Entrance (revisited)

February 6, 2014

Are these grooved things not fit for better things?
They that tell a lifetime
Speak of evolution
Are they to be employed by illusion?

Twisting and turning
Bending and burning
Forging and fusing particles of the past
This dust cannot take form once more

And if this Vegas show would once more perform
surely its sights and sounds would betray

These distant images arise not from depths of clarity
But  are summoned by the minions of longing

How true the air is striking the skin, now, at this perfect hour
Waste no more and wash these gifts at last
Let dust be dead as it is

Are these hands meant for disabled clutching?
For enduring the ritualistic death that fear brings about?
Let joints breath again and open to the world
Sounding pulsing instruments of awakened life

These beautiful extensions of love and gentleness;
To reach out
To touch
To pull oneself and also another upright into liberating posture

How true they move when the heart pulsates through these veins
How true the air is striking skin, now, at this perfect hour


August 24, 2016

Heart smile, eyes gleaning 

She wants only to rest in love 

I’m an apple

August 19, 2016

​30 days

So beautiful

I am blessed

Sudden creaking door

Natural smell, sudden smack

Merton beneath trees


Stillness again

August 7, 2016

Time seems stretched somehow

Playing each moment sweetly

I remember this

Dust and light

September 23, 2015


in soft morning light
silence recognizing space
there is room for all


May 28, 2015

It’s so easy to see it.
To feel the damp, soft leaves…
smell the sharp, fall air,
clearing away all thoughts.

Curls everywhere.
2 am chocolate.
Midnight rain…emphasizing the silence.

Somewhere deep in a dark forest,
we will sleep like cats.

Sleep easy

March 26, 2015

Of all the wanted things,
my only, is
to say goodnight

Subtle love

October 30, 2014

Finding. A hidden poem in your pocket during work….all the things I’ll never say

she sleeps

August 16, 2014

she sleeps

he lay there thinking

he is aware of the over thinking

and chooses to sit in the silence of the dark morning

breathing in, seeing the confusion, feeling the onslaught of emotions

she sleeps

he sits


breath and awareness separated by concept

candle flicker and nature dual

her breathing becomes the lesson

of letting go


the hips fall forward

allowing the channel to open

for a second he analyses


“Let go: it’s OK. Just, let go..”


Some would say he forgot his surroundings

and fell into another state.

Maybe found a higher plane…

Yet, he simply made peace with this time and place.

And as she dreamed, hoped and slept,

he sat.





hilltop breeze

August 8, 2014

Kentucky trees

erasing all thoughts

for a moment I was there

kissed by its’ breeze


The crisp, moist fallen leaves

clinging to the bottom of my jeans

everything so simple


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