With godnames on sealed lips
I traverse midweek morning,
Leading the baby day
Through silent commands.

Shaping; raising it; preparing
For the excellent hours it'll
Become.
All I am is a result of

The choices I've made since
My first one.
Now here come more.
Every breath, every heartbeat,

Every sliver of your life;
An adventure, when you
Realize your powers.
Poet.

Meditate upon the heart,
feed well the soul and mind;
give meaning to our lives,
the needful, nourished kind.

Reflect upon the heart,
the fiber of its being;
reflect upon the love,
and what the soul is seeing.

Take the Zen of silence,
give rest to troubled thought;
think on seeds of joy,
and what we've all been taught.

Free your mind from obstacles,
think on blessings we receive;
bury sorrow in its sadness,
and take not long to grieve.

Meditate upon the heart,
it mends the tortured soul;
escape the bonds of gravity,
and make heaven as your goal.

Poetry written on cave walls
Of distant planets in other galaxies
Is still comprehensible to human
Hearts.

The stars look the same
From there.

They say the American flag planted
In moon dust is nothing but a
Sun bleached white piece of cloth
By now.

All things, it seems, given enough
Time and exposure

Become requests for
Peace
In the
End.

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

A Fairy in the garden
Is a sight that will inspire

As she dances in the fish pond
And dries close to the fire

She talks and whispers to the weary plants
Then casts a spell on those hungry ants

The flowers bloom, some bow and weep
As she sends those nasty weeds to sleep

So we can sit out in the sun
And enjoy the fairy work she’s done