Wednesday, March 20, 2013


on the edge of sleep
. . .
listening to the rain.

in that mind-space
where nothing is
. . .

Sunday, March 17, 2013

A Different Anointment

Ah, Dream,
so like a nightmare,
you carried me to
a frightening place,
lost,  abandoned by friends,
forgetting where I belonged.
You fooled me into fear until
I knew this could not be true.
My dear friends would
not abandon me.

I recognized you, Dream,
for what you were,
and still you did not let me go,
but carried me to yet stranger places,
grotesque images meant to be inviting
as if…
as if you were laughing at me,
watching for my reaction.

What, Dream, I wondered, are you doing?
Why here?  Then…
I saw the others,  some
I knew to be on the mystery path
and others from my mundane life
—the teller from the bank for one—
now revealed also as seekers,
gathered together,
asking the same questions
I was asking.

And then we knew,
joined together we knew,
it was all a set up.
We had been tricked by lovers of beauty,
givers of knowledge,
to this place of comic grotesqueness
for the experience,
for the opportunity to realize that
in the oneness
even the grotesque
is beautiful.

Oh, yes, Dream, you are
a very clever one.

Friday, March 15, 2013

A Good Day

Walking in the woods I spy
the first yellow violets,
a white trillium…

and in the orchard
the plum trees are bursting
into bloom.

It’s a good day
to breathe.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Animal Dreams

My dog talks in his sleep,
sometimes short yips,
last night a mournful eerie howl.

I wonder what he dreams,
what he thinks
in his walnut-sized brain,
a brain just big enough to know
the really important stuff.

I wonder if
on those long afternoons
when I think he’s sleeping in the sun
he might be listening
to poetry carried by the wind
or in the ravens’ calls.

I wonder if all the animals
and certainly the poet trees have their
own poetry society
in which they share secrets
so profoundly simple
that we with our too big, too busy brains
can’t begin to understand.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013


Walking along a road,
trees towering on either side
the light dusky with a tinge of rose,
suddenly to our right
a great white crane
swoops from a branch and glides
through the trees.
So brief is the vision
that it is almost unreal and yet it is
the most real and lasting moment
of the entire walk.

I write these words in a vain attempt
to share the moment with you.
I write words, take photos,
hoping to hold, to share,
but these images are no more than code;
dots and dashes, ones and zeros, colored pixels.
What I really want to share—
what I really want to hold,
is in the gap between—
is the no thing that is everything
which now and then slips through my mind
like the crane—
the only real thing.