Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Lives Lived Unknown

lives lived unknown
unlike my own
where windows glow

am i alone
a passing froehn
along the way i go

side these homes
of weary bones
a hidden truth doth show

lives not my own
i cannot disown
love makes a way to know

Posted in Prayers and the Sacred

Pariah (Forgive My Unbelief)

from where and when does it arise,
the broken record skipping
over the same lies
that you are ugly,
nothing more than a
pariah inside?

o beloved,
thou art known,
warts, fangs,
nails, talons,
and all
(such were the things that killed me you know)
(i was dead for little while anyways)
(and still i loved)

knowing this
and me
yet you still
choose to
believe the other

well i am here
waiting for you
to remove the needle
from the spinning disc
in your tortured brain

i have a new song to sing to you
a lullaby of love
do you hear me?


Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Id at Fence

i stand at the fence and grip its upper rail
my knuckles turning white
stare across at the figure
i approaching me
shivering in fear

and then i stand before me
i can feel my chill breath on my face
i place a cold hand on mine
smile mockingly
numbness creeping in

so we stand and time will tell if
my cold enters me or i receive my warmth

or neither

who is this one
myself who i face across
this fearful fence
my face such a blur
blurring mass
blurring fast

coming clearer
who am i

will i remain so when i know

i am afraid yet still i stand
trapped by my own cold wintry hand

December 20, 1989

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Too …. To Cry

simple minds sing

i’m too proud to cry

i don’t know if it’s pride

there’s a few drops on the windshield

weatherman says it won’t amount to much

call me desert

i’m just too dry

floyd tells me to shine like a crazy diamond

this morning i agree

sitting in traffic

i’m just tired of the insanity

i’m just tired

and there’s no rest in the wilderness

of me

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Monk With New Habit


i know where i want to go
i can see the way so clear
that is not the issue
i have never been one who lacks vision
rather seeing the destination in the far off distance mocks me and serves to remind me of how so little progress i seem to be making
a lifetime of bad habits encumber me
i have not yet it seems learned the wisdom of incremental change
of small steps
of watching where i place each foot
of mindfulness to those stray thoughts in the moment
to touch each thread of what i am putting on until i and this new habit are one

Posted in SLOW MOVES

Resource Management on a Personal Level


Journal entry February 6, 2000

I must choose where to put my resources.

I will look very carefully at what I say yes to.



He rises up from the corner like a greased monkey.
“How may I help you?” I ask stupidly,
still groggy from lack of sleep.
“Oh, you have,” he says, grinning through
pointed teeth. “You have fed me with
thoughts of blood and violence and
I have grown.”
“And . . . ?”
“And soon I will overtake you.”

Afraid of me and I,
his glittering eye,
but fearing to fear,
I step near and
hug him like a
great bear.

When fears are personified,
the other is so easily denied.

Perfect love casts out fear and
embraces he of the twisted leer.

I dance the ugly dance,
my arms wrapped tight
around the scare.



Crossing Over

The chasm that is the emptiness of ourselves
is not one that we can build a bridge to cross over.

We must descend down the steep slope,
walk through the muck below
and up the opposite ascent.

Only then do we truly cross over.

November 20, 2004