Sunday, November 28, 2021

Babbling Brook

If I could sit forever
at a babbling brook
Would I treasure it as much?


Thursday, November 4, 2021

The True Mystery

We know the things
that cannot be seen
hold us together— 
atoms, energy, gravity, thoughts, 
creativity, memories, dreams,
even love.

But the things
we do see— 
the blossoming of trees,
children playing, wild animals,
ships and cities, 
mountains and streams,
it is this, the visible,
that is the true mystery 
of the world.

Unfolding Beauty

Take your time
and be everywhere you are.

Be here in the mountaintop
overlooking the vast land
Be here in the land
grounding your feet
Be here in your feet
holding your body
Be here in your body
housing your heart
Be here in your heart
opening your connection to others
Be here with others
opening to the oneness of the world
Be here with the world
evolving in mysterious ways.

Approach her with grace
and she will lead you
to unfolding beauty.

A New Spring

This is our time of reckoning—

out of the dark

into a life
unsure of itself,
into a spring

that challenges our wants

with new reality.

Behaviors are questioned.

We cannot fall back

on the old

as we fashion the path ahead.

What joy a hug is,

a laugh in person.

Little things in life


This is a spring

to be marveled—

even the roses

are larger.


Thursday, July 1, 2021

Ode to Nightshade, My Cat

Long after you are gone
I will still feel you in the morning
walking on my body,
pawing my face.

Long after you are gone,
I will sweep up a hair—
remains of lost love,
maybe even find a whisker.

Long after you are gone,
every pair of dark shoes
seen from the corner of my eye
will catch me off-guard
with a glimpse of you.

Oh, how I dreamt
if a cat came to my door
I would keep her.
Then you, abandoned in the field,
were brought to me by a friend.

All of seven weeks old,
you sat in the palm of my hand,
then on my modem,
then on my printer,
and every warm place you could find.

Playful, endearing,
your long brown hair and yellow eyes
rendered you beautiful.
Your skittish nature
kept you from others.
You were mine, all mine to enjoy,
and I did completely.

Now, I watch every breath,
every precious moment—
waiting for my heart to be torn
from my body,
reliving 18 years of joy.

Oh, my little girl, I bid you sweet farewell
as I brace myself for that last gasp of air,
the breaking of earthly bonds
that animals bring to the human soul,
the love that cannot be expressed,
only known.

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Triumphs and Challenges

To have lived these days
is to come through
with triumphs and challenges.

Triumphs from little things —
daily changes,
pushing through, 

lives touched —
some closer now
some more distant.

To not lose contact
with those we don’t see
is a triumph.

To experience seasonal shifts
on daily walks
is a triumph.

To share common experience
with open heart and open mind
is a triumph.

To know that life is worth living
even when people are dying
is a triumph.

Challenges, yes, there are many,
but today is a day
to focus on triumphs.

Tuesday, June 29, 2021

Passing Through

I borrow this dust
from a lonely planet —
earth rotting and dry,
scaffolding sent to the heavens,
wanting more.

I borrow this heart
from a worn out soldier
sharing a victory or defeat,
lost in the questions,
lost in himself.

I borrow these eyes
from the one who sees
beyond the surface
into the lagoon of many faces,
into the water of life.

I hold it all, heart in hand,
visions of better days —
freer, more alive.
My longings cast on the mountain,

Some held back to ignite me now
as I rise through the blanket of ash
wafting through snippets of dreams —
trying to make sense
of the path I’m on.

Consoling the losses,
encouraging the remains.

Monday, June 28, 2021

Soft Emergence

I have no idea what it will be like
to hug people again, to be close,
to look them in the eye
without a screen between us,
to see their smile — in real time.

I can’t imagine
eating out of the same bowl —
taking a handful of nuts
that others have touched,
buying food without washing it,
not seeing people
as carriers of disease,
not scrubbing down
everything in sight.

When this is over
will my cells jump for joy?
Will I come out okay?
Or will there be dark holes
that linger,
the scent of rubbing alcohol
bringing it all back?

I wonder if my heart
will explode when the veil lifts.
Or will there be
a soft emergence,
one foot put slowly
in front of the other,
not too far, not too fast,
like toes dipping into a cold stream,
and pace my arrival gently
into the new world —
whenever that may be.

Sunday, June 27, 2021

The Winter of My Coming

It is the winter of my coming —
the long, drawn out days of retreat.
Over and over I ask myself,
“How do I live today?”
as if, on its own,
it is consequential,
as if every moment
is recorded and revisited,
as if every moment matters.

We live in the time
we were born into.
This one: the beginning of the end
or the renewal.
We don’t know which yet.

Fires, floods, pandemic,
freedom’s decline,
the hidden and the seen
all mixed together
in the same caldron.
We drink of it daily.
It tosses and turns
in our stomachs and minds.

Each of us full, yet hungry —
hungry for life to begin again.
We want what we had,
but those days are gone.
We move forward into the end
or the renewal.

Every choice leads to the answer.
Every moment
metered and noted,
every morning asking,
“How do I live today?”
Every step positioned
as if it matters,

because it is the only thing
that does.

Saturday, June 26, 2021

Just Dance

Take the bandage off your skin
and dance.
Stop the healing from the outside.
No form of “out there” can help you.

Take the ruins off your shelf
and smash them.
You don’t need the past holding you
where you don’t want to be.

Let your energy expand
in every direction.
There is no guide but silence,
there is no path but here.

There is no better, no worse,
no up, no down —
only your deep inner wisdom
longing to set you free.

Dance and let your voice rise
out of its cage.
Don’t try to tame that wild animal.
She is your sanctuary, your savior.

Dance and feel the rhythm of the beat.
Dance and let your body move.
Dance and wake your sleeping parts.
Dance and then dance some more.

Friday, June 25, 2021

Maybe, Just Maybe

What if, for example,
the Earth wants us to learn
what it feels like
to have her grasp of life
squeezed out from under her?
Her blood—the waterways
clogged with plastic and slime,
her lungs—the forests
cut clear without concern,
her life force—the soil
denatured and damaged
with pesticides and mono-cropping,
her micro-systems—animals and fish, birds and bees
endangered or killed.
All her life-giving gifts
and sustainable ways
not being cared for and destroyed.

How would the earth speak to us?
How would she show us she can’t breathe,
that she is dying? How would she talk
so she could be heard?

Maybe, just maybe,
she would show by example.
She would infect our lungs,
squeeze the very breath out of us.
Maybe by way of a virus
that would spread without us knowing,
that would keep people apart,
break economies, immobilize nations,
leave the dying without ceremony,
with no end in sight.
And maybe, just maybe,
she could teach us to work together,
she could help us see
that we are one life
on the brink of destruction,
that we took our greed and carelessness
too far.

And maybe we can wake up
and pool our efforts
and dissolve conflicts and boundaries
for a greater cause —
to save the Earth, to save life,
to save each other.

Maybe, just maybe,
we can listen this time.

Thursday, June 24, 2021

I Am Covid-19

Do not underestimate me.
Do not think I am done.
Do not think I come without reason.

How does one stop a runaway culture —
one that has lost touch with itself,
one that doesn’t see beauty
in the natural, the pure;
where bigger is better
and faster outweighs all?

You think I am the hidden monster?
What about 5G?
That will infiltrate your souls —
unobtrusively at first,
but irreparably.
It will fill your young and old
with internal growths,
destroy your DNA,
and create a global microwave effect.

Would that you could learn some lessons
before that monster comes.
Would that you could slow down
and smell the roses.

I plead with you —
help your neighbors, your homeless,
the ones in more need than you.
Honor your doctors, teachers, artists, seers.
Honor the earth, the worms, the bees.
These are your saviors.

I bring you to your knees to wake you up.
How else can you learn
to appreciate what you have,
before you lose it all?
Your towers to the sky, satellites,
yes, they bring you GPS,
but you have lived without that before.
Your ice is melting, your lands are dry,
fires rage.

Stop already.
Go back to your roots.
Seek out those
who know how to lead the way.
Your greed has blinded you.

I am small.
I am your wake-up call.
I am not your invisible monster.

Tuesday, June 22, 2021

Waiting to be Found

I was found hiding
far from my pen,
far from my paintbrush.
I tried to escape,
to not do my work,
but I was found waiting.
Waiting to begin.

Yesterday the strawberries found me.
They cried, "We need space, sunshine.
Please make my bed."
They grabbed me for hours
as I listened and complied.

Today the rains came
just in time,
as I waited.
The I Ching says,
"Waiting is not mere empty hoping.
It has the inner certainty
of reaching the goal."
The goal of being found.

The peach colored rose
found me on my trail,
unfolding more each day.
The chalk message
on the sidewalk says,
"smile." I do.
Distant cousins call.

Conditions are simple.
There is slowing down.
It is not all a bad thing.

Monday, June 21, 2021

Today's Horizon

Every day I must see
how the horizon
plays with the land —
what colors combine
at that time of day,
what mists cover,
what clouds evoke,
what rains wash away.

What new thoughts
mingle with the wind,
what energy is shared
that takes me
out of my smallness,
my cares.

I am expanded
into the loftiness
of godliness,
of evolution,
the changing world,
man’s grip and loss,
the warming of the seas,

And through it all,
I trust the rhythm
of everyday life,
its cycles,
that the sun still comes on time,
and the moon still visits,
that waves break and rivers flow, 
and that the horizon
will always be there
to play with the land.

Friday, June 18, 2021

Ancient Ruins

There is a place inside
where it all begins—
not at birth, but before.
Before the ancient seas split
before man made fire
before we were man.

A seed, a spark—
we tap into it
and from there we know
we are all the same.

Yes, life has its demands
and challenges and joys.
We are here to feel it,
to experience the truth,
the connections,
the path that brings us home again.

The idea is to live fully,
to suck the very marrow
out of life, taste it all,
so when it’s time
to return to peace,
we know we have danced
the dance of life
and we are ready
to be on our way.

Thursday, June 17, 2021


There is a hunger
for the language of the soul—
a dialogue with the
inner workings of our being—  
that gets overlooked, tossed aside, lost.

This interaction is removed from our culture,
pushed into the background of our lives
as if it doesn't matter, or doesn't exist.

As precious as an endangered species—
the soul is not meant to live
in the margins of our life.
It is what sustains us.
Our loneliness
is our lack of time
alone with the soul,
it is not from
being alone.