It is so vexing
To achieve what you wanted
And not to know it.

Of all our fellow creatures
We really have to say
That the best are not the preachers
But those who light the way.

You ask me if I still remember what you meant to me
in those brightly golden days
that filled tumultuous lives with wondrous hopes,
undaunted by the death and dark destruction
that existed far removed from
our immediate ken.

And now, and now in these benighted
topsy-turvy times when love lies bleeding
in the urban battlefields
that are our personal birthright,
and our inheritance of that early
insouciant disdain.

Will we still remember fantasies and dreams
transmogrified into harsh reality,
or hopes that never were fulfilled.
With nothing left but fading scraps
of paper or a tape or two
and no instrument to play them on.

I love a poem.
One that rhymes.
But must admit that
there are times
When I go a bit too far
From the sublime to the bizarre.

I love a poem.
One that scans.
But must confess
That I may over-stress
in metric heat
the use of feet.

I love a poem
and feel better for
the use of
subtle metaphor.
But egoism’s
not the same as symbolism.

I love a poem
but cannot agree
that I delight
in imagery.
While rhythm I’m afraid
leaves me in the shade.

Sometimes, surrendering  has nothing to do with weakness, and everything to do with strength.

We give up and walk away not because we want others to acknowledge our value, but because we finally appreciate our own worth.

Success is not judged
By what you got out of it
But what you gave up


Be kind to yourself
And be kind to all creatures
As well as the earth


Disputes with loved ones
Should be held to the present.
Don’t bring up the past.


Be considerate.
Do not respond in anger
But maintain your calm

Not to cause concern,
She moves stealthily through life.
But purr-posefully.