i have this enemy
i'll kindly call me
we battle it out
continuously

not sure why i do
half the things that i do
i give up control
every time i let loose

i started out right
never crossing the line
till i selfishly caved
to i, me, and mine

now we fight back and forth
daily of course
while asking myself
could it get any worse

that's when i reply
with do it or die
with the things that i do
i keep questioning why

A mountain hemorrhages cliffs of
sunlight just outside my dark front door;
it is the fifth wonder of my universe,
a morning marvel
framed by coffee
and cigarette smoke; it is
love, with hair of lush pine needles,
and a chest like an arm of dirt:

in your too-old two old
river-bed shoes,
in your dry desert clothing,
why does the fog beat you
like an immovable heart?

How can something so old
be dying; is the sky an
unforgiving wrinkle

more canyon than harbor,
or ship without captain

are we all
all we are
at the end, or is there more?

Some will sing of Scotland,
its heather and its hills
Some will sing of sunrise,
the coming of new dawns
Some will speak of hidden gems
some of treasured pearls
But I will sing of Alba Flower
when kneeling in my prayers.

I will thank my Father God
that she came before the dawn
that in the deepest night
Alba's bright new light was born
I will thank him for the joy
of finding this precious pearl
and thank him for entrusting us
with this wee bonnie girl.

Sometimes
just the nod is enough
to acknowledge
the common struggle
and to impart
a spur -
a spur to go on