Posted in Prayers

The Warm Embrace of the Son

when i greet patron star
i acknowledge that i could
not live here without
her eternal fire

when i meet brother son
i embrace the knowledge
that i am loved by
an unquenchable flame

when i am present
to the morning
this gift of another day
the rising sun
and the risen one
created and creator
i bow into the warm
embrace of the holy
and begin this day
with his name
on my tongue

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

(But that was yesterday)

I wake up wondering if what I said was okay
(but that was yesterday)

Did I say too much or not have enough to say?
(but that was yesterday)

Did my pride get in the way?
(but that was yesterday)

Did I make another pay the price that was mine to pay?
(but that was yesterday)

And all the while I’m wishing I could make my brokenness go away
(but that was yesterday)

(Let it go, yesterday is a no show, it’s no use trying to figure out what I may never know about I did or did not do yesterday)

It’s high time I fully give in to today.


An Apocalyptic Dream

In the darkness of early morn, I walk between the shadows of waning streetlamps and a wind that tastes of coming rain, the sounds of cricketsong and windchimes dancing in my ears.

In these moments, when most residents still lie in slumber, I can imagine I am part of an apocalyptic dream, the last of my kind remaining, hovering within the strange aura of peace and loss the thought entails.

Then I hear the roar of an engine and a car blows through the stop sign near me, as if somehow the law does not apply to what one thinks is unseen. I realize again that I am not alone and that I am not always enamored with those I must share this planet with.

Though if I am honest, I suspect I too at times am part of the walking dead, asleep to my potential, distracted by nothingness, racing towards a destination that in the end holds little value, unwilling to stop and listen to an agenda other than my own.

I return to the safety of the indoors where I spend a few moments in silent reflection of the coming journey. The muffled wail of the train whistle through the window glass is a mournful reminder that I must be on my way.

I leave the table, the surface trembling with the rumble of the passing train, gather my tattered thoughts around me like an old quilt, and step back outside into the evanescent dawn.

Posted in Poems

Those Days So Very Little and Long Ago

returning to places where i once wandered
with persons i did not know would be a part of me
when what was the future then is now today
very little remains of what i remember
and what i envisioned for my life is much more and less than what i thought it would be
strange to think many of those who walk here now only existed in that place where all of us begin
when i wandered here
already a young old man
those days
so little
and so very
long ago

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

The Sidewalk Between the Now and the Not Yet

what will be my impression here?
what will my shadow caress?

is the wailing horn of the early train through the ac grate a call to go?
or is it only a welcome jest?

will this morning sun herald a day of promise or one filled with regrets?

can i walk along the sidewalk between the now and the not yet?

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

When I Am Only A Morning Shadow

flickering leaves upon the wall
where the light of morning sun doth fall
and the wind of the dawn seeks to call
me from a shadow into light

i move with a sluggish grace
reluctant to reengage with the race
running towards an unseen place
before the coming of the night

so here by the window the sun’s kiss on my cheek
some solace as to my path i seek
the voice inside me begins to speak
as i rise from shade to bright

Posted in Peace Quotes

The Present

When you keep looking for something better around the next corner,
remember that if you go around the corner in the same direction eventually you will wind up right back where you were.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Out of the Gray

shooting ball to gospel
hard rain drumming
on the metal roof
of the gym

in a life of change
these two things remain
to comfort me
three if i count
the rain

the past seems more real
than the present
i wonder what stories
i am to tell
and what new ones
i am to begin

in the pause
when i put the ball down
to write
a brother enters
for connection and

i realize again
that when i wait
the memories of
join with those of
and what i need walks
through the door
out of the gray

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

Rip Current

the day begins
with or without me
carries me along
in its wake

the list inside my
head is endless
running along like
the so called
breaking news
at the bottom
of the tv

to do to do
so much to do
yet i still wonder
what is the one
necessary thing

oh to let go
be carried away
and under
to let the
glass darkly
fade into obscurity
rather than
this struggle
to make it

behind me
the rising sun
casts my image
upon the screen
to disappear
when i arise
to be swept
up into
the current
of this day