I was given birth to capture and freeze
The volatile moments of the world
To pick up the things from
the scatological lands
And from the pageant
To portray the elites and
downtroddens
And those on the pavement
I celebrate their happy occasions
I attend their funerals
I am bound to write their obituaries too
I am humanitarian
and the foe for the sceptres
As i throw up their    
Surreptitious objects and pleasures
I raid; i am invited
I am glad with both
I am blessed
I have become the voice of the men,
birds and beasts
I have crossed 175 years
Still i am in spring days
Nothing can damage my youth
This is the might of the pen

I am a mountain stream,
alive in the midnight sun.
No longer dormant white,
I color the rocks with dappled light
as a keepsake for the magpie and the mountain.
I must run onward
tumbling towards the tree line,
begging rocks to let me pass.

They call me Susitna,
little traveller from the North ridge.
I carry pieces of the mountain Talkeetna,
a gift for my brother, the sea,
named Knik, who sends gilled messengers
speckled silver, white, and red
to welcome me home--
the mountain streaming
to the sea.

I say to you,
I grow in your garden 
as you grow in mine.

I grant order and chaos,
no move is yet to play out.

I am All,
all in All....
beginning ending,
beginnings endings.  

Co-creating
in this non-creation,
between blurred lines.
It is there as Humankind you stand..
    
Male and  Female,    
galaxy amid galaxy.

I give you azure for pleasure,  
darkness abides in good measure
beyond this world waits great treasure.

The service I ask of you is short lived and simple..
Love,  love yourself, love one another,  .. just love.
        
I am not away on business
as some would suggest,
I have not forsaken
any of my Creation.

I am always moving in,
always moving out..
forever turning on,
forever turning off.
                
It starts and it ends and it starts again to end again,
Impotence amid Omnipotence, a Mystery never to be solved,
always to live and to die moment by moment.
                
I am beyond your Imagination,
you dwell in my imagination..        
in my image you have your Being.

You will never stand alone,
you are always a part of this dance
in the endless stream of much more.

I carry you
gentley through
soft currents
as well as rocky rapids.

My words to you
do not dwell in a book,
They are alive and bring life.


You were born to create this day,
this Day, the only thing new
under the sun..
Your freedom of will leaves you
to create evil as well as good,
your choice yet not your choice
being forged out of my choice.

There is no light at the end of the tunnel,
you are the Light passing through the tunnel.

You have forgotten who you are,
who you were, who you will be.
Fret not... I come to remind you of the abundance
that is at your fingertips. To help you to turn away
from the notion of scarcity. All you need, you have..

All you will ever need you already have.. you will it to be
At times not knowingly. I am here to move you towards clarity.
You can end the fight bleeding and on the ground
or just not get in the ring... your choice yet again.

Free will is just that..
it is not without consequence.
Ignorance of Universal law is no excuse,
the domino being pushed they tumble  into a future which is here
along side the past, only the moment... infinite.

The world is sleeping with gun
under its pillow.
Dreaming of fantasies
to shade its broken windows.
People against people,
souls against souls.

The world is sleeping in terror
beneath the moonlit night.
'Tis the coldest war of the year;
raining tears from the skies.
Yet every cloud has a silver lining;
tomorrow is never been frozen.

Explorer of ink smudges and paper cuts,
She pilots her pen along the roads of a page.
With crisscrossed legs, she travels with windswept hair,
Scrawling to him on a route of blue and the red:
"Each moment we are together,
we write a new line of this poem."

He rummages through leaves of paper,
Words scribbled upon the pieces
like freshly fallen snow upon tree branches.
He searches in vain, seeing only her emerald-brown eyes.
Finally, with words at a breakneck speed, he writes:
*"And yet, there will never be verses enough
to encompass the scope of our voyage."

Five girls speak softly in
Puzzle-pieced clouds of the morning sky---
Their words fit together slowly,
but beautifully.

Sharing handshakes of humor,
they are tranquil topaz melting white.

Dreams of love like sunsets on their lips
A question tiptoes
toward confidence
glowing on the horizon.

And a Nor'easter wind of boys blows by,
blustering with force, and no subtlety,
Unsure of their strength  
to shift and shape the climate
of the high school hallway.

Just look outside, on a spring morning,
It's obvious that clouds are fascinated by the wind.

Laughter falls in rain
From the girls, scattered like clouds.
The boys stop, drenched and confused.

Maybe I should view this pen
the way my cat sees it,
As she tries over and over
to pluck it away with her velvet paws
from my hesitant grasp,
in some game she has invented
simply to pass the morning
in joy.



----------------------------------
Haiku version:
While I see a pen
my house cat, a game of joy:
robbery with velvet paws