The Dark Side of the Moon

Dark Side of the Moon

I feel more at home
While I wander here
In the shadow
Of the universe
As if unfettered
By my humanness

I can see the others
In the distance
Who have fled
Their mortal flesh
To escape their yesterdays
To avoid their tomorrows
To dwell in just one moment
Of the hush

I feel more at home
While I wander here
Exploring my ageless hands
By the light of Meissa
In the shadow
Of creation
As if unfettered
By my humanness
My mortal flesh
On the dark side
Of the moon


In Rhyme or Out

In Rhyme or Out

You finally read the poetry
And saw your own reflection
Hiding tween the lines
In rhyme or out
Still you can not see me
In the branches of the willow
And linger in the wonder
Of your doubt

I’ve seen you there forever
Fore the black birds
Shared their secrets –
Fore the ravens came
And taught you how to fly –
Before you heard the sparrows stir
Inside the blush of dawn
Before you ever knew
To wonder why

Listen to the whispers
Of the cougar and the crow
And trust your inner wisdom
Without doubt
For it lingers in the silence
With the innocence of the child
Hiding tween the lines
In rhyme or out


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…




My apology to those who have come here expecting to find a poem.
This is not one of those.
This is just something that I needed to say…
For me!
Perhaps some of you may find the poetry within my thoughts.


If I could just picture the person standing in front of me
As if they were…
Wouldn’t I want to show kindness toward him?

If I could just imagine the person behind me
Standing next to me
Across the room from me
As if they were…
Would I not truly want to be kind to her?

We’ve all pondered the purpose of life.
I can’t imagine a single soul on this earth that has not wondered.
In one of Neale Donald Walsch’s books of “Conversations with God” he states…

“The purpose of life is to create your Self anew, in the next grandest version
Of the greatest vision ever you held about Who You Are.”

Yes… I know… I had to read it over and over again too,
Just to make sure I understood the true meaning of the words.

Now… whether you believe in God…
Or not…
Whether you believe that Mr. Walsch actually had conversations
Directly with God…
Or not…
Whether you think Mr. Walsch is completely full of shit…
Or not…
Even if your religious beliefs prevent you from even imagining such a thing…
Or not…
I can’t help but think… that if we could just allow that thought
To cross our minds…
On occasion…
When we get upset –
When we get angry with another –
When the line we have to stand in is far too long –
When another driver cuts us off on the expressway –
When we know someone is lying to us straight faced –
When political matters are not going in our direction –
When we’re sitting at the table having dinner

With those we care so much about…
When we’re sitting in church a bit bored with the preaching
Longing for a stimulating conversation
With that soft ‘inner voice’…
If we could just run that phrase through our minds in one brief moment…
Wouldn’t we be offering ourselves the perfect opportunity
To become a better person?
Would that not help to improve
Our understanding
Our humanity
Our compassion toward others?
Wouldn’t we be welcoming the opportunity for peace to thrive
In our lives
In our family
In our community
In our world?

If in this very moment, every one of us attempted to be the
“…grandest version of the greatest vision” we ever held about who we are…
Would that not help us all to realize what being human is all about?
To recognize the oneness of us all…

I would never say that living that version of one’s self is something easy…
It is not…
I struggle with it daily… sometimes minute by minute.
Far too many times I have thought of those words…
That grandest version of myself…
Just after I have done or said something that I wish I had not…
But that’s when I realize that I have yet to truly become
That greatest vision of who I am…
But I will continue to reach for that vision…
It isn’t easy…
But sharing kindness with another…
Is easy…
And that most certainly should be a part of everyone’s
Greatest vision of
Who we are…

Who do you want to be?

Share your kindness…
Share that kindness with someone you don’t even know…
It could change the world.

Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to post what I needed to say…
For me!

Have a most beautiful day!


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


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


Without Holes

Without Holes 4

Without Holes

I stepped in it again
In the only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…
Left for me to find
Outside my door
By some animal
Without conscience
Probably hiding
Across the street
Behind the bushes…

This isn’t the first time
I’ve stepped in it
Heavens no…
I once stepped in it
On my way to meet
The Queen
But it was then
That I was barefoot
And walked very near
To the stream
So I could easily
Cleanse my sole

Once I didn’t realize
I had stepped in it
And carried it with me
Amongst the others…
They kept their distance
Sneering and laughing
Behind my back
All the while
The only reasoning
I could presume
For their repudiation
Of my presence
Was that I must have
Forgotten to wear
The only pair of shoes I own
Without holes…

But that was in the day
When my olfactories
Were impaired
And surely…
I would be forgiven
For the mere fact
That I did not know
What I had done
Walking outside
The edges of the garden
Stepping deeply
Into a pile
Of feculence
Left hidden in the grass
By some animal
Without conscience
Hiding behind the bushes…

Perhaps that is my purpose…
To step in it…
To be ridiculed
By the others
For walking where
They would never dream
To touch their
New shiny shoes
Against the soil…
Choosing instead
To stand upon
Their sacred elitist ground
In a crowd of others
Proud to display
A pretentious pompous ass

Though I may
Step in it…
Again and again…
I will always walk
Away from the crowd
That chooses
To ignore
Or belittle
The light
That shines
From one without shoes…
Or one that is willing
To step in the crap
In search of something different…
In the only pair of shoes I own…
Without holes



Through Winter Borne Branches

Through winter borne Branches 4

Through Winter Borne Branches

The first light of morn
Just blushed
Through winter borne branches
Of the oaks 
The eastern sky
Painting the hues
Of a new day…
The western horizon
In darkness
In the breathless conversations
Of yesterday

Between what has passed
And what is to come
Lies all that is beautiful
In this
Without time
Upon the wall –
No shadows
Down the hall
In their indifference

The morning’s first yawn
Just brushed
My wizened face
Upon the eastern sky
Withered hands
For the canvas
Of early morn…
Horizons of the west
Behind me
Left silent
In their solitude
To dwell
Forever after
In yesterday’s

While I –
Before the dawn –
In this
Without time
Of sifting sand –
No rhymes
Upon my hands
In their indifference –
Stand beneath
The winter borne branches
Of the oaks –
What has passed
And what is to come –
And inhale –
Deep into my being
Of immortality


Beneath the Wreckage

Beneath the Wreckage 3

Beneath the Wreckage

If I could just be…
Yes, that is a complete thought…
Have you ever wanted to just be?
To be one with the Universe
And nothing else?
Most of us don’t know how to
Just be…
Some can’t even linger in the sound
Of their own breath
Many must have the constant noise
Of their world
Surrounding them at all times…
It seems that our world is making it
More and more difficult
To find the silence
That would allow us to bide
In the peacefulness within us
To hear the voice inside us
Knowing what is right
And what is wrong…
To hear the cries of the child
Longing to be free
Beneath the wreckage…

There are those of us
Who are searching
In silent understanding
The runes of wisdom
Still lingering
In the transcendence
Of other worlds
Possessing truths
Of immortality…

If I could just be…
To be one with the universe
And nothing else…
If I could just linger
In the sound of my own breath
For just
Without time
Without prejudice
Without conjecture
Of what is…
And what is not…
I could hear
That voice inside
That knows
What is right
And what is wrong…
The truths of our humanness…
The answer to all questions
Of immortality…
And perhaps…
In silent understanding…
I would search
No more…