Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.

Hills giving their way to
water-made soft room for
sails all caught up in fierce
wind from an old house where
we found one still-sleeping
wish walking quietly
blown down the rivers that
pumped through our
bodies now set free to
wander afloat upon
miles of
converging
unsuppressed
joy

Cold winds blow the autumn leaf from its stand
Twisting and turning in waves of air as it slowly
Falls to the ground.
Until the mighty tree, once so full of green
Lies barren under darkening clouds.
But all is not lost, its sacrifice is not in vain, for
Even as the last leaf falls
As the final animal settles down to wait out the months
The winds are changing.
Glorious green returns and claims its home among the wood
Plants reach up to the sun
Animals crawl out of their burrows to greet the rising day

It was winter.
Now it is spring.

When it rains
You know I feel what you feel
Everything you've ever known
All your wounds that never heal

Yeah, when it rains
I feel the same
Don't let just anybody
Come take your breath away
When it rains

When it rains
You know I see what you see
All the vivid colors, shapes, and sounds
Come out and surround me

Yeah, when it rains
Don't be ashamed
You have every right to
Speak up and say your name
When it rains.

A log on the river
Time keeps on flowing
The past comes quicker
Than the future can keep growing

No more retrospective
Only blinders forward
No more fresh perspective
Only preying to an earthly lord

When the future is waiting
Nobody can stay
To maintain your daydream
Again ends the day

A fighter against the current
Gets stuck in time
A victim less prurient
Than the status quo’s kind

No longer is the present
So long is the future
Condemned to be a resident
Of a time so impure

All we do and see
Only a chip in the log
Flowing against our plea
To stop and stare agog

No more wonderment
Desire long gone for us
A race without an end
Slowly approaches the finish

But waves crash even in the river
Divine nature swaying in the balance
Fighting for our lives, we find a giver
Beaten against a timely phalanx

A river runs and grows weary
As our oars are sacrificed
A happy race no longer cheery
Our hopes and dreams put on ice

Written with my dearest Dane Johnson


This grove of insanity, perhaps it is that you wish to get lucky?
We walk hand in hand. Luck, being so subjective we forget to define.
Ultimatums come hitherto, I'm afraid your luck has run dry.
I can't buy any more time to convince you or I that someday we may see eye to eye.
My, oh my, please don't cry.

Who's really winning when everyone's sinning?
Yet the world keeps on spinning to our wrecked hearts.

I crave the fire and yet don't like to get burned.
As we undress, we softly caress our scars.
We avoid the  pain by closing our eyes,
but it's something we both can't stop feeling.
And yet we continue invariably denying.

And the silence we share speaks more words than would be divulged had we done otherwise.

The words sent in secret go unnoticed by everything, but my heart has made it difficult to look in the mirror and see the beauty of anything we ever had.

Mirrors show nothing of the pain that pictures do, because then I have to see your shining face with your sparkling eyes, always your eyes.

But you never felt the tears that fell from them. We don't know the touch of each others pain.

Your pained words take on more than you are. And yet we find peace at lust's end. And it is with that end that we are no more.

We've known all along that all we have ever wanted to be is more than the silence that echos in the sliver of space left between our fast beating hearts. I could see it in your eyes when you forgot to guard the doors in.

And now my door opens to a new light.
Silence is golden, but what was once sliver could become silver, oh so easily.

However lighthearted pennies are,
the trouble is not worth the pain.
*She smiles quietly watching him walk away from penny lane.

Winding roads envelop mornings
changing how I feel
as the sun rises
over half a million faces
all aglow.  
The air bears the scent of flowers
like those I have seen
within blue flames of truth
on the horizon of nothing more
than how your presence
seeks my attention
like falling snow.

I feel my pulse expanding
and I grow weak
as my skin glows soft
like poems
that have kissed the roses
around my thorns,
and my soul keeps the best of you
in my hands.  
My joy crashes
against  sands pure as thoughts
of the wildest forest
embracing its own lands.

Your voice finds me
with an understanding
that springs into my mind
making the ground I walk on
become a heaven
born of words.
I smile secretly, as if I  have begun
to read something
living inside a storm
rushing to be let in
and dancing on paper
to be heard.

Half a million faces
and all I see is yours,
telling me
I am the treasure you find
on those winding roads.
The air bears the scent of flowers
from fields
that continue to live
throughout the winter
warmed by blue flames of truth,
seeking my attention
like falling snow.

Soft, smooth ripples form at my arm's command.
The water is like a smooth pane of glass.
I look around and don't see any land.
This is bliss, floating, just letting time pass.
My friend bobs up and down, right by my side.
Looking like a buoy, she floats gaily.
The sun beats down, 'cause there's no place to hide.
Oh, how I wish I could do this daily.
This place is peaceful, but I want to leave.
My friend and I feel as blue as a wave.
The water stirs, and the waves start to heave.
Now, we would very much like to be saved.
But alas, now our lips are turning blue.
That's what happens when you tip a canoe.