There is a niche (in progress)

There is a niche
For men with beards
Bright blue eyes
And long brown hair

Where one could sit
Upon the shore
And never miss a sunset
Never miss a chance to fish
Never leave and never stay
For the shore stretches eternally each way.
Enough to wander
But too vast to know
With space to explore
A perfect place to call home.

There is a niche
For young men
Who are old like the moon
With souls like the trees.

Where a soft breeze blows
Music through the grass
Where silence is sweet
And the days are long.
A tidy little island of calm
In a vast cosmos of chaos
Which one could claim as their own.
A place for the heavy heart
The sleepless night
And weary hands.
To be set aside in lieu
Of the smell of sage and sweet grass
Of sunlight on your skin
And the gentle kiss of morning’s dew.


Rambling 1

I just drop-kicked the bucket called life
Cut through the noise
with a silent knife
I washed away the blood
Of every wounded stone
In rivers of wild flowers
With sunlight soap.

Nothing’s ever straight or round
Black or white
Gray or brown
We live in such narrowly defined
cages of existance
gilded in time
locked tight with guilt, or fear.

To truly look, is not to see
But to understand something
Its infinite possibilites
To touch the cool depth of it
And burn with its inner flame
To accept every flaw
as integral to individual perfection.

Pour out your bucket
let go of what you know is true.
Open your eyes and LOOK around you.
Look into me, as I look through you.


Ode to Words

What fickle slippery things
They bend and twist
changing subtley as neighbors are added.
One moment,your meaning is quite clear
And the next it’s slipped away
into the heavy air.

These words!
Not only are they eels upon the grass
But music in their own right.
affected by
By tone!
Some words just roll like hills designed by the mouth of some leadcrazy smith
Some words are sharp
Barbs and Whips.

Better yet, some words hide a secret self
unspoken until leaned upon
by some far too forward fellow
with visions of you two
desperate to share them with you.

Words can lay bare a soul
Cover deep wounds.
Words weave lies
They also weave truth.
But like knives
Clumsily handled they can cut
or as glass underfoot – crush.
But sometimes
Words break a smile
Through the tears
They birth laughter
They convey empathy.

Such words!
Which can bring sunshine to the darkness
And soothe or rile the soul.
Godly in their consistent, fluid ways.

Restless Wonder

IMG_20160514_134242040_HDRRestless wonder
Born of the wind
And the wild things
How you blow and you bluster.

The stillness of your surface
Belies turbulent depths
Your rough edges hide
The brittleness of your bones.

But oh to ponder
On such a restless wonder
Relentless in your wandering
Endless is your wanting.

To touch each leaf
And caress each lock of fair hair
To sing in sigh soft whispers
And to howl every despair.

Your path is never trodden
But often traveled
Your soul is never satisfied
But your mind is ever still.


We are born into this world naked and squalling.
Cleansed of the choices of our previous exploits
Upon this endless wheel we walk.
But nature is born with its memory intact.
She is born in the hush of morning dew
In the violence of the storm
Knowing full well her past present and future.
To be born of nature, as a human – is a curse and blessing both.
You grow wild and roving
Your branches spread high
Your existence sprawls endlessly
For you have always been, and will always be.
A piece of you remembers the soft bare feet padding through the underbrush
The stink of human suffering
And the whispered lies from the mouths of men.
Even young trees feel old.