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Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Morning on the Couch

the body becomes
a curlicue

in a sea of quiet

where I calmly

a vagrant
without walking

within a wonder where
I tarry, yet forget

to ponder, count or strive,

and in this peculiar
emptiness everything

opens up

into a fragrant


Friday, March 15, 2019

A Walk to the Lake

Today I heard the world,
like us, is wounded. She needs
our wonder and our tenderness.

Listen carefully and you will hear
her pleading for tending only you
and I can give.

Step outside and relish her.
Slowly. With open ears
and eyes. And soon.

Befriending her begets
A kind of birth,

A well-rooted bringing forth.

In turn, earth will ravish
and astonish us.

Lake rippling at dusk, green hills
punctuated by boulders big as hippos,

birds halfway to the moon,
clouds sprawling across sky's
pink belly--

all calling us into a way of being wild
and whole we've yearned for

in our sleep-walking state
before the other birth.

Thursday, March 7, 2019

sublime physicality

delicious crunch crunch crunch
of cold apple, bare feet firm

and buzzing on this sturdy floor,
blue bathrobe wrapped so cozy,

i couldn't ask for more.

       Paradigm Lift                                                                                                                              

I prefer, instead of that afterlife
Idea espoused by some if not many,
or the equally believed article of faith
In a murky nothingness, to imagine
A very big room about the girth of Nebraska
That’s filled with the living, the dead
And the not-yet-born. This motley trinity
Sweetly shuffling together in stocking feet,
Sometimes raucously, at others' silently
Across a shimmering vast dance floor.
They’re telling corny jokes, laughing
And mostly beaming, feeling lighter
Having forgotten hurts and wrongs now past
Or those let-downs certain one day to transpire.
Even wallflowers blossom here.
Smells of freesia and alyssum swirl
With tendrils of night-blooming jasmine
Kissing pregnant air; my lips can feel
Babies kicking. When I’m quiet 
I hear their breathing softly wafting
As they spin and sashay round and round
Without perspiring to lift each other up
In tender spirals high and higher—
Beloved past, bright-eyed future
All embraced by those now present.
And everyone is gleaming….

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

What Is A Poem?

an arrival
two departures.

an appearance

an apparition
two bedevilments.

a stone
a pool
of quiet.

a flame
two campsites.

an enchantment
two blizzards.

an epiphany
two forgettings.

a hawk
two griefs.

a river
two deserts.

a mercy
death row
and a volcano.

a stone
a pond
of silence.

a root
two earthquakes.

a man
two chasms.

a moonlit meadow
between the inmate
and the warden.

a shout
two sleeps.

a dapple of light
two darknesses.

Three Thousand Five Hundred and Two (2018)*

rain in darkness shifts
and shimmers

the faintest child’s voice
her final cry for help,

a mere glimmer.

(stop this we ought,
yet have not)

now dazed by days of rain
and news that shoots

and downpours
where we’ve gathered

to weep,
to rage,
to scream,

ask why again
this pain

while Congress prays, delays,
denies and blathers.

we bow our heads in shame
as we should,

blurred eyes cast where grief
under mud hides buried 

inside false beliefs of impotence

as numbly, we shiver awake
to more clearly see

in depths of darkness lives
a flame for all to warm beside.

Together we must protect,
speak out, sustain

and tend this light
so that children’s

safety becoming fact

is finally in truth

*The approximate number of children ages 6-18 killed 
by firearms in the US in 2018

Real Faith


in our deep


we are forever

like a precious drop
of mercury

our hearts quiver

as we, no longer

descend, bidden
and unbidden

time and again,

into darkness’
supple arms,

these rivers
of uncertainty

and this spacious
befriending moment.