Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,

and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.

How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"

We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!

So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.

Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!

We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?

The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?

My best beloved,
I don't know how
to comfort you.
The words
"I love you"
aren't enough
to heal you,
no matter how
deeply they are felt
no matter how often
they are spoken.

I assure you
in this quantum reality
that what you focus on,
what you feed,
what you nurture
will grow, increase
and flourish.
What you starve
will weaken,
shrivel, and die.

What do you really want to experience?
You don't have to be a prisoner
of the idea that you
have been irrevocably damaged
by events in your childhood.
You can, if you choose,
resolve and commit
to choose gratitude
for the goodness
in your life.

Happiness is not pretending
that you don't have
reason for sorrow.
It's choosing to feed your
heart and mind
on that which gives you joy.
We each can dwell on the good until
it becomes us.

There is no reward for
dwelling on the past.
Remember Ovid's words
from your fb page?
"Persist and be resolute.
Someday this sorrow
will serve you"

I got the image of a swimmer
making a turn at the end
of the pool and pushing off
with a strong kick.
Thus you can kick depression hard
and use it to help you
be even clearer about propelling
yourself forward,
creating the life you want,
the inner landscape that delights you.

What if
EVERYthing that has happened to you
has been for your good?
Making you stronger, deeper, wiser,
more compassionate,
empathetic, and kinder?

Maybe you and I
and everyone here
are still in our
spiritual infancy.
We can barely grasp
the concept that
we create our own
reality, filtering
the overwhelming
input of data through
our learned preconceptions,
completely blocking out everything
that "does not compute."

Yogananda, who was no bullshitter, said,
"Circumstances are always neutral.
It is the happy or sad attitude
of the mind that makes them seem
either good or bad."

Perfer et obdura.

Writing poetry is like peeling off sunburned skin:
you tease off the biggest patch you can find
yeah, there! where the itch drove you out of your mind
then next where the skin gets thinner, and clings
what comes off starts shredding, and won't say a thing.
You peel what you can and scrub off the rest
(the thinner the skinner the obscurer it gets)
your poem is what's still burned into your chest

is an armor
that gives a believer
faith that Someone
has a long-range
plan

Your soul
knows
the way Home.
O prodigal child,
why must you roam?

He who dwells in the secret
     place of the Most High
shall abide under the
     shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, "He is my
     refuge and my fortress;
My God, in Him I will trust."

Surely He shall deliver you
     from the snare of the fowler
and from the perilous
     pestilence,
He shall cover you with
     His feathers,
and under His wings
     you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your
     shield and buckler.
You shall not be afraid of
     the terror by night,
nor of the arrow that flies by day,
     nor of the pestilence that
walks in darkness,
     nor of the destruction that
lays waste at noonday.

A thousand may fall at your side,
     and ten thousand
at your right hand,
     but it shall not come near you.
Only with your eyes
      shall you look,
and see the reward of the wicked.

Because you have made the Lord,
     who is my refuge,
even the Most High, your
     dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
     nor shall any plague come
near your dwelling;
     for He shall give His angels
charge over you,
     to keep you in all your ways.
In their hands they shall
      bear you up         ,
Lest you dash your foot
     against a stone.
You shall tread upon the
     lion and the cobra,
the young lion and the serpent
     you shall trample underfoot.


Because he has set his love
     upon Me, therefore I
will deliver him;
     I will set him on high, because
he has known My name.
     He shall call upon Me, and
I will answer him;
     I will be with him in trouble;
I will deliver him and honor him,
     with long life I will satisfy him,
and show him My salvation.

Reading your poems:
peeling the sweet onion i've
already eaten.

I met June in my December.
Her touch thawed me:
all my flowers bloomed,
birds sang, full-throated,
frozen streams flowed anew,
Bubbling and chuckling.

Into my gated garden
we strolled,
hand in hand
beneath the cherry blossoms,
heads close,
sharing one scented breath.

On the apex
of the arched bridge
over the pond
we kissed, lingering
white blossoms
cascaded on our hair.

Pausing,
we gazed down
at the jeweled carp
gliding beneath the surface,
seeing only one rippled reflection,
not mine.

Not my stop, but
     I take your hand
still the thought of
     pull you with me
leaving makes my
     kiss you fiercely
heart feel hot – to cross
     together
beneath the buzzing light,
     escaping
silently into this crisp night.

The fruits
     of living
take time
     to ripen.

Everybody's heard about those rose-colored glasses
the ones that make the world look sweet.
If I had to choose between roses and RayBans,
the roses would win in a heartbeat.

Whatever you look for is what you will find:
cold and dark or sunny and bright.
I'll take the rose lenses every time,
to see my world full of light..

In the shattered,
smoldering wreckage
of our love
I seek unceasingly
for that black box
that holds intact
my golden heart

we may be, but
I feel our hearts
drumming
in rhythm
wherever I go

She chose silence, her
heart too heavy for words
with broken dreams like
flightless birds

Will it surprise you
to know I've been with you
all these many days we've been apart?
Or have you felt my soul reaching out
to draw you close and hold you in my heart?

Time after time I have closed my eyes
to shut away the world and see your face.
Have you seen my eyes as they have sought for yours
to drink from them your light and loving grace?

Oh, how you water my soul with your presence!
Like a desert I burst into bloom!
When, like a rainbow, your smile shines upon me,
banished from my sky is all gloom.

Now joy reigns and tears are forgotten.
All loneliness melts into light.
Now I am sure that through you She has touched me--
the Mother of all that is bright.

Since my mother died
I have lost both
my clothes
and skin.

Every gust of feeling
blows straight into
my torn paper heart,
makes my bones
rattle.

Friends, your beautiful poems
like huge looming waves
threaten now
to overwhelm,
crush
sink
my tiny boat,
so frail
so fraught
so mortal.

I read
and bail
for all I am worth
beset by the image
of the gypsy moth
airborne
in that last instant
before the fire
consumes it
utterly.

Sing me a song of the sound of starlight
casting a spell on this warm summer night.
Sing me the song of the night birds that fly
reflecting the light of the stars in their eyes.

Sing me a song of thee, sweet summer air,
bearing the promise of love like a prayer.
Sing me the song that the nightingale sings,
this song from the heavens that gives my heart wings.

The lake catches moonlight on each tiny wave,
starlight and moonlight sparkle and play
When the breeze pauses its breath you can see
caught in the stillness: eternity.

Waving your leaves oh my friends you tall trees
sing in the chorus of love here with me
Chorus of wonder, of joy and delight,
we worship our Maker all through the night.

Sing on, sing on,
sweet nightingale!
You fill my night
with flowing song.
Enraptured, I
will drink of you
'til moon and stars
are gone.
oh yes!
'til all the stars
are gone.

The heart is a harp with trembling strings
standing in the open air
the breeze may come and play a song
for the listening soul to hear

I'll sing my song to you my friend.
Will you sing yours to me?
If you'll teach me how it goes,
I'll sing a harmony.

A song that's passed from friend to friend
flows from heart to heart , a stream
that gathers strength 'til it becomes
an anthem to our hopes and dreams.

We'll sing a world in peace at last,
free from hunger, hate and fear
we'll sing our tortured planet whole
the waters sweet and the air so clear.

Seems to me that peace will come
as more and more we learn to find
by doing as we'd be done to
we sing the very song of life.

Healing songs can fill the world
and every creature find relief,
just sing along to love's sweet song,
and you'll become the peace.

for the first touch of
our cosmic lips
as the galactic melodies
of
"you" and "I"
begin to intermingle
creating the
first movement of
intergalactic symphony
"Us."

Some poets
   write poetry--
others
   create it.
  
But you
   breathe love
into poetry.

Keep me in your heart, oh Mother, carry me in your arms.
let me do no wrong, Mother,
keep me from all harm,
keep me from all harm.

Carry your words in my mouth, oh Mother,
keep your thoughts in my mind.
Hold your desires in my heart.
let them be one with mine, Mother
let them be one with mine.

Make me, Mother like a dove, make me white as snow.
make of me your song of love
and send me there below,
Mother, send me there below

Send me flying over the land,
send me over the sea,
send me to sing to someone lost
the song you sang to me,
the song you sang to me.

I'll sing your song of endless love,
deeper than the sea,
your song that heals all broken hearts,
the one that set me free,
the one that set me free.

she texts me
from the kitchen:
inviting me to share
a breakfast of eggs.
whose?
i wonder,
idly speculating
is this a come-on?
i'm sure of it when
she follows up with:
i'm open to pregnant conversation
sunny side up

Baby it's 3:45
baby I'm barley alive
surviving on muesli
and oatmeal and such
"That's cereal drag,"
her laconic reply

When forced to use the public loo,
there's something you must always do:
before you sit to do your biz,
make sure there toilet tissue is.

I'm grateful
for the lessons
my failures
have taught me
to refine my
designs

There's a different muse that you can use
who helps stuck writers with the blues.
She wears black vinyl, comes on strong,
and loves to party all night long.

Her pink hair's spiked, her collar too. She
pops her gum while she talks to you.
Her music's loud, and so is she,
she inspired "Bad Company."

She loves to belt, though she can't sing,
she's got a song for everything.
Her specialties are punk and rap--
she'll scream you one in nothing flat.

Just don't ask for love songs, or
she'll flash her tat: reads "Love's a *****!"
Romance? No, she's got no time.
She'll sing you, "Love's no friend of mine:"

"I've been mistreated and abused,
it's love that makes me sing the blues.
I don't want no love no more--
when love walks in, I'm out the door!"

So helpful, when you're feeling that
love's appealing as a road-killed cat.
A real romantic antidote, she'll
sink your boat, if it's still afloat.

I can only give you love that lasts forever,
and a promise to be near each time you call,
and the only heart I own,
for you and you alone,
that's all,
that's all.

I can only give you country walks in springtime,
and a hand to hold when leaves begin to fall,
and a love whose burning light
will warm the winter nights,
that's all,
that's all.

There are those, I am sure, who have told you
they would give you the world for a toy.
All I have are these arms to enfold you,
and a love time can never destroy.

If you're wondering what I'm asking in return, dear,
you'll be glad to know that my demands are small.
Say it's me that you'll adore,
for now and evermore,
that's all,
that's all!

The birds of the air are my brothers,
all flowers my sisters,
the trees are my friends.
All living creatures,
mountains and streams
I take unto my care.

For this green earth is our mother.
Hidden in the sky is the spirit above.
I share one life
with all who are here.
To every one I give my love,
to everyone I give my love.

The Giver is greater than all of His gifts,
The Giver is greater than all of His gifts.
The Giver is greater than all of His gifts,
so come on,
give the Giver your love!

The sun by day, and the moon by night,
a billion stars twinkling oh, so bright!
They're only messengers of His light,
so come on,
give the Giver your love!

The love of the father and the mother and friends
is part of His love that will never end.
So through them all, pour out your love to Him,
Yeah, come on,
give the Giver your love!

There are places I remember
from the time we spent together there,
filled with memories of our loving,
when our laughter warmed and filled the air.
Now I go there when I'm empty
and the pain is more than I can bear,
and I pretend we're still together
in the memories that we share.

Lonely days, so full of echoes
from the voices of the cherished past---
I call your name, I taste your kisses--
I believed our love would surely last.
Again I hold you, oh so tender
at the dimming of the summer's day--
I feel your arms around me ,
and I still can hear you say:

"You're my angel, you're my spirit:
my sun and moon, my everything!
I've never known such loving,
how you fill my heart and make me sing."
And I believed you, how I loved you,
it's so hard to go and leave you there
when I come back from the feeling
of the memories we share.

"I'm a mermaid," she said as she kissed me.
Ah! her kiss made me drunker than wine.
I'd been longing for the ocean in her blue eyes,
it was calling to the diver in mine.
She whispered, "I've got just a little bit of magic
from my home in this big blue lagoon--
join me tonight for a swim in the moonlight,
I'll make some magic for you."

The full moon was rising in Paradise
as I made my way down to the shore.
There I dove right into the water,
I just couldn't stand it anymore.
Here she comes, swimming up to meet me--
wraps her self around me like a glove.
As long as I live I never could tell
the magic of a mermaid in love.

Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
sharing your mysteries with me.
When I'm with you I can breathe underwater
and swim beside you under the sea.
If I could stay here under the surface,
I would never go back to dry land!
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
Meet me here whenever you can.

The spell would be broken by sunrise,
but her "little bit of magic" was no lie.
We soared, freed by love, underwater,
free as two birds in the sky.
All too soon the sky began lightening,
the moon and the stars took their flight.
Our kisses were mingled with tears at the shoreline
where we promised to meet every night.

Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
sharing your mysteries with me.
When I'm with you I can breathe underwater,
and swim beside you under the sea.
If I could stay here under the surface,
I would never go back to dry land!
Goddess of the crystal blue ocean,
make me a real merman.

The gentle drawl of Guy Clark's voice
beckoned me from sleep,
saying that when his father died
he'd found no tear to weep.

It wasn't that his dad was mean,
nor that he didn't try,
Guy couldn't find a worthy tear--
he wasn't yet ready to cry.

The blade was broken off the knife
a half inch from the tip.
He could almost feel its  jagged edge,
recalling that camping trip

His dad had let him take the knife
to a Boy Scout Jamboree
it was there he broke the blade tip off
throwing at a tree

That knife had served at daddy's side
when he went off to war,
saving his life in combat.
Of that he'd say  no more.

His father never said a word--
put the broken knife away.
It rested in a dresser drawer
until his dying day.

It was only when Guy's hand had found
and closed around the handle
that he knew, amid the sudden tears
Dad had loved him more than Randall.

of your eyes
spoke to the ears
of my heart

The way waves whisper
the way the sand answers
the way that we
make love