Go ahead… open it

Can of worms 2

Go ahead and open it
It’s just a can of worms
Perhaps you can feed
The fish or the birds
Or watch
The children squirm

There’s no instructions
Of how to prepare
Listed on the side
Of the label
So go ahead
And pop the lid
While they’re all
Sittin’ round the table

It’s well past due
They face the truth
And read the words
You scrawl
They’ve lived their lives
With blinded eyes
From the writing
On the wall

Don’t sit around my table
Just to play your guessing games
For I can look into your eyes
And read the truth in flames

Pretending to be
What you are not
Will only spread
The germs
So go ahead and open it…
It’s just a can of worms


Rising Tide

My beautiful picture

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could change my coffee
Into wine inside my mug
If I could walk on water
And escape the rising tide
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

If I could gather round me
All the thoughts that make me smile
If I could only linger
In the laughter for a while
If I could rise above it
Finding hope beneath the clouds
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the gibbet

If I could feel the pain
Inside the soul that I have killed
If I could only breathe
Inside the poisons I have spilled
If I could walk away today
Inside another’s shoes
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the fire

If I could see the light
Above the hole that I have dug
If I could turn my back
Upon the alcohol and drugs
If I could fly to distant shores
And find one trusted friend
Perhaps I would not smile
Upon the drowning

Please reach out to those who are searching...





So often I sit at this old table
Before the light of dawn
Has blushed upon the window sill
Verses spoken long ago
By those who danced
And laughed
And cried
And touched the very wood
I now feel beneath my hand
The sound of the old upright
Echoes in another room
Blending like the strings
Of a symphony
While rhythm keeps time
With the clinking of ice
In glasses of bourbon and gin

Their adventure
Their tragedy
Their comedy
Their poems
Finding their way
To my disarranged mind
From the ink left behind
On tattered pages
Stories untold
Yon the dawning
Tales only spoken
Neath shadows of moonlight
Secrets never shared
‘bove the whisper

Yet somehow I can hear them
In the silence
Feel them in my hands
Trembling neath the parchment
The smell of perfume
Embracing the air that I breathe
In the softness of the morn
The laughter
The tears
Lingering softly against my face

All of it
Of course
From those who have
Wandered here
In the laughter
In the tears
Inscribed in the wood
Like beautifully etched glass
So that
Would feel their touch
Hear their whispers
Smell the perfume
Of the poetry they left behind
In the tenderness of the silence
In the calm before the dawn
“Knowing” –
They will never be


The Poets’ Corner

The Poets' Corner

The Poets’ Corner

How I arrived there, I was unsure
But there I was
Alone in my humanness,
In the room of the souls…
Standing in the quintessence
Of apparitions
In what must have been
The most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…
All of them loquaciously
Offering their lore
As if I were the ghostwriter
For all who dwell in other worlds…
The intense energy
Filling the crowded room
Causing the tiniest of hairs
Upon my skin to stand so inflexibly,
One might surmise that I had grown thorns…
Quivers rippling up the back of my neck
Like a kaleidoscope of butterflies
Fluttering along my spine…

The voices spoke
Of transcendent rhymes
With only the whisper of breath
Stirring echoes of angels
Resounding in my head…
I gazed into the mirrored glass
Upon the hallowed walls
With visions of only
The morning mist
In hues of a blushing dawn…
I penned their words
Upon the parchment
As they smiled at my
Scribbled scrawls…
Each one citing runes of reason
Filling verses with what was
Once misunderstood…

Suddenly there was silence…
The pressure inside my head
Dropped so rapidly
I feared my mind would
Vaporize into mere thoughts
Of fractured ink…
The tiny hairs
Fell tranquil against my skin…
The butterflies followed
The scent of lavender
Weaving through the open window…
There was no whispered breath
But that of my own
Conversing with the echoes of angels
Now retiring to worlds
Beyond my human comprehension…
As I gazed into the mirrored glass
Finding but my own reflection
In hues of black and white –
I held in my hand
The parchment
Scrawled from the quintessence
Of apparitions
While I stood alone
In my humanness –
In the most peculiar
Of poets’ corners…


Whispers of Raindrops

Whispers of Raindrops 1

I stood in the middle
Of my confusion
Lifting my face to the sky
While whispers of raindrops
Caressed my thirsty skin…

Words of your own sagacity
Linger deep within my soul
Speaking louder than paltry fables
Poured into the pool
From which we sip…

Yet you dwell in other worlds
Whispering truths
Far beyond my intellection
With every single drop of rain
Musing dreams
In the hush
Beyond the tempest…

I stood calm amidst the chaos
Penning love and understanding
While others stood blindly
In the fire –
In their own pretention…

I reached for them with rhymes
Of which you speak
Yet what I saw
Were fisted hands
Of those who could not see –
Those who could not feel
Beyond their own
Sallowed skin –
Those who turned
And walked away
By the echoes
Of silence…

I stood in the middle
Of my confusion
While whispers of raindrops
Fell softly from my face
To the parchment
In fractured ink
Now etched
In blurred mystic hues

I knew your words
Your rhymes
Could never pull them
From the fire –
Never show them
The musing of dreams
In the hush –
Never help them
All that is beautiful
In the silence

I will always write the words
The rhymes
Of which you speak – 
Share the musings
Of my dreams – 
Stand in the rain
With my face to the sky
And know
That someday –
Those who could not see
Those who could not feel
Those who were frightened
By the echoes of silence –
Will stand in the rain
With their face to the sky
And in
Solitary moment –
Hear the
Whisper of a raindrop


Of Dawn’s First Blush

Of Dawn's First Blush 2


When I could not see with human eyes
There were visions of the canyons
Stretching through the mountains
To the sea

When I could not hear with human ears
There were strings that played a symphony
That echoed through the valley
In the breeze

When I could not touch with human hands
There was warmth beneath my breast
That flowed throughout the world
In peaceful hush

When I could not speak with human voice
There were rhymes within the silence
Etched into the hues
Of dawn’s first blush

When I could not write with human thought
There were verses never written
Though runes still touched
The hourglass of time

When I could not take a human breath
There were poems still left unsaid
Though my voice will always echo
In the rhyme


Little Things

Little things 1

Little Things

It was early in the morn
Fore the dawn that never was
For I had passed the sunset
Long ago

The moonlight cast its shadows
Neath the pines along the ridge
Where only wings of seraphs
Touch the snow

But I was not mistaken
When the light shined through the trees
Where reason can’t explain what
One may “know”

Truth is always there inside
When stillness brings the sparrow
Where little things in life
Let passion flow

Fore moonlight casts its shadows
Neath the pines along the ridge
You must touch the breeze when
Soft winds blow

Lest you may taste the morning
Fore the dawn that never was
For you had passed the sunset
Long ago


To Wander

My beautiful picture

Photo by Betty Bell Sanders

I’ve seen the world
From the mountain top –
From the tops of trees
Where branches reach
So far above the fray
You only hear the voices
Neath the whisper…
Though I have walked
Along the streams
With dreams
Beneath the ripples
And touched
The virgin muse
On tumbled stones –
I still can taste
The salty breeze
From dawn
Upon the ocean –
To wander
Though —
Still lingers in my bones



Gently to the Sea

Gently to the Sea

I have become one of them
Like the breeze becomes the storm
Like raindrops falling softly
Into ripples of the stream
Like melting snow
Flowing gently to the sea
Like teardrops on the parchment
Staining verses left unrhymed…

Perhaps it is only the poet
That stands in the rain
With open arms –
That walks in the fire
To pull another from the fever –
To wander the path
Where others dare not rove
In search of peace

But then…
Perhaps there is a poet
In every one of us –
Perhaps there is poetry
Hidden inside us
Just waiting
To fall upon the page
In one single moment of time
Bringing us all together as one
In peace –
In love –
In the thirst for our grandest desire –
In our most heartfelt gratitude
Of being human…
Like poetry
Upon the parchment
Like melting snow
Flowing gently to the sea


…but that’s alright

but that's alright 1

Chances are –
You’ll never read this…
…but that’s alright
I’m writing it more
To release it from my heart
Than to place it into yours
Though –
If you could only imagine
For one single moment
The countenance upon my face
The longing of my soul to be free
The disquietude of thoughts
Lingering in my weary mind
Perhaps –
I could once again
Fly with the sparrows
From whence I came
Converse with the crows
Upon the hawthorn
Hear the whispers of the universe
Within the silence
Within the peaceful quietude
Of one single moment in time…
Though –
Chances are –
You’ll never read this…
…but that’s alright