When the life within’s
not flowing free,
it wouldn’t matter
if you could
the attic
or the antechamber
to a height
or width
or depth
so great a stretch
as ten,
or maybe ten thousand, leagues–

There’d still
just be
no place
to breathe! . . .

what is cluttered,
clumped, compacted
to the point
where it’s been blocked
would be,
to the lock of your potential energy,
the kinetic opening key. . .

And with a turn of that,
your vision
will blink open,
lungs expand,
so, finally, you can
fully enjoy to sing
your favorite song,
as though it were
some sort
of delicious, and illicit

And you will even delve
into your inner sanctum self
to excavate,
and well unearth the verve
which grants your inhibitions sweet release,
so you can go so far
that you are apt to DANCE!
and glory in all space–
without, within–
which is flexible enough to make
your strongest voice’s note
ring sweet as the acoustic softly gathers,
but can equally
to clear and silver tones inflate
the echoes of your nuanced whispers. . .
You’ll hear.
And see.

And you’ll feel
you have nary a need to shout
and plenty room,
and reason, too,
to groove about,
and swing and sway
your very own and special way
and sense the smile
that has by now
come to your jaw
and spread your lips
at the pleasure
of the relaxing power
that you can
only know
when you are free.

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry | Leave a comment


On the lam
from the infectious buggers
that, insidious,
dig in and make themselves at home–
such confounded
and staunchly nestled squatters. . .

I’ll rest or run,
as may fit my own best guess
midway between the neatest logic
and my messy intuition,

Perhaps will suit
a funny compromise
between great distance that could shake them off
and get me free,
and firm bravery
this ground to stand
and here
make friends,
or at least,
make peace
with them.

Sometimes when life goes not quite
according to my preferred, expected tide,
either it or I
or both
seem very, very dumb. . .

But when certain facts
rise up, assert themselves,
they won’t be fought,
and I may as well succumb. . .

But that does not really
have to mean,
that the walk
along that way
can’t fascinate me in between
or that it won’t be any fun. . .

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry | Leave a comment


Grateful time. . .

the still slow slide
from day to night. . .

stars unveil
a work of art:
each point revealed
at its special moment
on the way from light to dark,

and the pictures
which thereby emerge
can be our guide,

if we so happen
to be stricken
with the traveling urge.

Posted in Autumn, Poetry, Quick reads, Seasons | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


Monday. . .
a mountain looms
so large,
beginnings fraught with fear and doom,

clouds grey and heavy
weigh things down,

I must admit,
they fall short
as omens to portend
my seconds’ passed sensation
of unnavigable gloom. . .

with a little skyward glance,
a wink at,
and back from
my heart can start to stretch. . .

its joy-capacity expands. . .

and though there may be
slogging long and sometimes slippery
over dew-slick surface
of a deep dry,
hard packed earth,
which has long gone thirsty,

the vision blooms ahead
of my return to You
and to the very best and first me. . .

and the tracks that will be made
with my feet’s tread
will lead
to wondrous, unfamiliar lands–
too miraculous
for mirrors in my marvel of a mind to glance,
or for feeling nerve ends
in my warm and palms-connected hands. . .

I look forward to the day
when I will feel
so seamlessly a part of One
and when I’ve reached
that so long-sought for place
where at last
I understand.

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The wick is quick
the days slow down
to short. . .

the candle of the sun
may seem to burn
its hot and brightest

just before
it really settles in
to take its winter night rest

and the mettle of our soul
amid the dark
will face travails
through ways and months of cold,
where we will be tested
to the mightiest. . .

the growth
that may be seen and felt
once to the other side
will prove of great import. . .

but first,
the passage we traverse
is apt to be the fright-iest.

Posted in Autumn, Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Seasons, Spring, Uncategorized, Winter | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


Bird yack
above a dry and quiet
sunny shaded urban creek. . .

they sort or make my day,
though I don’t know what they say
amid this deep and secret canyon,
for I never learned bird speak.

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When you know yourself to be
a strong and gentle
freshly flowing stream,

And your slow and deep eroding paths
glance as you flow
something much more hot than you,
and very fast,
a forceful, bafflng burst
that strews confusion
like sparks spewn from giant fireworks,

And that hot thing
aims at you its cruel bombast
and deems you dammed and stuck,
since you live and flow behind
their burning vision’s curtains’ course,
which draws to harsh collision. . .

They shame you, blame you, claim you
are nothing but a curse–
Never mind that you
have tried,
have lived
and died, almost,
to love them first. . .

Do not sit still
for their penetrating burning brand. . .
Instead. . .
feel free, stand up,
and understand
that, while you have special promises to keep,
you may just have to pass
those sparkly flashes
on the street,
so that, at last, you may
continue on your destined way
and not worry who will have to foot the bill
when there may be hell to pay. . .

Posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment