Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Sunday Afternoon Musings (Cloudless)

Sunday Afternoon Musings (Cloudless)
My eyes look into the bright blue skies
But they cannot do so for long
The sunlight is too bright
And there is no endpoint on which to focus
My eyes keep wanting to see something they can grasp
 Something they can clasp
Anchored into the sure, the known
Yet into the wonder I have been thrown
So deeper, higher I long to see
So I look again
And see the smile, the face of God

The vultures come by the droves
One hawk soars among them
Even death is swallowed up in worship
Transformed into the sweeping flight of angels
Dancing majestically to the music
A scavenger turned to soarer
In the midst of the one who knows
In the midst of the one who is known

Interruptions are the sounds of life
So don't bemoan them like death
For silence is the music of the graveyard
And order its breath of day
So do you please care to stay
Fill my life with your vibrant libations
I will do so in return
For this is how the living learn
To swim in the wondrous waters
The places of the deeps, unknown
For again it is into wonder we've been thrown
We have to force ourselves out of the joys
By walking the earth alone
It was never meant to be that way
So I’ll step into the fray
All the while stepping into the peaceful

Friday, March 24, 2017


I want to go back to the homelands
I don’t even know exactly why
My ancestry here goes back 200 years
But my spirit still lets out a sigh
A sigh that echoes off the cliffs of Dover
A sigh that resonates with the pipes
I sense my heartbeat swelling larger
This longing flies in the winds as a kite
Yet I am held by this string
Called the American dream
Held in bondage within the land of the free
Home of the brave
Yet a commoner, a carter, a knave
There is still something gloriously grand within me
Something mysterious as in the Land’s End
The land, the earth, is calling me friend
The mists, the swells, the rain, the sea
Is calling to say that it misses me

I don’t know why

Another sigh

One day I must walk amongst the greens
The giants, the hills
I’ll walk the walks, I’ll smell the moors
I’ll feel the winds, I’ll find the doors
To a land of ancient wisdom, tales
Of beauty, sorrow, yearning, sails
I will find something there that tells only me
Exactly who I was made to be

I will walk in the midst of the kingdom

*Image from Google Images. Photographer Anonymous. If this is your photo and you do not wish for it to be placed on my site, please notify me and I will remove it. I receive no renumeration for this blog.

Wednesday, March 22, 2017


Without the daily occurrences
There would be no poetry
We all look for the grandeur
There is nothing wrong with that
Except we tend to miss the glorious 
Within the small, the tedious, the mundane
For wisdom plainly speaks
The greatest goodness is in the earth
It is the poet who discovers it
Then attempts to reveal it through simple paper
Simple pen
A tree gave its life so a greater beauty can be expressed
A simple paper
A simple pen
Just one more simple thing 
Hiding in the winepress
Awaiting the announcements of the angels
Awaiting the arrival of hope, of power, of truth

To cause discovery to come to be

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Another Other

Another Other
I had to take a nap today

I was completely exhausted
From trying to be someone I’m not
I guess that’s why some have to drink their coffee
I guess that’s why some have to smoke their pot
It seems we’re all one day thrown into this game
This game where so very few are winners
This show, this play, this fantasy world
Of lights, of sounds, of spinners
We’re supposed to act one way in public
Then be another whole other in bed
We’re supposed to smile like there is no tomorrow
Even when our past and our present are dead
We must laugh when we want to be somber
We must cry when we just want to leave
We must carry every one else’s burdens
While our own over Gibraltar we heave

Into the oceans of forgetfulness and naught

I had to take a nap today
I need one every time
I work to live out another’s poem
Instead of living out my own rhyme

Sunday, March 19, 2017



It's snowing flower petals at my house 
pinks, purples, whites 
all the while the sky is sullen

ashen grey 

what a contrast on this day

maybe it is what you see, 
or how you see it,
that makes the difference

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Movement in Pi

Movement in Pi (π)
It is a poet’s most dreaded moment
When there is nothing to write
The entire world within is dead
Which makes all things without the same
Even though the sun shines brightly
Even though the grass is being mowed
Even as the wasps and bees swirl around the window panes
And the ceiling fan just quietly keeps going around
I am much more like that fan right now
Though I don’t think dead things go in circles
So maybe there is a hope after all
Just the fact there is a movement in pi (π)
Is enough to bring a spark of life
So once again I see the plan
That even in the midst of the dreaded death
There is nothing to write, but there is nothing but life
I just love the Circle

The Role

The Role
How I see facts
May not be how reality sees facts
So what I see, what I experience
Might not be the truth at all
It might be a part of the play
The key point in the drama
Where the antagonist is in the midst
There just might be a turn in this plot
Rising up on the horizon
So maybe I will wait here for the sun to rise
Before I embrace the darkness of the night.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


I sense a great chaos
Churning and turning
Roaring and buzzing
Multiple ideas, and thoughts
Lies and truths
Swirling in a great pandemonium
All within the confines of my mind
An entire universe of universes
Trapped within the rind
Of a cantaloupe

I am about to burst asunder
Spilling all of this new wine out on the ground
Releasing nothing but the anguishing sound
Of goodness being pulled into the soil

But wait

Where there is a boundary, there is a gate
I see and feel this border, frozen
Yet it lies amongst these paths I’ve chosen
I run into it everywhere
I feel its presence in the air
I know this is something deeper
More intoxicating than bourbon cider
It pulsates with a living life
It forms a bridge across all chasm
I know it only as a rhythm
That continuously beats across all times
It continuously harvests all life’s rhymes
Producing only the best of wines

I wait for sun or for perdition
I wait for love or for admonitions
I wait for song and I wait for dance
I wait for love and a stark romance
Drawing closer to the rhythm
Drawing closer to the rhythm

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

Liberation (the unwrapping)

Liberation (the unwrapping)
There’s an app to tell me how well I’ve slept
An app to tell me if I’ve walked enough
An app to keep me on my feet
An app to measure if I’m fit and tough
Yet there’s not an app to help rid me of this anger
Nothing to diagnose this loneliness, this angst
There’s not an app to tell me why I can never seem
To find the level where my soul is ranked
There’s not an app to help me find my tribe
The place where destiny dwells
No place amongst the robotic swells
Only life seems to be able to do this
Only living among the living and not amongst the dead
Nor amongst the robotic
So I set my phone down on the table’s bed
I walk outside and I keep on walking
My pedometer thinking I’m just a lazy slob
but the real me is walking into true freedom

This is just what I needed

Saturday, March 4, 2017

The Rush

Sometimes I sit here before this scene
Like a frenzied race horse stuck in the gates
Ready years ago to be released into the race
The race declared long past to be finished
Yet I still want to run

Others have run and run well
I stand amongst the earthen swell
Feeling like I have nothing to give, nothing to say
Just looking across an empty day
To another empty chasm
A chasm made of iron, just a small depth in width
Yet completely reliant on the will of another
My ambition is causing me to almost smother
In the thoughts of what was, what could be

I long to be free

I long to be me, even in the midst of darkened frustrations
Disappointments, disillusioned, a milieu of temptations
Yielded to but not forgotten, spat upon but loved all the same
I stand here at the gate, I remember my name

And the door swings open wide with a rush

Photo by Doug Pensinger/Getty Images/Google Images

Friday, March 3, 2017

The Daily

The Daily
I’d like to write a poem every day
Yet I seem to run out of things to say
That happens when the clock runs your life
No time to take the time for living
Just keep on going and keep on giving
Until there is nothing left in the heart or soul or mind
So unwind
I’m finding it’s ok to have time for me
I’m finding it’s ok to have fun and be free
It’s perfectly good to say no to the good
So I can say yes to the best
A day of nothing, a week of rest
These are the things that creativity grows well in
So get out of the clatter and noisy din

Take a trip to the mountains, even if just in your mind
Let life begin to fill your hopes and dreams
Let love begin to replace the time
This is where life begins to grow and have meaning

A wondrous start to each day