Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

when the sky is fire

when the sky is fire
be not afraid
of the wind
which heralds
the coming storm

the dark clouds
touched by flame
of the rising sun
will water an
earth that is
bone dry

and you too who
walk beneath
the burning sky
with dry dreams
shall find them
wet with rain

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

I too am dry


like you my friend
i too am dry
but the rains do
the choking dust
from many tramping
feet has left me mute
but a wet morning
greets my waking
throat cords are
watered and a
song flows forth

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree


The earth awakens from its drowning.
The water is getting off the mountain as fast as it can
like the people chased from their farms in these hills years ago
by the storm of the Great Depression until they finally came to rest,
settling like glistening silt at the foot of the mountain.
I see their faces in the dry stream beds now flowing wet again.

I wander this dripping, draining world, seeking a place warm and dry
while the tumult in me slowly subsides
and the roaring that arises from overflow
becomes the gentle silence of letting go.


Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree



The rains have been a long time coming.
I walk beneath the wet,
still dry.

The hurricane off the coast is predicted to bring more storms,
yet I wonder if the drought within me will ever end.

So I wander beneath weeping skies,
my thirsty dreams outstretched in my hands.