Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Bay Morning in Stereo

to my left
the sound
of birdsong
to my right
the voice
of a child

i open my eyes
to the warm breath
of the rising sun

in the distance
a dark speck
upon the water
becomes a
creature
seeking
sustenance
in the depths
captured
by starfire
upon the
waves

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

the shadow knows

sometimes i feel like
i am a shadow of
who i once was
captured by memories
of the lives i have lived
remnants of songs sung
play on in my head
and i want to push them
out again into the
light of day

it is difficult
to remain in the shadows
to wrestle with what
is ego and what is call
what to dream of
what to let go
to wait for the summons
and still stay awake
and open to the voice
that speaks in
bright riddles
of silence

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Exocoetidea

Lately,
I have felt
so much like
a fish out of water,
awkward in situations,
lost from who I am,
flopping on a strange
spit of sand,
struggling
to breathe.

This morning
it came to me like
the ruby-throated
hummingbird suddenly
appearing before me
on the wind
that perhaps
I have been cast
from my familiar seas
to grow wings
and become
a fish that
flies.

July 19, 2019

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Mother Goose’s Redemption

I tried to be as quick and nimble as Jack, but I tripped over the candlestick and nearly broke my back.

I tried to wake Little Boy Blue, but I lay down beside him and fell asleep too.

I tried to be a good boy like Little Jack Horner, but then I got to wondering why I was always in the corner.

Then I realized that trying to be someone else was a waste of my time and suddenly my life stopped feeling like a nursery rhyme.

Posted in Prayers

I Am

I am the creature crying at 4am.

I am the sleeper who responds with grace.

I am the relief that comes with the release of waste.

I am the grateful lick I taste.

I am the watcher in the chair far away.

I am the room in a healing place.

I am the father who waits for the phone call.

I am he with hands for a face.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

ER

child
why do
you continue
to choose
to be
confined
by these
white
cold
walls?
don’t
you
know
that
the
real
prison
is in
your
mind?
and
that
your
healing
lies
through
the
narrow
scraping
door
of the
painful
past?
yet
you
must
choose
to take
the offered
hand
rise
from your
sterile
bed
and
step out
into
the
light
of a
different
day

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Prayer Like Nightbird Flying

prayer
is a
mysterious
thing
a subtle
kind of
whispering
like the
nightbird
flying
bright word
crying
on
whirring
wing
stirring
to sing
what
heaven can
bring
called
forth
by mere
speaking
living
waters
that spring
from the
river of
healing

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Ode to Morpheus

O Sleep, I give up on thee.
Hast thou forgotten me?
The sheep I numbered are running free
past all pretense of profundity.

I can trace the path that brought me here,
but the way of return is ne’er so clear.
I taste what hath sought to steer
me from what I yearn to draw near.

O Sleep, now it seems I must succumb as into my burning brain I have plumbed
to reap my dreams for words to come,
my yearning plain, O shouting eyes, be struck dumb!