When will the war end
so that I can entomb these bones that were once a friend?
When will the final bullet fire
So that back to the serene that once was I can retire?
When will we say bye to anarchy for good
so that some of us instead of bombs on the scotched earth plant some food?
When will our people cease to cry
Rather than live in muffled sobs when their folk incongruously die?
When will these roundtable talks yield,
we have traumatised lives to piece together and crumbled homes to rebuild?
When will we finally understand that Muslim or Christian we are all humanity
and rather than fight, peace to weave a cosmic unity?
when will we finally illuminate the inhuman darkness
with love and oneness?
When will we change the violent trend,
when will the war end?

know this, my child:
the things that burn your eyes
will also burn your soul.

The morning breeze
Eats away at my cigarette
Before my lips even touch it.
Looks like a storm is coming,
And God I hope one is--
It would be nice to know
That someone as significant
As the planet
Is feeling the same way I am.
The morning dew
Soaks from this porch step
Onto my jeans,
And I consider all the expectations
I never met.
My fingertips turn to icicles,
Despite a light being inches away,
As I stare at the stream
And wonder if Andy really did jump that night.
I think of saying goodbye,
Running away from marrying a stranger,
Hoping to be a cobweb in somebody's life,
Catching every little thing
That floats by.
But instead here I am,
Lost in time none the less,
After all the lies I told Adam,
And wondering if I could only see the ocean,
Would he choose to forgive me.

Love* can conquer all
But so can *war
So be careful
What you wish for

I am like winter’s  bluebirds surviving
January instead of migrating
to  Guadalajara with kin

to eat  larvae & hover flowered
women with ***** feet who
breastfeed their

babies with gelatinous
eyes and coo
coo

coo, at the occasional
sight of the bluest
in flight.

The pecan fell from the tree then rolled to a stop , it's new home was between the roots and the rocks
Twas a sheltered , one of a kind bit of nutmeat
this odd pecan , trapped between becoming a meal
or buried in leaf cover , crushed by the hoof of wild
hogs or miraculously skipped over
To lay introverted among ones peers is really no
life at all
To float aimlessly on calm waters going nowhere
or to risk the waterfall leading one to places unknown
O how I wish my parents could have been tall trees
by the creek shore* ....