweater

Coffee is ready

and so am I

Collector

Collecting pieces of the present

for future use

Playing it safe for then

I cannot hoard these moments

Trying all the same 

I catch your smile

with my eyes

and let my heart 

hold it close

and closer 

still

The Morning After the News

When the world changes

fundamentally so

we must clear a path

for it within ourselves

Welcome the hardship

the burden that is placed

in our hands

We will not see it

as the gift it is

until at last

the lesson lives 

deeply within

Strange Friend

The loneliness changes

but persists.

It does not mean to harm.

From the corners of my eyes

I can feel it near.

Time to time

I let it approach

and accept its chilly embrace.

My strange friend

shuttling me through the days

and nights.

How steady the company.

An unexpected need

to push through 

all the years.

Spheres

Tree fingers emerging from the night

Dark blue horizon

Ungulate footsteps moving cautiously

A front door opens

A man emerges

taking in a cold morning breath

The newspaper rests 

at the side of the car.

Warmth of home.

How vast the world.

How universal our concerns

as we live sphere within sphere.

Don't dwell on what has been lost

but rather think on what you have to gain.

Thus

The story is endless. 

It has always been thus, 

and thus, 

will always be. 

The Trouble with Trouble

The trouble with trouble is that it's always coming by

to say ring the door bell and ask for your time and attention.

They come in, track mud on your clean, white carpet,

which you just had cleaned, and then immediately 

goes to your refrigerator to grab a drink and food

without bothering to ask or say a word.

Trouble doesn't see the big deal. Trouble thinks 

this is perfectly normal. Trouble thinks you need to chill.

You can't. You can't chill, not with that goddamn attitude.

You try and calm yourself down and breathe but that 

will only go so far. The problem isn't you. It's trouble.

You tell trouble to get out. Trouble turns it's head 

and looks at you as if you had just defecated in their coffee.

Just for that, trouble punches your flat screen television

and one of the support screws flies out from the wall.

You've had it! You walk right up to trouble, get in their face

and tell them to get the fuck out of your house! Trouble 

doesn't move right away. It stands there for a minute.

Trouble turns to walk out. They stick their arms out and 

knock everything off your tables and counters. 

They walk out and say, "See you soon."

The Hollows

 There is nothing to fear. He thought about it for a moment. It wasn't the first time he had heard that phrase ,or a variation of it. Why did it come to mind now? It was mid-morning. He was in no rush for anything, and he hadn't had to work in years. When he worked, he would usually get up early, just before dawn most of the time. He enjoyed the smell of coffee spreading from the kitchen. His wife was alive back then. He used to let her sleep in a little so he'd have some time to himself and give her some extra rest. That was all in the past. Her clothes were still in the closet and drawers. He'd never had the strength to get rid of her. Some part of him still wanted to imagine he'd walk into another room and see her. It never happened. He never thought he'd be a widower. 

When Ophelia passed everyone had him in their thoughts and prayers. Everyone wanted him to know that if needed absolutely anything, to just ask. They all meant well. He just wanted her back. He wanted to be left alone. He got that, eventually. People reached out, wanted to be in touch, but he never reached back, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

He looked out the kitchen window and saw that it was shaping up to be a very beautiful day. "Maybe I'll take a walk later", he thought to himself. 

After his simple oatmeal breakfast and tea he sat in their living room to read one of the books he'd checked out from the library. It was a book about an Earth where people had developed a cheap and easy technology that allowed them to travel to parallel Earths that were largely free of people. "Just imagine", he thought, "...if this were real." He knew what would happen if it existed. It would be the Wild West all over again on an unprecedented scale. People and companies racing to lay claim and strip the resources of these worlds for the benefit of this one. That's what we've done. That's what we've always done. 

Ding-dong. The doorbell rang in that classic way that everyone has heard. It was unusual. Jim Grey, the mailman, never rang, even if he had a large package to deliver. He'd just leave it on the doorstep. He never got solicitors, it was too out of the way to be worth their time. Who was it?

He looked through the keyhole. He was just as surprised at who it was as he was at hearing the door bell. It was Melanie. He opened the door and immediately heard her voice for the first time in a few years."Oh my God! Elliot! I'm so happy to see you!" She reached in and hugged him. It took him a few seconds but he put his arms around her and squeezed. 

After he invited her in he fixed her up a cup of Earl Grey tea with a lump of sugar and just a splash of cream, just how she always liked it. He set the cup in front of her. She looked at him and said, "You still remember." He smiled. "Of course I do."

"I'll be honest, Elliot, I didn't think you'd answer. I haven't heard from you in so long. No one has." That simple fact hung in the air. A pause. A declarative. "You know, Mel, when Ophelia passed away I just didn't know what to do. I didn't want anything. I didn't want anyone around. Everyone was so kind but I couldn't deal with everyone else's expectations of my grief." He took a long breath in and let it out slowly. "I didn't mean to shut everyone out the way I did. It just happened. I don't blame anyone for giving up on me." She picked up the cup from the saucer and took a sip. He never ceased to be amazed at the grace in even the smallest things Mel did. It's just how she'd always been as long he had known her. 

"Elliot. Frank died two years ago. I don't know if you'd heard. So yes, I understand." His stomach dropped. Frank had once been one of his best friends. "It was cancer. When the doctors found it it was already at stage four. They told him with treatment he could have another six to eight months. He didn't go for it. He wanted to live out the days he had left at home with me. They gave him medications for the pain and sent him on his way." This was the price of his sorrow. 

"I'm so sorry, Mel." He reached out for her hand and held it in his. She placed her other hand over his. "I've made peace with Frank's passing. The hardest part was getting rid of his old clothes. I donated most of them to the Goodwill. I did keep a few small things for me, like a couple of his favorite hoodies. You know how he would never go anywhere without wearing one of those damn things." She laughed, just a little bit, saying those words out loud. 

"You know, I've never been able to bring myself to get rid of any of Ophelia's clothes. I've left them in the closet and drawers." She looked at him with compassion, "Oh, Elliot". He thought for a moment. "Would you like to see the closet?" She nodded. Ophelia had a keen eye for always picking out clothes that would look great on her. They weren't necessarily expensive designer pieces, though she had a couple, but they fit her well and suited her personality. He led her to the bedroom and opened the walk-in closet. 

Melanie had always admired Ophelia. She did her best to make sure that she and Frank were there for Elliot after she had passed. Elliot eventually let the waves wash him out to sea. 

He watched Mel as she walked into the closet. Her hand fell upon the red dress that Ophelia had worn at the twentieth anniversary party they had thrown for themselves. Mel remembered feeling just a little envious that night as she watched them dancing across the floor. How could someone so happy in their own marriage feel this way?

"If you want to try any of her clothes on you're more than welcome to. She always thought the world of you." His words hung between them. "Are you sure? Wouldn't that be a little weird for you?" He thought for a moment. "Sometimes it feels like I've been living with her ghost longer than she was alive. I know that's not true, but if you want to see if anything fits then you're more than welcome to try anything on. I wouldn't mind seeing a little part of her being around." She nodded at him and he closed the door behind him.

He sat on the couch and picked up yesterday's newspaper. He hadn't finished reading the article about the current state of the public schools in the state. He always admired Mel's beauty. She didn't like to use much make-up, just enough to highlight her features. 

He heard the doorknob turn as the hinges on the door creaked slightly. Her footsteps were light John the hardwood floor. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. The dress fit her just so. The corners of his mouth turned up. "You look just as wonderful as Ophelia did when she wore that at our anniversary party." She tugged at her hips. "I feel like I just barely fit into this dress. She had such a great fashion sense. I always admired that about her."

Mel sat down next to Elliot on the couch. "I don't think I've ever stopped mourning her. When I got home from the service I just didn't feel right being alone at home but I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I really didn't want to be a bother to anyone."

"When Frank died I was besides myself with grief. Everywhere I looked he was there. I had to give my grief it's own space. It carved out a space in me. It carved and carved until I felt like a shell. If it had carved anymore I would have collapsed. you know what I did, Elliot? I started to fill that space up bit by bit. I had to keep living. Frank wouldn't have wanted me to mourn forever. He wanted me to keep living. To find new joy. To do more because I could. It was hard. It was so hard. I was crying my eyes out when I bagged up all his clothes and donated them. But I did." 

"If I had known, I would have reached out, Mel. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Don't be. just don't" He could see the rivers of tears that had flowed down her face.

"I wanted to see you because I wanted you to know. I only regret it took me so long to get here. I know you understand."

"I remember the night of our anniversary party she told me how much you loved the dress. I think you should have it. She would have wanted to see it out in the world and not just sitting in the closet."

"You sure?" she said.

"Yes." A wave of silence sat between them. An understanding that needed no language and could fill all the hollows.

11/18/22

A People's History

 He loved finding books. The weight of them in his hands, the way they opened, the delicate pages turned by his hand, or wind. They felt so mysterious as his eyes moved from line to line. Most of the time the pages had become dry and brittle. Occasionally they would flake into the air. A gust of wind touched his worn clothes. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his mother's face. She had been beautiful. Her smile, the memory of it, made him smile. Her voice, what did her voice sound like? It once sang him to sleep. When had he last heard it? He felt a tear forming at the corner of his eye, wanting to escape and weave down the slopes of his cheeks. There were no memories of his father. He let the book fall from his hands. It was no good to him, even if he had known what it said. His stomach rumbled. Soon, it would be insistent. He walked down the cracked and over grown highway, towards a state that no longer existed, in a country that was only a memory. 

Close The Door On The Way In

 The clock on his desk read 9:55a.m. The work day was young and the hours were many. What was it about the work day that made the hours go by so slow? The slowness, was, of course, and illusion. 9:57a.m. stared back. He craned his head and saw everyone else in their cubicles, hunched over, typing, reading emails, talking on the phone, or otherwise pretending to work. He grabbed his chipped red coffee mug and went to the break room. No on noticed him on his walk. He was thankful for that. He walked into the break room and was greeted by beige malaise. The break room table was was a little dirty and had rings of dried coffee on it. The microwave looked like a holdover from the final years of the Cold War. The coffee maker sat next to it. The pot was empty, or course. He found a paper filter and scooped the needed grounds into it. He rinsed off the pitcher next to the sink and used it to fill up the machine. When it was all set, he turned it on and heard the familiar sound of brewing alertness. 

Coffee began to percolate and drip. The smell was always pleasing. When the last drop fell he grabbed the pot by the handle and filled the chipped red mug. He took a small packet of artificial sweetener from his pocket, tore it open, and poured it in. He walked to the fridge and hoped his cartoon of creamer was still there. The fridge was full of lunches. Some in plastic shopping bags, a few in the traditional brown paper bags, and a few in very nice lunch boxes. He grabbed the carton of creamer and saw that it would expire tomorrow. From the weight of it, there was just enough left for this cup. He opened the pointed mouth of the carton and poured it in. He stirred his drink with his right index finger, no sense getting a spoon dirty. 

No one paid any attention to him on the way back to his desk either. Good. Good. He opened an email from the regional director. Production needed to be increased for the impending war time effort. Great. Where would this one be? As soon as the thought passed through his head he realized he didn't care. He hadn't cared in a long time. It was nothing but news stories in places he would never know. He knew people would die directly because of his government, and indirectly because of his work. It wasn't here. It would never be here. They were safe.

"Knock, knock." said Janet from H.R. "Mr. Banks wants to know if you're free after lunch for your quarterly review?' Before he had a chance to answer they heard it. The sound of an explosion tearing through a building. The shudder and shake of an unnatural earthquake. Wordless screaming was everywhere. The next explosion exposed a a blue sky being infected by smoke and debris. He could feel himself falling, the red cup still in his hand.

11/17/22

The Hunter in the Light

 This world has been cruel and unkind. Why is anyone surprised, that we, her children, are very much the same? I have never meant to take, though, I have. It has been a mercy each time. Liberation from suffering. Liberation from need, from want. Utter, utter, freedom.

When I am asked if I dream, I respond that I don't. Why dream when this is the life of my choosing?

In the darkness of the Earth, in the soil, in the cisterns, in the caves, what is hidden lives. It is never eradicated. It digs deeper. It seeks to survive.

I do not hide. I am no coward. I thrive in plain sight. Our decadence is everywhere. I am that decadence writ in flesh. I am the symptom of the disease. 

You have seen me. You know me. I am.  

On Urgency

The day still began early but the urgency

of the routine was gone.

Coffee was still made, shower still taken,

breakfast still made with care.

There was no rush out the door

wearing coat, scarf, and hat,

to get to work on time.

There was no cold walk from car

to the staff lounge and the time clock.

Instead, lazing about, observing the snow,

eating scrambled eggs made with 

a little bit of butter and milk

whisked in to make them into

edible yellow puffs of clouds.

So much needless rush.

What is the alternative,

people ask. Anything we wish 

if we had the conviction

of unrelenting time.

Snow has melted

though some still remains.

How long will the line hold?

Open Door

How long has the door been open?

Had it been a few minutes,

a few hours, days?

Leaves have scattered 

through the living room,

a sparrow at the fireplace.

No harm has come.

Why shut it close?

There are reasons, yes,

there are reasons.

I'll wait, just a little longer,

and close it only when

truly needed.

Dusting

If I didn't laugh

I couldn't live

My wife reminds me

every day

to not be so serious

to smile   for her

This morning

a dusting of snow

Standing on the deck

in sandals

She takes a picture

Looking away but

smiling

Tree Fingers

Every day I must learn 

how to breathe again

Sitting here

Sunlight reaching in

Tree fingers outstretched

in prayer

Asking

Receiving

Waiting for Sunrise

The world is still dreaming

at 5:43 in the morning.

Most don't know just how soon

the dream will end

and the first rays of day

will burst through 

the windows.

Is that frost 

caked outside

or the first snow

of the season?

Waiting for sunrise.

Any moment now.

The Box

 The story doesn't begin where you think it should. It begins twelve years ago in the middle of the night during a dream by a boy named Josef. He wakes up at 3:27a.m., disturbed by what he's seen and unable to sleep. He remains awake and sees the sunrise. He writes the dream down on a piece of paper and puts it in the box on the shelf in his closet. He falls asleep for an hour before his mom comes to wake him up. It's Saturday morning. "Wake up, Sleepyhead." His eyes open just enough to see his mother is wearing a green sweater, the same one that once belonged to his Grandmother. "Did you sleep well last night?" He looks toward the closet and his eyes pause there for a moment. "Yes, Mom." That's how it all began.

The years went by and it would feel like he had forgotten all about the dream. In that lull of memory, it would race back like a wave crashing onto the shore. He would close his eyes, focus his breathing, and try to move on. On and on it went this way for many years. The box moved with him when he left his parent's house and went to college in a neighboring state. It would move to his first apartment the city over from his parents at his first real job after graduation. In his thirties he married Marcia. The box moved in, too.

Marcia and Josef had two children, Jane, and Eberly. The girls were as joyous and full of life as they could have hoped for. They had all the usual fears The box, as much as he wished to forget it, he could not. He couldn't bear the thought of his wife and daughters reading the page in the box and destroying everything. The fear grew like the grey hairs in his hair and beard.

The cursed dream had haunted him for most of his life. He had never burdened another soul with the knowledge on the page. 

One week Marcia asked him if it would be ok for her to take the girl's for the weekend to her aunt's house in Brighton. He agreed, but only on the condition he stay home that weekend to work on repairs around the house he'd been meaning to get to. She grudgingly agreed.

That Friday, as Marcia, Jane, and Eberly, were about to leave, he hugged them tighter than usual, told them just how much he loved them. He kissed Marcia with a tenderness she hadn't felt since they first started dating. She looked into his eyes and said, "It's only the weekend. We'll be home before you know it. The girls took turns saying "Bye, Daddy" as he hugged them.

He watched the car drive down the street beneath a sky so deeply orange that it could have been another color.

He slept fitfully that first night and dreamt. In bed, the room dark like a moonless midnight, a crushing weight bore down on his chest. He couldn't breath. He couldn't open his mouth to cry out. He could feel its eyes in the void, gazing down at him, laughing, mocking him in a language no man has heard.

It was a dream. It was a bad dream. It was a very bad dream. That's all it was. He told himself that over and over when he woke up, until he was ready to get out of bed and do the work. 

Marcia called midday to check in. The girls said hi to their Daddy and just how much they missed him at their aunt's house. He told Marcia he loved her. She told him she loved him back. When they got off the phone she could feel a knot growing in her belly. 

Later that Saturday afternoon, after having replaced the burned out bulbs in the recessed lighting, mowed the lawn with old mower, and pulled the weeks, he decided to have lunch on the back deck with a beer and a couple of slices of leftover pizza from two nights ago. The clouds had grown a dark pregnant grey and appeared to be growing darker. After just a couple of minutes, the first heavy drops began to fall with pummeling splats. He went inside and latched the sliding door shut. He turned on the lights in the living room and sat to finish his meal.

It was strange for such a heavy rain to fall. The forecast hadn't said anything about rain. What must have rain been like on a tropical and ancient earth, he wondered? Was it anything like this? 

He wasn't sure if it was the peal of thunder he heard first, or the bolt of lightning scarring the horizon he noticed first. The lights flickered and steadied. "It's ok", he thought, though he had his doubts.

Suddenly, the house shook, and the lights flickered into darkness. He wanted to run, but where? He knew he could not escape. He grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen and went to the garage. He stood before the box, while the sound of the pelting rain filled the world outside. Was it reading his thoughts? His body began to feel electric, the hairs raising all over his skin. Finally, finality.

The firefighters told Marcia it was a million to one shot that the lightning would strike him in the garage. Almost everything had been charred except for a couple of boxes.

Eve of Birth

Following through the darkness

Trust must be the crumbs I follow

Adventure or foolishness

How much of this life is one 

or the other

Startled into consciousness

It is early morning 

I lay my head 

See if sleep still roams

Wandering down 

to the brown leaves

wishing to rise again

We're carried off

by wind again

Reading the leaves

Finding phrases

Deciphering meaning

In Search of Divinity

How can I allow myself to be present

in my own life? I spent too much time

being a ghost to myself, disallowing 

my thoughts to peer beyond the surface

of the water. Being in this place, this 

place that has made me listen to the 

inner voice. It can speak softly, or 

admonish loudly. The depth to which

I understand has grown, yet, it leaves

me so much more aware of how much

I do not know. I strive for self-knowledge.

It cannot be given. It must be taken

through experience. Only then is it

of true worth. I cannot let myself 

live purely in the mind. I must allow

myself to connect and grasp the 

material world in my hands, to feel

the heat, to feel the frost, to know

the extremes we are all subject to.

To live fully is to die actively. 

How much of you remains from 

the infant your mother knew?

In body the change has been startling.

In mind, is it more so? 

I know we must undergo the process

of the chrysalis, over and over.

It has always been so. How much

have you fought this in your time?

How much have you embraced it?

We bear the scars of change and

carry them with us eternally.

Do you know just how much love

has been given to you? How much

of this love have you given to others?

All of it, all of it, all of it, this

should be the answer. I must give

myself fully, to those I love,

to all my sisters and brothers.

One. Wholly one. Holy one.

We cannot be part of this world

if we do not allow ourselves to escape from it.

Beacon

To exist beyond this body

and this life

is a certainty.

How can this be so?

You ask.

Can you not feel

the truth of it

in your dreams?

Can you not see

the truth of it

in the world?

Life beyond life.

Existence beyond

the known.

Light shinning 

through the dark.

All of Her

Holding them in our hands,

neatly cut, well printed

photographs of moments,

and people now gone.

Here we are at our wedding.

Just you and I, your father,

and the judge at the town hall.

Here we are standing

in front of your parents house.

Here we are at the rehab center

visiting your mother 

right after we married.

She looked so overjoyed.

Even now, sitting at the table,

I can see her here, 

across from me, lighting up,

smiling, singing, 

making me laugh

and her herself as well.

Do you understand

how much of herself

lives on in you?

 

Plasma

The stories are endless and never ending.

Lines converging and diverging,

rivers running to the ocean,

everything in union.

How much the Moon has seen.

How much the Sun has lived.

Liquid, ice, vapor,

and the state 

no one thinks about.

Another Time, Another Place

Morning frost 

disappearing 

by the moment

as the sun awakens.

Change of state,

proof of reincarnation.

When will we be again?

The Waves

When will this feeling change?

It always changes.

Remember all the different waves

falling upon the shore

and dissipating all the same.

From Here I Watch

Shrouded in the darkness

between light,

dreaming, waking,

dreaming, waking,

walking through 

the stillness

of early morning.

The sky turns

a dark blue,

clearing so gradually,

until at last

all can be seen. 

La Bruja Blanca

Drown all my fears

beneath the water,

watch them sink

to the ocean floor,

live among the coral.

From the shore

the hidden world is lost,

nothing but tides

to be seen

going in and out.

I whisper all hopes,

call the dreams,

speak them into being.

Haunting

Do we become ghosts

and disappear

from each other's lives?

Or do we linger

and haunt each other

at the fringes 

of memory?

Sleeping In

Remember ten, fifteen years ago,

when working at ten in the morning

seemed too arduous a task?

Back when your nights 

were a different life

and lived to 

absurd extremes?

Now, waking at six am

is sleeping in 

on a lazy Saturday

or Sunday morning.

When we are ready 

to change, to live

a different life,

we do, and there will be

nothing anyone can

say or do to change it.

Northeast Morning

Light bursts through limbs

smeared with browns,

amber, and ochre.

Thank you

for reaching out

and reminding me

of now.

Silence

Moving through

the early morning

It pauses 

Looks around

Takes a breath

Keeps moving

Palms to the Heavens

I fought hard 

for many years

to keep my life 

as it was.

I gripped it 

so hard.

I was scared, 

so scared,

to lose 

the little I had.

And just like that

I began to loosen 

my grip.

One by one,

my fingers relaxed 

and let my palms

face the sky.

I am learning still.

Nearness

When I write I am hearing these words, 

silently, in my own voice. Your experience

may vary, depending on whether or not

you know what my voice sounds like.

In the grand scheme of things it doesn't

matter what the timbre of my voice is,

merely that these words exist, proof

of my existence for those who happen

upon this message. How strange, how 

beautiful to be able to reach out to one 

another, for just a moment, to hold it 

between us, to feel the distance close, 

to have this nearness.

We Are Here

The little things 

are numerous and many.

Their size belies

their importance.

In younger days

everything needed to be

BIG, GRAND,

SIGNIFICANT.

There is still a place

for that 

but in the cracks

exists so much beauty

that we otherwise

miss.

A picture sent

from old friends,

a hello, a birthday

greeting,

to acknowledge

we are still here

in this season 

of falling leaves.

An eternal kiss

Sea and Shore

Bound effortlessly

Where The Night Ends

I wonder to myself 

where the deer roam

before the dawn.

I look to the trees and 

hillside, seeing and 

hearing nothing.

They roam in quiet,

far from any 

unwanted glances.

She

She breathes and changes

and breathes

over and over.

She changes colors

in unceasing 

seasons.

Geese land 

on the lake.

Ripples to

the shore.

I can forgive so I do

and I will as often

as I can to make things

right and have a better day

Just the two of us Dear

Our Mother

The Earth has forgotten 

more than we'll ever know.

She tends to all her children

but only we have remade her

in our own image.

Mother, we are but children.

Forgive our immaturity.

Bring us into the light of the Sun.

How good to know

we'll see each other 

and cross the distances

of time

Learning to Run

If you love me don't be afraid 

to speak the truth

I will do the same for you

If you are unhappy 

the location 

will not change that

If you truly want to change

you must sacrifice

something for it

You cannot walk

without taking

a first step

eventually

you will run

We live with our choices

and actions

We alone bear 

the consequences

Make good choices

Do good actions

How to know

what is good

Look inward

Honesty

Practice honesty with yourself

if you hope to be honest with others.

Eternal Life

The leaves are dying as 

they watch the ground grow near

From a cold winter

they emerge once more

Into Being

Every word

Every thought

Every choice

Every action

creates the story

creates the plot

sets the scene

for what is to be

Think well

the words 

you call 

into being

Shanti Om

Everything was falling apart within me

I knew it and floundered even further

For a time I found respite 

Sheltered in the warmth 

of Alice's faith

I was able to keep going

to keep living for a while longer

Eventually I had to leave

the difficulties of my old ways 

Alice helped me begin the journey

Listening to her voice 

I can remember the beauty

and healing I felt

I have gone so much farther 

than I could have imagined

How grateful I am to be here

How grateful I am to be

Five-Fifteen A.M.

This early hour

Dawn has yet to yawn

Yet I am awake

together 

with you

Who would

have guessed

I wake and 

watch you 

sleeping peacefully

and think

to myself

how beautiful

you are

how lucky

I am

The feelings wash over me

As if I'd been knocked over

By a wave at the beach

And lost a pair of new glasses

This is just life

We are so much the same

Though we may be 

separated by distance

and the passing of time

We are so much the same

even with different scenery

Pigeon

You wait for inspiration as if she were

a rare bird in flight

She is a pigeon appearing

in the park 

coming close

waiting for you

to notice

Living On

You never know just what

will outlive you

It might be 

a kind word said

a gesture of caring

a passing glance

a moment of quiet calm

They pile up behind you

in the memories 

of those who love you

To be remembered 

when absolutely

necessary 

Early Autumn Chill

Stepping into a chill

this early autumn morning

Even the birds are quiet

as we adjust 

to the coming change

Zwei Studien Fur Sclaginstrumente by Giselher Klebe

Write something normal and mundane.

Today is the first day of fall.

It rained early in the morning

and stopped midday.

I finished another day of training

for a new job I'll be starting

after another week of training.

So this is how it's going to be

in this new place,

with this new life,

for however long it'll be.

For now I sit 

and write a few more words

while listening to a piece 

of classical music

written for percussion

by the modern 

German composer

who now is

decomposing

in his grave.

Exodus

Bring me into your grief

as the flower invites the bee

This holy space

will turn us into prophets

The bush is burning

It speaks

Listen

Exclaim this new truth

A testament 

as old as our kind

rewritten every day

through tears

and heartache

binding us

eternal

lungs

straining

yes straining

breathe

yes breathe

try to breathe

gulp through

your mouth

breathe it

suck it

into us

expanding

ribcage

Eternal

I was so young then

I still am now

so many years later

Marvel

My father has always said

if you have your health

you have everything.

I see the wholesale truth of it.

It's true. If you are young

there is no need to believe

the majesty of you will 

ever grow ill or infirm.

I wake up in the morning

greeted by the birds and

the stillness of nature.

Last night it rained.

I'll have my coffee.

In the shower

I'll feel gratitude

at the warm water

rushing over me

Life, yes, life.

To be here,

I'll never not marvel

at this moment,

this gift.

Everything

Everything becomes simpler 

as time goes on

You are forced to let go

of notions 

you once clung to 

with a vicious grip

How much further 

must I go 

How much more

most I let go

There is only 

one answer

Limitations

Ready, never ready.

Always as ready

as you'll ever be.

Where is trust?

Hiding behind fear.

I am no Seer.

Tsunami

Green begins to brown

Imperceptible change

becomes a towering wave

A familiar landscape

rendered unrecognizable

Everything can begin anew

shadow morning

The world is shadowed

I wake to darkness

and rain.

A Letter to Fred

I just wanted to let you know

those two pairs of marching band sticks

are sitting on top of the upright piano

in New York at my Father-in-Law's house.

He asked if there was a reason they 

were so thick. I explained the taper of the

shoulder and the high tension marching

drums are tuned to.

I told him who you were and that Brian 

was the one who invited to his storage unit

to take any of your gear I wanted.

I just wanted you to know, Fred.

Seentience

Standing here

Feet sinking into earth

Ground hardens around me

Am I to blame

The trees are breathing again

Will The Suffering Be Worth The Sacrifice

You turned the page and it was blank.

Memory is a glass flower

sitting on a ledge.

A strong wind blows.

What will survive?

Slow Dance at the End of the World

Cradling my head in your hands

Wind calling names

Humming to me 

We move back and forth

The moon

a cracked egg

suspended

Her dragons

finally free

That Which Persists

Light spreading thick and evenly 

over lush green canopy

Cautiously gauging every step

deer peer through trunks and branches

Grazing leisurely as though

death were a distant hunter

Red Robin looks this way

and that- finally flies away

A small fire cooks the food

for the breaking of the fast

Grandmother is always awake

before the dawn

Grandfather is already walking

home with a cord of wood

slung onto his back

Grandchildren dreaming

until the Sandman 

gives them their leave

New Continents in the Old World

faint glow of light

lining the edge of the horizon

how far out can you see

bluebird emerging 

from its nest

will you greet me

at dusk

Humane Money

When has money

ever been the answer

to any real problem

No one talks about

how greedy and selfish 

some of us are

They are a small minority

but have caused so much

hardship for the rest

There is enough food

There is enough shelter

There are enough resources

The need to monetize

the necessary makes us

less humane than we think

The Poem

This isn't fiction, this is a poem.

There is a difference.

This poem is unlike many other poems,

it is also very similar to many other poems.

It is here as a small bit of entertainment.

A temporary relief from life,

a moment of contemplation,

an exploration of beauty, mortality,

and the human condition.

This poem is deadly serious.

This poem is mildly non-sensical,

This poem is self-reflective,

possibly even self-reflexive.

This poem in an exploration of expectation.

This poem is being written

late in the morning.

What is this making you think?

Has this been humorous?

Has this been serious?

Has this been in play?

Have you put the page down?

Why?

Why not?

Om

My voice is older than your species.

I speak in a tongue without words.

You can hear me in the rushes of water,

in the fluttering of leaves, in the geologic

silence of the desert heat. I speak and

I wait. I listen and sit, waiting for the 

epochs to pass. Omniscient. I am no god.

I am everything. I am nothing. 

I pervade all. I am all. I can feel

the beating of the deers heart.

I can feel your lungs rising and falling.

I feel the bee landing on the yellow petal.

We are. Yes, we are. 

Body. Organs. Cells.

Separate. United. Whole.

We Sailors

A ship cannot 

achieve it's goal

if left moored.

Pull up anchor.

Free yourself

from the dock.

Rain Approaches

Grey clouds hang heavily.

Rainfall approaches.

The day will be 

what it will be.

Close the doors

and windows.

Sit down

and open

the book

to the page

you last read.

A new world waits.

Temple in the Jungle

You have to live with yourself.

You have to live with everything you've done

and with everything you'll do.

I feared myself for too long.

I let the shame of my actions grow tendrils

deeper in my mind over the years.

I watered the soil every day.

Soon, the temple was overrun by jungle.

I lost my way. No one could find me.

Finally, I began screaming for help.

This wasn't where I wanted to be.

I reached out into the darkness

and she grasped my hand.

Waking days later,

still trembling but alive.

I am here.

So many days I should have died

and I persisted.

I must go on.

Choice

I think of you more often than you know.

Missing what's no longer mine

I'm consumed.

Where are the waves?

Standing on a dead shore

wondering about the moon above.

Choice is a prison.

Pick wisely.

the birds can hear me

they turn and then fly away

summer burns through me

The Astronaut

How would you live your life if

it were free from worry,

free from the responsibilities

which bind you, 

free from yourself?

I have been waking from my sleep

and rediscovering 

small pieces of myself.

They no longer fit the image

they once created. 

Yet I recognize myself 

in them all the same.

How is it possible to live

so many lives in the span

of this gift we have been given?

How can the child and the man

be the same? 

Shared memories tethering

one age to the next.

What is carried, 

what is left behind?

I am an astronaut

adrift in space.

Starlight calling me.

The ship has gone.

Everywhere is home.

I close my eyes

and feel infinity filling me.

small reminder to you

Wake up first thing in the morning and

remind yourself how great it is to be

here once again and give everything

another chance.

You may not always feel that way but

think it, or say it, anyway. If all your 

loved ones are doing well, give thanks

for that as well, especially.

Endurance

My grandmother's lined face is smiling.

She's holding a dog in her arms and

is holding it up to the camera.

My grandfather's tired body is standing 

as upright as he can manage with the 

walker and counter in front of him.

My mother sent me these photos of them

last night after I was already asleep.

At times like these I feel as though

they could live forever.

Runner

Every ghost will live again

Don't wait for prophecy to come true 

Years are meaningless

Change is everything

The pain destroys me

rebuilds me over and over

Endure and survive

Survive and build anew

Don't wait for the starting gun

Just run run run

Broken Compass

The oozing stain of time

won't leave me clean

Put it in the wash

but it'll never be the same

Drifting through 

nights and back

to days again

The same old sights

are always new

with these old eyes

Hello dear 

how are you

How's the family

How's the kids

How's everything been

Precious time running 

a four minute mile

How are we aging 

backwards in old photos

Possibility still looms

Choices carry more 

weight than before

I wonder about 

everything

even more than before

Remind me to breathe

I'm too forgetful

For Kristen and Emily

I want you to know in all ways

just how loved and missed you are.

The distance that divides us 

is merely land.

There will be greater distances

one day, but not today.

I am thinking of what 

I should say.

Be good, be kind, 

to yourselves and others

in all ways.

It won't be easy but try.

There will be days and nights

that will cause you to think

you should give up.

The darkness will bathe you

at those times.

Bear it, endure it, 

and let it mold you

into someone 

stronger and wiser.

Your strength

will be revealed to you

in this way.

Strive for perfection

but know none of us

can ever fully attain it.

It's ok to not be perfect.

Learn to be yourselves.

Wear different guises

at different times.

Some will stick,

some won't but that's ok.

You're loved no matter what.

Don't allow yourselves to hate

without depth.

Your time and energy 

is too precious to waste

on such negativity.

In place of anger or hatred

create art, or involve yourselves

in helping others.

Push back the darkness

with kindness and creativity.

If it feels hopeless 

do it all the same.

You are the beacon of light

for yourselves and others.

Learn every day.

To learn and educate yourselves

is far more than merely

what we are taught in school.

Observe others. Learn from their mistakes.

Make your own mistakes and learn from them.

Let no moment be wasted.

Allow yourselves to fully inhabit the present.

What does that mean?

Listen. See. Hear. 

Every moment is a gift.

Every moment is the only moment.

If the past haunts you

know it has passed.

If the future troubles you

know it is not yet here.

If the present troubles you

know that it will pass.

Always prepare but know

that everything and everyone

is subject to change without notice.

Be able to adjust at a moment's notice.

Some of life's greatest adventures

will begin in this way.

Know that not everything 

will be known to you.

Allow for mystery and wonder

to be part of your life.

Go to the beach, close your eyes,

and listen to the waves.

Go to the forest, close your eyes,

and listen to the wind in the trees.

Go to the desert, close your eyes,

and listen.

Those who loved you most dearly

when you were born

will most likely not be the same

as those who love you

when we meet on the other shore.

Learn to let things go.

Learn that holding on 

can be the thing that hurts us most.

Laugh every day. Laugh the kind

of laughter that makes you gasp for air.

Remember that so much of life is play.

Be joyful.

Take only what you need.

Give the rest away.

Be kind.

Be kind.

Be kind.

I love you.

El Dios de Lluvia

My cup overflows

I lap the water 

from the table top

Precious

too precious

to waste

What did 

Father

used to say

Remember your 

grandmother

bringing water

up from the well

bucket

by bucket

Unrelenting sun

Eight children

to feed

Her husband 

toiling 

in the fields

Cha'ac

the old God

gifting rain

Humbled

How do we remember

How do we recall

the hours of the days

too far gone

to remember

the color of the sky

How it felt

How it feels still

to have those moments

live again

behind our eyes

How lucky

How fortunate

to have felt 

the love

the joy

given to us

Even now

in tears

I am humbled

Kingdom

Enchant me with your voice,

words escaping lips

effortlessly-

sailing upon

invisible tides

from shore to shore

Where do the leaves 

fall in order to rest

or be cast onto the air

My heart untethered

searching for home

finding only love

knowing and feeling

What kingdom

What throne

do I sit upon?

From City to Forest

I could feel the tension in my body

as we moved through our days in the city.

Managing my unease to keep going

was enough to leave me exhausted.

Coming home to our bed, to our 

place of comfort, surrounded by green

leaves, deer, and lakes, gives my soul

the peace of mind I need now.

I ask myself if this is a necessary 

time of rest and contemplation 

as the gears turn towards the next

phase of being. Does everyone 

do this? When does this hit for them?

I suppose the answer is yes and

it depends. Am I the audience

watching reruns late at night,

talking over old story lines

and wondering what it all meant?

With every question answered

two more appear. With every problem

solved another comes into view.

This is life. This is how it is,

how it has always been. Do I think

myself special? I want to but history

bears out a different answer. 

This body, this mind, living in and 

out of balance, knowing pleasure 

and pain, knowing the sweet 

and bitter. My words are no more

than trite attempt at facsimile 

of what is unrepeatable. 

I want my love to grow.

I want to spread understanding.

There is never enough time

but there is still time.

In these days of endless winter

I comfort myself thinking of 

the summers of my youth.

Clenched Jaw

I can't help it sometimes

the way I tense and clench my jaw.

I'll notice it every now and then

and tell myself to relax, 

to ease up on it.

Most of the time it helps.

Other times I have to open

my mouth wide and

take a gulp of air.

I've gotten better

in a lot of ways

but there are others

I'll always be working on.

There is no journey 

in this poem,

it is barely even a poem, 

but I had to tell you

and I had to tell myself 

this right now.

Be kind to yourself.

You're all you've got.

Lungs

If I don't tell myself to breathe

sometimes I'll forget

Keep breathing

Keep moving

It's what I have to do

to survive

to make it through this

Can't speed up time

Just live it

day by day

Fall Approaches

I want something mindless to pass the time

It's too easy to do this in all ways

Daunted by choice 

I choose mindless something's 

day by day until I can look in the mirror

Do myself proud I tell myself 

Summer is fading 

I can feel the chill of fall

coming on

Breach

Overwhelm yourself with choice

Laugh at the absurdity of habit

Break through the wall

Don't wait for the dust to settle

Run through the breach

Make way for what is to come 

The Fool

Immovable choice

Cower in fear 

Victim of your own mind

Feeding possibility

Denying action

This fear will cast your fate

Grab the torch

Set out in darkness

Eternal You

Of all the lives I've lived 

your face is the one I still remember

Through passing centuries

your voice still haunts me

Left with only memory

I relived those moments

until they became a story 

I can hardly believe

People wonder if such a tale

could ever be real

I cannot let them know

You live on as myth eternal

The Poetics of Savagery

I'm not used to living in the future.

It's a strange feeling always being 

just farther enough ahead of everyone else

to have to think of when and how to reach out.

It's a modern problem of communication.

Put it down and Pick it up

Don't live out your drunken author fantasy.

Broken lives, shattered hearts,

enough alcohol to kill you 

or force you into grateful sobriety.

Do you want the fame or infamy

of those scoundrels and ne'er do wells?

Of course you do

but no amount of drinking 

is going to make you talented.

You have it or you don't.

If you don't 

you can always 

work your fucking ass off.

It doesn't guarantee anything

but at least you'll go down swinging.

Perhaps your estate may be posthumously

swimming in funds you lacked in life.

Pay your dues.

Be humble regardless of any success.

You're no different than

the kid ripping tickets 

at the movie theater.

We're all the same stuff.

I can't stop you,

and honestly, even if I could,

I'd let you drink yourself to death.

Use that free will of yours.

Put down some words on the page.

You'll feel better when you do.

Put down that bottle.

You'll feel better when you do. 

Be Your Own Master

Take the reins with a firm hand.

Let the horses know your strength.

Dust will be your wake.

Dawn to sunrise,

chase the horizon.

Grasp for it.

Her Cabin

I saw the rain drop upon the lake.

Her father said we should eat inside.

We took the chicken and corn

off the hot coals and placed them

on the wooden table. He had once 

told me that it was a hundred years old.

The people who built the cabin 

had made it. Looking at the dark

and sturdy wood made it apparent.

She placed the plates and cutlery

down and I set the corn and chicken

at each setting. We sat to eat.

Flowers on the table. Colorful bits

of pottery, plates, and knick-knacks,

all decorating the cabin. She wasn't 

here. Yet she is. Eternally.

Enfold

I vaguely remember my childhood.

The rush of the city, cars, 

voices in many tongues.

Every convenience a given.

Our lives were of impatience

at that which was not immediate.

It was sudden and quick.

I have forgot my age

but I can feel it in my hands,

see it in the strands of grey.

Concrete overgrown by green.

We resist our nature

as we are subsumed.

The Whip

Do not gorge in front of them

Do not let them know of your hunger

Masters will exploit those

who know famine and scarcity

I know you hunger

Do not let your belly burst

Majestic wings

Child of Joseph

Landing on the petals

Drink deeply

Children of the Earth

Only one knows the whip

Without A Trace

I haven't forgotten the feel of the bar,

the stool, the countertop, the glass of whiskey,

the stubby brown bottle of shit beer.

It's carved into my memory of that time-

remaining clear as an empty tumbler

with a splash of melted ice.

The games are still playing on the tv,

the regulars still sit at their stools. 

Everyone still bitching 

about work and politicians.

Those goddamn bastards.

Who cares about memory

when there's no trace

of the day before.

The Mirror Becomes The Door

Don't be useless to yourself

Even if others have given up on you

Be of use to yourself

Face that bathroom mirror

Look into those aging eyes

That lined face

That greying hair

Ball those fingers into a fist

Grasp what there is to grasp

Take it

Take it

No one can give it to you

Open the front door

Old Crow / Well Whiskey

I don't want to hear 

all the beautiful

flowery language

used to describe

the beauty of life

the brevity of it all

the precious time

  we have left

Give it to me straight

like a shot of whiskey

brown and mean

and burning

my throat

into a rasp

Raymond

Ray is dead and he has been for years.

Gravy. He called the last few years 

gravy. He was Good Ray in those 

gravy years. Not the bad Ray that 

burned his life down over and over.

The Ray that needed a drink first thing

in the morning, the Ray who cut stories

past bone down to fatty marrow.

Ray knew the sourness one can inflict

in this life. That gravy was sweeter 

than any sourness ever was. 

The Sacrifice

I cannot let myself believe she has become

what I have seen her become.

How can I stand up to the murderous evil

that flows through her?

If I deny the reality of her I am a deluded

fool who will fail.

To save her I must end her and accept 

that is my fate as well.

Princess, why did this path rise up

towards us?

The Orphan

Days of the week, months, years, 

these are things that no longer matter

much to me. I had to let them go 

when I let go of my name. Faces,

voices, laughs, are distant memories.

Feral in appearance, I struggle to 

keep my mind together enough

to remember I was one of many 

of our kind who lived. The tried

earth carries on, though, it is weary.

Everywhere I walk I enter into 

another cemetery. Water tastes so

sweet when it touches my lips.

I was an ungrateful child. All of us

were. I rest in the shade of a tree. 

The heat becomes waves I can see.

I feel the wind touch me. Go further,

Child. You must. Yes, I must.

Prophet

Out of time 

Floating in limbic space

Do not grasp what you cannot hold

The heated eye of Ra

gazing down

and consuming all

Scorched earth

Bleeding soil

When does the scar emerge

Breathe in deeply

with eyes closed and release

when ready

Open Hand

I am remembering a beautiful place

that no longer exists

yet I carry it 

with me

A pond filled with life

Trees as regal as any royalty 

What is it I have taken

that I now hold?

Even then 

I could never grasp it

in my fists

Surrender the Chrysalis

Know the tides will come in and out

That is their nature.

Know that your tides will do likewise.

What memory comes to mind?

Was it being a child

and losing a tooth?

Is it sitting in the ashram-

a visitor looking for the path?

What must be surrendered?

A caterpillar can never stay as such.

Holding Open

There is respite 

in the places where comfort

has been found before.

Go when you need it

and as often as you like.

Don't be afraid 

of diluting its power.

What are you listening for?

It is there.

What are you looking for?

It is there.

Have you closed your eyes

and looked behind 

the irises?

Open your hands.

Here is your sign.

One Day of Struggle

This is the problem with being sober-

you feel everything.

There is no substance to be ingested

to elevate or subdue

the rising tide within 

the heart and mind

Simply an OS and the body

I miss the excess

and the feeling 

of artificial light 

raging through me-

pushing me through 

darkness and light alike

I run unassisted

except for those I lean on

when I feel the brakes

doing their work

I am still learning

to be myself again

in a new place

that might as well be

a continent never seen by man

I change my mind-

I don't miss the excess

The Beach in the Forest

A wave crashing down upon my heart

Washing over my mind

Flowing through my eyes

and down upon my cheeks

I listen to it over and again

Hearing wind through trees

Seeing water lapping sand

Another wave crashing

More water flowing

Rivers surrounding

my eyes

Approaching Natural Rhythm

to wake 

and not rush

natural rhythm

of rest 

sunlight 

in your eyes

wake

yes

wake

Scarification

Sometimes I forget

I am living in the future

by three hours

It's not much different

except when it comes

to how early or late

it is for my family

and friends

Please remind yourself

that when everything

is ripped apart

allow time for healing

Don't rush through it

Let it all come back 

scarred but whole

Summer Rain

Blue towel drenched in rain

Drizzle and pour

Drizzle and pour

Is she still watching us

from her place at the table

I sit here now

from where 

she sang

Moving

summer days

boxes filling up

things given away

whirring back and forth

tear apart the old

throw it away

take the rubbish to the bin

only take what serves you

accruing motion

how does one move forward

and still feel no motion

there is always motion

at times imperceptible

but always there

at the accrual of days

Lime

Squeeze the lime 

with a firm grip.

Pulp tears and 

tears flow down

Until at last 

the pulp is exhausted

Firsts and Lasts

How many firsts have you lived 

How many remain

How many lasts have you lived

How many remain

It is not for us to know

It is only for us to live

finite commodity

precious precious precious

what could it be

what matters most

what is always 

         in diminishing supply

what's ticking away

what's falling away

second 

            

            by second 

grain 

         

         by grain

drip

drip

drip

drip

...

drip

drip

drip

...

common time

settling down

the sink's throat

drip

drip

drip

hourglass

ticking clock

mind the drip

watch the face

to know 

what you know

For K., at Seven Years Old

I want to tell you that it's ok,

you won't be in school forever.

That someday you won't want

your mom with you all the time.

Your voice is all I needed to hear

to know the sadness inside.

So young, so sensitive to the world,

I will guard you to the end of my life.

Dearest K, you have already set

the world alight, if only you could see.

I see it in all you are, My Dear One.

These Days of Healing

Cut flesh stitched

back together.

There is no healing

without pain.

What is gone

reveals the path.

Living in this body-

embracing 

all pain and joy.

This / That

waiting will kill you

if indecisiveness

doesn't get you first

Material

incarnate flesh

subatomic consciousness

illusory solidity

neural pathways

creating thought

infinite wind

cresting waves 

For Maggie

There is a silence 

sitting between us 

It is not growing

or diminishing

It is simply being

That space

is where you 

once were

The Wait

I have been here so long

in this space between

Wondering when 

the time would come

Who would be here

Beautiful and peaceful

Serenity a bountiful harvest

In dark skies the Moon

lights my way

Her kind face looking down

Because I Love You

How can you be sure that everyone

knows you love them?

Tell them over and over

and in as many ways as possible

so that they cannot possibly

misunderstand that, yes, even

these words are for you.

Even now, it is my voice 

living in your heart,

right where I always wish to be.

Bivalve

Pry my body open

and consume my flesh

in one messy 

slurping gulp.

Yes, Love.

I wake up from dreams

remembering nothing but the future

but it all burns away

with the touch of daylight.

So many faces with earnest eyes

now live behind me

with just a few 

still keeping my attention.

What binds this body

and mind together

after the hammer has fallen

upon the glass pane?

One word which contains

multitudes. 

Heavenly Bodies

How slowly we move 

some mornings.

How quickly 

the moments pass.

How slowly 

we savor the taste.

What lessons 

are to be found

in the passing 

of heavenly bodies

through light

and darkness?

The Bell

When you stop running

you can see everything clearly

as it is meant to be.

Rest your heart,

slow your breath.

How quickly the birds 

fly from tree to tree.

How quickly they rest.

A bell struck

resonates.

Numbing

Broken teeth

Bloody mouth

You can get used

to almost

anything

Without End

Forever would never be enough

for any person

Endless days and nights

What would be the reason 

for anything at all

Tied to the wheel 

of nature's ceaseless turning

Epochs would pass

as tides smooth down stones

sand multiplying on the shore

Precious years would be brown

leaves trampled underfoot

Death of all yet life continuing

without cessation 

Ultimate meaning or ultimate void

No rhyming couplet to make sense

of existence without reason

First Light Through the Trees

No matter the night

No matter the dreams

No matter the nightmares

No matter the tossing

No matter the turning

No matter the arguments

No matter the restlessness

No matter the anxiety

No matter the worry

                 the dawn 

                       is always 

                           there

Spring chirps it's presence 

Bare branches coming to life

Winter sleeps once more

Green Tea Classic

Green tea bag tied around 

the handle of the empty cup

Space longing for a tide

of hot water 

Ecstatic rush against

colored porcelain

Buoyancy as green colors

the water bit by bit

Steeped in process

Lips waiting in expectancy

Beware

Ambition is fine

but be careful-

from time to time

it will whisper words

that will plunge you

deeper and deeper

into a realm of excess.

You may not realize

the toll being taken

but it is being extracted.

Pull yourself up

before you fall too deep.

Perpetual discontent

is no way to live happily.

A man with enough

is grateful for the blessings

of the ordinary.

Maria

Every day the phone rings

and I hear your voice.

A continent divides us

but your words

are breathed into my ears.

How have we borne 

this separation

and survived?

That which binds us

holds us gentle and firmly.

What shall be first?

A kiss or embrace?

Will it be both at once?

A journey beginning anew.

Certainty in an uncertain world.

Between Words

I listen to Leonard sing and talk.

He always knew how to say 

what needed to be said.

I listen as closely as I can 

to decode what more can be found

in the spaces between words 

and punctuation. 

Is that what he wanted?

Can everything be found

in what is already there?

Ocean and Earth

The tides are welling up within me-

searching for a place to break through.

Any crack, any open space will do.

I am ocean and earth.

I am wind cresting over the waves

and running through the leaves.

How can I be everything?

Everything is me and it has

always been so.

Cinema Verite

Start the morning with coffee and cake.

Sit down and find the words clinging

to the edges of consciousness, waiting 

their turn to organize the chaos of being.

Traipse through fond recollection and 

not so reliable memory. Scene missing.

Blurred scenes. Plot points vague and

uncertain. How much time was that?

The camera lens is fixed on one position.

The weather is clear, the sun is lighting

enough for the scene. Action. One 

continuous take. Just this moment.

Memorial Cinema

We who touched each other 

as preciously as fine china,

as roughly as clothes tossed

carelessly into a dirty hamper.

What of us, what of then,

movies in the cinema of the mind,

hearts still racing at what has gone,

a story with firm conclusion.

Bookshelves

When the faces have gone 

all that's left is memory

staining the paper 

of the books, 

collecting dust unseen

sitting on seldom

traveled shelves.

Your face between pages,

my eyes struggling 

to see us as we were then.

The Living

That which does not change does not live.

How do passing seasons 

know when to end-

to begin?

What consciousness permeates

existence beyond 

the observable?

Night approaches-

stars dotting darkness- 

light traveling through vastness. 

Wind rustles the leaves,

unseen sun brightens other lands.

Sincerity and Conquest

Too many men,

and it's almost always men, 

have wasted too many lives,

too many words,

trying to conquer

that which is unconquerable,

that which can only be held

temporarily by force.

They all forget one crucial 

point, the words 

that actually rule the world,

I love you.

pregnant grey clouds burst

quenching thirst of a parched land

everything will bloom

Growing Closer

One day, one night at a time,

these hours fade into one another,

a pastel smear of time blended

into a new color on the palette.

Dearest, we have endured this

separation, each moment brings us

so much closer to embracing,

exchanging vows.

Give me rest, give me peace of mind,

your body pressed next to mine,

your head upon my chest.

Younger Days

Hard living youth 

is how I describe 

the last twenty years

of my life.

Certainly, I didn't live

as dangerously as others

but there is so much more

I could have been.

There is no time for regret.

There is only now.

How wondrous 

to be here still!

These words are not as poetic

as one would wish

but they are as honest

as I can be right now.

Not every poem needs

to change the world.

Some are content 

to just be.

It Is Yours

Make the best of this time

because the sky shines for you

the rain falls for you

the flowers bloom for you

because you are living for you

because you are part of this whole

and this world is greater with you

Don't be afraid

Move through this world

for it is yours

Giving Thanks

You said you didn't want to go

That you didn't want to lose me

I held you close and said don't go

Stay here with me

You ended up leaving

Found a love

A new life

New adventures

A daughter

What happened to me

I stayed

Wondered how you were

Lived my life

Drifted in my work

Found love

Hit bottom

Am alive enough now

to be thankful for everything

Morning Meditation

Making plans

one word at a time 

Creating a future

from air

Breathe in

Hold it

Breathe out

Wind through leaves

Water lapping the shore

Is it one or the other

Both

Neither

Doesn't matter

Let go

Casting

I've got a curse for you

Cast these words from my tongue

A hex

A hex

on you

You're done

but we're not through

I've got a curse

on you

Don't Pay

I pay no attention to my attention

It can't grab me anymore

I won't let it

I won't let me

Dwell on anything

Just now

Just what

is passing through

synapses

on my way

to take this nap

I pay no attention

to anything anymore

This world

has grabbed me 

too many times

to let me watch 

the scenes before me