Those ripples
spreading hope among the waves
in torrential despair

foreboding

right behind where I toil away
with all her ships and sails
hidden in her receptacle soul

broken them rudders
we're sinking
as I hold out a palm
for some cheer
to gather. Macabre.

The Ocean, she came to me
and sat silent in the jar
not a whisper of a wave.

lives, palimpsest soul
stepwell storms
revenant, re-sonant

When people learn how
not to hate in the name of
love, Spirit breathes free.

What brings peace must first
break down resistance, comfort;
old habits die hard.

Slender, sinuous
strand sending succor, support,
soothing struggling soul.

My heart is filled with overwhelming peace
in spite of what the doctor's tests reveal;
a sense of love and caring will not cease.

For one whose life had been one of dis-ease,
where dreams died off, existence seemed unreal,
my heart is filled with overwhelming peace.

There's been no letting go, no caged release
of pent-up terror, prayers, nor appeals.
A sense of love and caring will not cease.

The demons fought for years have been appeased,
their hellish hounds no longer nip my heels.
My heart is filled with overwhelming peace.

Embraced by those whom I expected least;
misunderstandings cauterized and healed.
A sense of love and caring will not cease.

My chosen family, listen, if you please:
Concerned I am, but fear's not what I feel.
My heart is filled with overwhelming peace;
a sense of love and caring will not cease.

I'll be back when I
have a greater dream than to
live another day.

I once worked the sign
at the intersection
of Facebook and HelloPoetry.
All those years when
secure in my job,
flush with cash,
I'd not meet the eyes
of those who muttered
"thank you, sir"
on those rare occasions
when a crumpled dollar
fell from my hand into theirs.
So I now tell on myself
to bleed the shame
from the arrogance,
never knowing the courage
it takes to look the privileged
in the eyes and ask for help
until I stood on the corner
clothed only in my naked need.

where you have gone and where
the moon is
looking out my window
out at dark
confused of how the day's
sun is gone
diffused in worry and purplish
shadows of
the trees waving
goodbye

I put on socks knitted by a
Grandmother long gone
And open my windows to winter.

Fine snow like mist through a microscope
Enters and dies at the tempered hands of
Home.

I reach outside to stroke the crystal

Stream in the air,
Looking forward to sun, and the rain.
Always also the rain.

Would I could live by
what I write and what I see
each minute, each day.