These are poems that express my spirituallity as directly as possible.
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his baleen schooling leaving roses to become ash and tears held on the desert floor as a memorial to the frustration of God.
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The crux of this Eden museum
is what to do with the rib. -
Put me in a basket.
Let me flow into the hands of mine -
Love me,” you cry. Mountains are rubbed into nothingness for holding too tightly to the sky.
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Morality demands accountability.
Technology is amoral. All things are. -
Celebrate every success and accomplishment, no matter how minor. This gives you the strength to traverse those times when nothing seems to be working.
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The Quiet begin. The jets thunder
overhead and I sit. The silence expanding, a bright -
The night opens its star frosted arms.
Catches our dreams and weaves promise. -
The Quiet begin. The jets thunder
overhead and I sit. The silence expanding, a bright -
Celebrate every success and accomplishment, no matter how minor. This gives you the strength to traverse those times when nothing seems to be working.
-
Morality demands accountability.
Technology is amoral. All things are. -
-
Love me,” you cry. Mountains are rubbed into nothingness for holding too tightly to the sky.
-
Put me in a basket.
Let me flow into the hands of mine -
The crux of this Eden museum
is what to do with the rib. -
his baleen schooling leaving roses to become ash and tears held on the desert floor as a memorial to the frustration of God.
-
The night opens its star frosted arms.
Catches our dreams and weaves promise. -
Beings of energy, / caught in a material construct ~ / held captive by a mind / our own device. / The gentle: strong / hold the Light, / open the gates to the path. / Tender to the invitation, / sensitive
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It’s in the details.
The thin strand of hair: -
The wind wickers
through leaf. Light casts -
most things worth having
are ephemeral.
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Wihakaktacepapi Wi -- Moon when the wife had to crack bones for marrow fat.
When canoe is hung, -
I hike for the wildness in the sky’s eye;
step past the time when the mind -
-
There are too many divas of agony,
where brilliance of complaint -
Touch for growth, the garden grown, this song so often
sung we forget to listen to how it goes, yet,
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Dreams are often conclusions seeking
a story that leads to the result. -
In the desert,
where nothing runs -
I come against the crashing
seas of love, where the mutable
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