An endless ramble
Through an empty ancient wood
With your soulmate dog
On a cool morning
The universe complete

The Sourwoods sway akimbo
Beneath the windswept Pines
Oh, but to be a scampering squirrel
Joining their dance divine!

Why do we write?
Why read, why share?

Poems are stories
Stories of our terrors and triumphs
Our love and loneliness

Candles calling to each other
Allowing us to huddle in the dark

When a man comes to you
And tells you your own story
Then you will know that your sins are forgiven

Ernest Kuntz and Katherine Ketcham
The Spirituality of Imperfection
1992

The thirsty plant
Need not know
Who pours the water.

Prayers of
thankfulness
Need no deity.

The shadows creep
Out of the deep
Crawling up the shore

Golden sun
Will soon begone
Light will last no more

Frigid breeze
Slides through the trees
Stealing warmth from earth

Dark has come
Into my home
Freezing heart and hearth

Age spotted hands
Type of these lands
That none shall ever read

Yet birds still call
And sparrows fall
Like hairs upon my head

The Lake Has Many Faces

The lake has many faces
Reflecting all our moods
The clouds are full of places
The land is full of floods

The lake turns many colors
From blue to green to grey
The sky becomes another lake
Connected in some way

Like mirrors in a barbershop
One upon each wall
Sky and lake reciprocate
Reflecting one and all

The deadly dark, the lilting light
The sun, the moon, the stars
The need for speed, the crying creed
The beast, the best, the bars

Across the lake a light calls out
Begging me to come
I would if I but knew the way
I can’t find my way home

For fun some say
To pass the day
For reasons still unshown

To feel worthwhile
To cause a smile
To reap what went unsown

To ride the wind
To curse the grind
To perish all that’s lost

To play the game
To hide the shame
To never pay the cost

If all this rhyming makes no sense
Perhaps you’ve never known  
I have but one true audience
An audience of one