Sunday, December 30, 2012


where answers are found
in swiftly rushing rivers,
slick stones line the banks,
thirsty trees line up
to drink the water.
the animals,
share the bounty.
the wind twists
and returns,
rallying green troops,
bringing the winged ones
to drink,
to feast.
frogs and 
fish and
in endless dance
until man
appropriates the view,
in all its forms,
clears some trees,
loosens soil's grasp
upon the land;
it slips away with the wind,
washes away withthe rain
until only
the deep-rooted plants
can draw the life-sustaining water.
the herbivores that come
will find less food. they move on.
The four-legged hunters will
find less prey.
winged visitors will 
find no bugs, no
no seeds taking root
in the asphalt. with its
scent stil acrid to the nose,
on the tongue.

Copyright (c) 2012 by the author



who has digitized me
has reduced me to
a bar code, 
a string of numbers
telling of my physical location--the street
number, the apartment number,
the suite number
zip plus four:
come find me.
come touch me if you dare.
come speak to me
Area code (XXX)  has changed, again,
changed again.
the physical location, too, has changed
without the burden of ownership.
wherever i travel, I am trailed by nine digits
that prove my eligibility for so many things:
citizenship, of course,
right to work,
right to be taxed,
right to be traced--endlessly
pursued by marketers 
intent on convincing me
that I need what they have to sell.
with sixteen digits embossed in plastic,
rewritten in magnetic patterns,
i purchase my daily bread, 
my freedom to travel,
my daily clutter that
consumes so much energy,
time and talents.

Copyright (c) 2012 by the author


Once the raindrop loses
Its grip on the hovering cloud,
Once the river begins to flow,
Not the tree stumps,
Not the stones,
Not the build up of silt,
Will keep it contained.
As inevitable as
The rise and set of
The son,
The tectonic movement
Of plates,
The birth and
Demise of  fires,
The coming and going
Of waves
On a beach,
The victories and
The losses of nations
At war: words
And deeds are no barrier
Between us.


(For Newtown Connecticut)

angels leaving,
assignment complete,
drain the skies of blue,
the trees of green
just a little 
as their wings fill--
they lift off.
what assignment,
over whom did they 
keep their vigil?
Lightweighted silence,
the only evidence
of their presence. 
by the power of their love,
they lift the leaden sorrow,
the molten anger,
words said and 
those omitted.
New names
with dates of departure
and arrival
freshly scrawled
in ledgers
for divine bookkeeping
purposes.--the book of life
must be maintained

Copyright (c) 2012 by the author



Practical perfection
< Reality
> Than the possibility.
There are always chinks,
Pieces missing from the human puzzle,
Scuff marks placed upon us by life's sharp edges.
Some imperfection is hard-wired
So that we learn--or know by instinct--
To find the pieces to complete the whole
In others.
Not tall enough,
Not strong enough,
Pretty enough,
Smart enough,
Not fast enough,
Patient enough,
Loud enough,
Soft enough  to 
Command attention.
Lord, let me trust
In the necessity
Of being created incomplete.

copyright (c) 2012 by the author


Stones have stories,
Never told,
Stories on top of stories
Make a wall;
held together by mortar/
by skill,
by gravity---
or by fear.
Stones flying through air
Know, but will never tell,
From whose hand they were launched
Into the world--
Across a stream,
Over a cliff,
through a window,
Or skipped over water:
One, two, three, four splashes
marking progress across a pond.
stones mark miles come, 
or left to go,
Paths to follow,
Signals of safety
Or of danger,
For those who follow trailblazers.
Turn here.
Stop here.
Stones in lines mark boundaries
Some might agree upon.  
in circles show where we 
Shall gather.
Stay in.
Stay out.
We leave messages
Without verbs or nouns,
Without a sound.
many colors,
many different values--
words of love,
heft of hate
The final stones mark
Where journey's end--
The terminus from which
There is no return trip.

Copyright (c) 2012 by the author
Here lies: