Beauty, Wonder and Awe


I can never get enough,
of beauty, wonder and awe.
Its the kind of stuff
that makes me wanna draw.

Its everywhere I look,
and in everything I see.
Beauty is the hook,
the awe and wonder
comes from me.

a discovery

In a dream
of many colors,
very close to my head,
from a floating spot of red,
came a lovely cardinal, instead.

I watched
as it took form
and then took wing.
Feeling all tingly and warm
I thought to myself,
‘what a wonderful thing.’

To have a thought
and dream it in,
from a growing wave of desire,
as expectant blood and skin,
emerges out of nowhere to inspire.

And it seemed to me,
that I had stumbled upon
a secret of creation.
The truth of reality,
is in fact, a form
of my divine imagination.

When I’m 65


When I’m 65 (title credit The Beatles)
Under a moonlit sky we howled.

Holy Shit!
I made it!
I actually,
finally, made it!

Truth be told,
I wasn’t sure I ‘d survive,
and never thought
I’d make it
to the big sixty-five, alive.

There were
some very close calls,
and even monumental falls,
especially those times,
I thought I was being so clever.
Yet, here I am,
telling my story
in all my gore and glory,
where everything rhymes,
and I’m doing better than ever.

What’s next in my forecast?
I’ll conjure up
lots of awe and wonder,
calm winds,
sprinkled with sunshine,
a smattering of
lightning and thunder,
and a steady deluge
of the divine.

This image I project


There’s this image
I project,
for why?,
I do not know,
none-the-less,
I choose now
to reject,
and simply
fall in with the flow.

The Ash Tree


It was once,
towering and flowering.
An abundance of green
seemed forever broadcasting,
and every sinew and branch
proclaimed a life everlasting.

My Ash tree died
and had to come down.
Now I stand, where she stood
and with all my positivity,
I tried,
I really tried to find the good,
but all thats left
is this pile of brown;
this paltry mound of firewood.

a part of the mist


A gentle mist
hung mid-level in the trees,
while treetop sunlight shone,
and even if
he denies what he sees,
parts of him have already flown.

He is a part of the mist,
whose droplets hold
a mystery long hidden,
that he exists,
unlimited and unforbidden.

He is the particles
of dappled rays
in the brilliant sunlight
whose dance in the haze,
ignites in flight.

He observes from a limb,
a shadowy fog of infinite tomorrows,
and as the twilight grows dim,
so does his cares and sorrows,

At the edge of his dreams,
he may come to realize,
all is not as it seems,
and it cannot be analyzed.

The elephant in the room

the-elephant-in-the-room
There were
choices made
when he was young,
and learning to be afraid.

Round and round,
swept him up
on a Ferris wheel,
forged by family
and surroundings,
into societal norms,
And at his altar
of lost foundlings.
dreams were sacrificed,
through deadly conforms.

He died,
with regrets,
long great sorrows,
unpaid spiritual debts,
and no more tomorrows.

A true forgiveness
is a complete forgetting ,
as if it never was,
Its not aiding and abetting,
operating in the laws
of spiritual cause.

So after all these years,
I simply forgot,
and not a moment too soon.

I finally bought,
the pearl of great price,
and the Sun, the Stars and the Moon.

Surrounded by Rainbows

surrounded-by-rainbows
On this cold gray day
she ventured into unknown territory.
Divinely pelted in her mystical foray,
what now has become a part of her story.

It prickles her skin,
as she walks in the rain,
every crystal-like droplet,
and the rainbows they contain.

As each one gently lands on her,
she’s surrounded in an aura
of subdued color
in pretzel form,
getting bigger and smaller,
brighter and duller,
then, in the eye of the storm,
she became very still
and although hopelessly lost
in a clouded but luscious thrill,
she shouted out loud ‘get me wet’,
willing to pay any cost
to stay in this moment and never forget.

The Holy Grail

the-holy-grail
For as long
as he could remember,
he’d been self-fighting.
And since the dawn of time,
That self that he is,
he is constantly rewriting.

“I don’t want to fight you,
But I will”.
(He said to himself,
feeling mad enough to kill.)

He wondered,
“Why do we fight
that inner fight
so fiercely to the end?
We fight
with all our might
but we’re really fighting
our best friend.

We fight, all the way,
kicking and screaming,
on display, a vast array,
of tricking and scheming.”

But when a secret
blew right into plane view,
he could no longer,
fight like before.
For he bathed
in a brilliant light,
that opened
a brilliant door.

And this time
he walked
straight on through,
and when
he reached the other side,
Red turned to Blue.

There’s a peaceful ending
to this little tale.
Its magical befriending
the Holy Grail.

be steady in the wind

be-steady-in-the-windWhen the heart moves
to a turn of phrase,
everything you choose,
comes from the state it obeys.

I take great pains,
to be steady in the wind,
yet the question still remains,
will I approve or rescind?

I watch, as
the winds chase
those innocent passers-by,
and ask myself,
should I run to,
keep pace,
or turn away and fly.