A crow’s frightened unsure eyes
look toward smaller black birds
chasing him
from one branch to another.
He flees, wishing he were a dove.

In autumn the trees sway low
and crickets sing bass.
My soul remembers something
old and cavernous.
The leaves fall like shrouds.
The birds are too occupied to sing
in the last summer days.
The earth whispers:
Now.

No single thing stands alone
but has a link, at least,
with something else.
The key is the connection.
But links can’t stand apart
except as clues of law.
That’s the beginning
not the end.
Without law there is no chaos

Which came first is the question
of questions
and depends on what is meant
by first.
Is it beginning, i.e., what precedes,
or the source, i.e., what determines?

Get out the dogmas.
All skeptics expect them.
Between knowlegde and belief
the will intrudes.
Make a choice
or avoid the question.
The world must have order
by force if not by mind.

The law need not precede chaos,
but it must stay it.
If there is a greater law than this,
a law of being
not of necessity,
it is in a grain of sand
rather than a book of statutes.

While the state trooper approached my car door from behind, a voice inside me whispered:
“Good morning fathead, have you had your donut yet?”
As I pushed the down window button, the trooper said,
“May I see your driver’s license, owner’s and insurance cards?”
“Certainly , officer”, I said, “Is there some problem?”
“I clocked you at 75 miles per hour. Do you know what the speed limit is?”
“The last time I checked, it was 65,” I offered.
“There’s a sign 500 feet back that says 55.  And do you see the sign ahead?”,
was his retort.
“Yes, I see it says 55, too”, I confessed.”
“You can read”, he asked?
I replied, “Yes, of course.”
He handed me a Bible and said, “Then read Psalm 90, verse 12.”
Astounded at his unexpected and strange behavior,
I opened the book and found the words: “Teach us to number our days aright,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
I looked up, but there was no trooper, or police car.
I then noticed that the book I was holding was my own, little used, Bible
with my license, owner’s and insurance cards tucked neatly inside.
I continued on my way to my appointment, arriving a little late.
Before arriving I noticed a horrible accident just ahead, involving a truck and two cars.
I later learned that the truck had gone out of control,
and that all occupants in the vehicles were killed.
As I passed the accident, the voice inside me thanked the trooper for his visit,
whoever he was.

Lord, let me have an independent spirit,
but nurture and form it.
Let my poems reconcile
my darkness and your light.

Let me only make what you create.
But let me be original like you.

Let my poems be new,
but old like your lilies.
Let them be hard surfaced,
but deep like your sapphires.
Let my poems be well crafted,
but truthful like your prophets.

Let my poems strike at what is wrong,
but let them heal the soul
like your grace.

A boy stands before the ocean
with a stick, and a hook on a string.
He casts his hook to catch a whale
a whale as big as the moon.

The ocean is great and dark.
It’s where the great whale lives
The boy waits for the whale to appear
in the heavy rolling waves

The whale sees the boy
standing on the shore,
a boy as small as the moon.
The whale laughs and asks:

Can you catch a whale with a hook?
He turns toward the deep.
The boy returns home
and dreams of the moon.

He looked downcast,
long face, sad eyes.
He said: “I’ve nothing to live for:
I take pills and sit,
Tell me a funny joke.”
I said: “I can’t tell a joke
very well.”
So he tells one,
in poor taste.
I laugh to be polite.
He looks downcast,
long face, sad eyes.
Cancer took him,
but smallness of heart never did.