Today

Stretches lazily before me like a cat
awakening from deep slumber.
Purring with delightful possibilities,
it snuggles against me,
and warms the chill from the night.

It's hungry for experience and meaning,
and it prowls on quiet paw
the many rooms of my spirit.

With feline seductiveness,
it beckons me forth,
unpredictable,
unfathomable,
irresistible,
and unrepeatable.

Today.

May 1998


Suffering Hope

Pain and fatigue plague me.
Tired and discouraged,
my spirit sags,
my confidence slips.
Happiness takes flight.

Life is about making choices
to crumble or create,
to slump or stretch,
to reach behind or beyond.

Each day offers moments
gentle or harsh,
of hush or of haste,
a day to nourish or neglect,
to be in health, or dis-ease,
to soar or to stall.
Life is about making choices.

Though my body can be tethered,
my spirit struggles free.
There is life beyond struggle,
there is the call to be what might be.

I choose hope.
Hope remembers grace.
With hope there is confidence that steadies,
happiness that reassures,
and a spirit that soars like an eagle.

May 1998


Cacophony

City lights blaze upward,
blanching away the flickering stars.
Punctuated only by the screech of sirens,
the freeway groans
in its endless monotony of noise.

Surrounded by neon cacophony,
my thoughts clash and grate.
Oh, for the quiet of starlit nights
wrapped in tranquil greenery.
The tumultuous world dissipates
in the silence and peace
of a forested glen.

Yet where is the source of discordant noise?
Does it emanate from the neon screech of the city
or from the inner clang of the discord within?

Harmony is not absorbed from life,
it emerges from inner peace.
Despite outer clamor and distraction,
it is a journey within
to create a wellspring of serenity.

Such a treasure, an inner sanctuary,
a place where life-giving energy can emerge.
Radiating from an inner source,
peace can emerge despite a chaotic world.

Serenity exists in a world of cacophony.

September 1998


The Chasm

Lonely, yet surrounded by people
scurrying about with frenetic busyness,
I ponder the chasm of losses
that separate me from the flurry.
No longer connected
to the rush and gush of work and career,
I am left behind and alone with time.

At first, time was an unfathomable mystery;
what was I to do with time beyond work?
Of what meaning was my time
so often consumed by suffering and pain?

This is the challenge then,
the crowd whizzing past me, and
finding connection and meaning beyond pain.

Ever so slowly, aloneness became solace;
time a wellspring of artistry.
Time is a new place and pleasure,
a poetic and artistic connection
to the maelstrom of people rushing by.

Poetry is an echo of connection across the chasm.

Poetry is an echo of passage across the chasm.

Art is an echo beyond the chasm and beyond time.

November 2002


Snowflakes

Snowflakes softy fall
and pause a moment on my window.
Each flake is a unique sparkle
of motion, color, and light.

Every flake radiates beauty
and majesty
in its brief glorious moment in the sun.

We are a bit like snowflakes.
Our life is a moment in eternity.
We can sparkle
with unique motion, color, and light.
Or, we can shadow our sparkle,
creating a wasted lost dribble.

Snowflakes are a...