Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)


There is no calm before the storm.

This tempest is neverending. These brief moments of peace are only that.

I am the pupil, swollen by too much light, staring up into the fickle sun.

I still reside within the storm. On the horizon, I see the dark spinning clouds as they draw near to envelop me again.

I have been a sower of the wind.

I have cast my dreams like seeds into the blistering sky.

Now I must succumb to what I have become.

I am the whirlwind reaper.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Wind of Constancy

wind of constancy
blowing in from the sea
filling me

pushing away the lethargy
that has so encumbered me
within this mortal body

i listen for divinity
in this wind of constancy
a call to be free

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)


on windy days
when the swallows are swept across the sky like smoke
i too find my flight interrupted
and the subtle turn in my migration is corrected

o for the wisdom to accept correction
to cease this mindless flapping
and simply soar

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)


soon I will need to face the wind howling outside rumbling like an invisible train between the houses here

harbinger of a new weather pattern moving in 

In my heart as well?

I know not only that there is a kind of expectation hovering there

Spinning carried away like a balloon released by a mourning child’s hand out past the clutching trees until it is free dark against the boiling clouds 

a speck in the eye of a loving God

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)


in the background
of quiet conversation
across the phone line
in talks with kin
of swirling snow
in a not so distant dominion
omnipresent like
an unwelcome companion
always within earshot
a rumbling din
seeking to lose me to
this everblowing wind