Using words to describe the elements of our lives is useful and allows for a practical and detailed understanding, but to delve deeper into the emotional aspects of our triumphs and challenges, our passions and pursuits, we need a more creative and nuanced medium. Poetry is an ideal way to portray these aspects of our lives in words.

The Kid
Chaos of Life
In an Age
The Road
Through the Din
Within and Without
The Real You
Through and Through
Many Paths
The Best Part
Mister Porter
The View from the Cliff
Chesapeake Morning
Another Cup
The Truth is Elusive
The Journey
Top of the Hill
A Part of Her
Common Ground
The Realm
Not Now
My Next Saturday
My Triumphant Three
A New Day Will Dawn
For a Time
Only the Beginning
Our Wings, Ourselves
Reality of Two
They Come and They Go
Whole New Worlds
The Voice that is Now
My Life Aware
A Time Out
A Gift That is Me
The Other
The Choice




The Kid

December 2021

The Kid

here he was
not great but ok

he wasn’t a concern,
shy, awkward, yes, but fine
he was an average student
he was an average athlete

he had friends but only of convenience
he even had girlfriends, but they never lasted long

one kid in particular sought him out
maybe legit, maybe he was an easy mark
he wasn’t crazy about hanging with this kid
the kid scared him
he had violence just under the surface

but the kid had energy, an energy he had never seen before
it brought him out of his shell of fear
it allowed a break from his paralyzing shyness
with the kid, he could be violent too

violence was not an aspiration, it was an escape
it was an alternative, not a destination

he toyed with it at first, in his head and in the real world
the victim became the bully

suddenly it became critical that he stayed with the kid
he had to do what the kid did
he had to impress the kid

then came the day
he didn’t know it was coming
probably the kid didn’t either

there they were and the kid had the spark of an idea
he held back at first, it was crazy, but the plan was in motion
the kid went first, missing wildly, then it was his turn
he hesitated and the kid pounced
now, right now

then it all went black
and it all became clear
all at the same time

Art Credit: Jorm Sangsorm



Chaos of Life

Chaos abounds
and in the midst
My mind and heart
try to stay true

Who I am is
not what i see
not what I hear
not what I perceive

I am apart
and only let in
what I want near
what I want to feel

My sanctum sanctorum
My holy place of my holy place
My psyche of my self
My true self

I ardently defend
this special place
with logic and reason
with practiced serenity

Those who attack
are not the enemy
but often what they bring
is what I must repel

Their attack is not
an intentional assault
If anything it is meant
as benign or better

The chaos of life
just everyday turmoil
Dramas and slights
thoughtless at worst

But their impact is serious
and can damage my spirit
which can injure my soul
If given free reign

So diligent in defense
I stand at the bastion
I repel the invaders
In war I find peace

And peace will endure



In an Age

I have not seen you in an age
Time marches onward and
drags me kicking and screaming
It takes me away, it takes me from you

I remember your face, your voice
I remember your mind
I remember your eyes
But my memory fades with each day

Our connection remains
I feel it daily, your pull
It holds me fast
Thinking of you, I fall yet again

Your absence is a hunger
It is suffocating
It is agonizing
And it is always with me

I have your picture
but the image and you
disconnect over time
The picture is not you

I have your words
but their meaning fades
as the distance grows
till they lose their meaning

I have your memory
but a little more of it
leaks out every day
till it is gone

I have not seen you in an age
Will I see you again?
Will I regain what is lost?
Time marches onward



The Road

The road is relentless
It starts with infinite hope
and no information
And the road continues

At the beginning of the road
I travel with guides
They keep me and direct me
Then I travel alone

I come to a rough stretch
A rough road with rough characters
I try to get around, but the road goes through
I continue on the road—bloodied but moving

I come to a featureless stretch
On and on it goes, seemingly forever
I’m overcome with soul sucking sameness
And the road continues

Then the road becomes exciting—I’m joined
by others and we travel the road together
The road and my fellows are a joy
And the road continues

Then I’m with a single traveler
She gives me confidence where I had none
She boosts me up when I was down
We travel the road together

As we get to another part of the road
The road and my fellow traveler change
The road is fraught and toxic
Then I travel alone

Other travelers come and go
I find my stride and travel well
I seek and find like travelers
And the road continues

I travel with this one and that one
I travel with them and alone
I travel far on the road
And the road continues

I’m tired of traveling
I’m tired of the road
I’m tired of the travelers
I’m tired

And the road continues



Through the Din

All around, it’s inescapable—the massive tide
of people astride the throbbing, pungent flow
Opinions fly with no meaning or connection
each alone with no affection or purpose plain

Walking among the faces, not blank but alive
but I can’t arrive at more than surface chatter
or a rancid flow of hate or fear—a pushing away
not from the fray, but from humanity itself

Then through the din, one comes in with great need
for a friend. Her eyes plead as she talks around
without touching on her obsession but general pain
By and by she deigns to tell the story of her distress

A neighbor, not old but not young, who was put upon—
his desire gone to continue in his passion and calling
Through his frustration he pleads for perception—
our joint conception of the life he chose

Periodic connections that break through the fog
and may be a prologue for a life more real
Living as a community with solid links
with people in sync with each other and the world.



Within and Without

The within is here, and I can see
I see how you react to the without
You misinterpret
You misunderstand

Not your fault, but not mine
The without has his own identity
and people interact with him
as if he was not the face of the within

The within is always here—
sometimes frustrated,
sometimes bemused,
but always present

The whole person sometimes comes
Making an appearance
when the time is right
When circumstances coalesce

The within and without as one
When the whole person appears
It is a rare time—
a special time

I try to notice it—keep it,
cherish it
But it goes as it came
Suddenly and without warning

So people see the without
But they don’t know
My shallowness is shallow
My depths hidden under a veneer

Of awkwardness
Of disinterest
Of drunkenness
Of self-absorption

But the within is here—
watching, listening, looking
The within is here
The within is waiting



The Real You

You are here
but I see someone different
Something different—
perfect, exciting, unreal

What I’ve created from you
is not you
Looks like you, sounds like you
But is not true to you

What I expect
is not fair to you
You never pretended
or wanted to be her

There is no her
There is you
In all your glory
With all your quirks

I still yearn for her
This notion of brilliance
This personification of happiness
Her presence is strong

And she is real in my head
More real than reality
More driving than hunger
More damaging than love

She doesn’t exist in the world
but I still yearn for
the real world phantasm
who haunts my dreams and my days

But I have you
and the memories with you
and how you’ve changed me
The real you




I am here
Nothing else, but I appear
Awake and aware
I’m not fully prepared
and so I lay still

I am restlessness
Not energy, more like an itch
Inevitable and Insistent,
loud and persistent
and so I give in

I am up
Not ready, but present
Anxious and dazed
my eyes, they are glazed
and so I begin

I am moving
I’m early, but late
Rushing but slowly
bewildered and lowly
and so this is it

I am spent
Lack of sleep has caught up
Bone weary, I stare
Not wholly aware
and so I just sit

I am finished
Uninspired, but over
The merciful end
the day will descend
and so I retire

I am tired
Rest, and to sleep
But then I’m despairing
my eyes open and staring
And so I lay still



Through and Through

Woke up feeling good
Not just good,
but a through and through,
bullet proof, mile high good

I’m smiling, not physically,
but outward all the same
My whole self is smiling—
a smile from within that can’t be contained

The weather is happy with me
Not boring sunny happy weather
But celebratory, windy,
kick it up happy weather

It’s a great day
and the day and me are in synch
The plans don’t matter
It can be anything, it will be good

There’s a glow
It’s in me and with me
It hits those that come near me
It can’t be ignored

I know it won’t last
I’ll get back to the normal ups and downs
But for now, I’m feeling good
And I’ll stay with it till its done



Many Paths

I hear it
In her words and in her face
I want to. I need to. I will.

She alludes and hints
Finally, she states
She tells all, in one outpouring
I try to listen and absorb

I want to fix it.
I want to make it right
But there is nothing to fix
She has only to travel down her path

Her path isn’t easy
But she knows what it is
If it is truly there, she must take it
She must find the courage

There are many other paths
None of them wrong
But all of them fraught
Least resistance is chief among them

We engage
I try to be supportive, helpful
I try to be wise, and comforting
Ultimately, I am nothing

In her life
I am a signpost on her path
Pointing her down the path
Directing her onward

But she knows
She already knew
And so she goes
And I watch her go




I go and look for it
Excited, eager, I rush off
but then the work begins
And my exuberance turns to intensity

I am diligent
I lay the groundwork
All the pieces are in place
And I begin

For brief moments,
I catch a glimpse
It is there
I can feel it

It’s so close
I can smell it
We are in the same place
So close

I have it,
then I don’t
It’s there,
and then it’s not

I lunge
I have it!
No, not it
Not yet

I step back and regroup
I assess the setting
I see where I am—
where I need to go

Then I am there
On top of it
Everything present
Everything perfect

I have it
This time for real!
It’s here, in my hands
I’ve done it

I go and look for it…



The Best Part

I’m free!
No demands but my own
Just me on my throne
I’m doing whatever comes into my head

No one to ask
What we’re doing tonight
It’s me that is right
If I want, I’ll just lay in bed

I do that for a time
But as time lingers on
I feel that I’m drawn
to people I don’t much care who

Someone to chat with
But just for a minute
and then when we’re finished
I remember that I’m free anew

Time by myself
It’s a double edged sword
I’m thrilled then I’m bored
But I remember that I’m with me

As time lingers on
I remember I’m not alone
I’m with someone I’ve known
since my soul began to see

And then I’m really free
and I treat with respect
and truly connect
with whom I spend my days

And as the days linger
and I spend some more time
with the soul that is mine
Only the best part of me stays



Mister Porter

A tradesman, called to do a job
A first glance all wrong
Loud, drunk, scruffy, and undependable
An oik, a redneck, and a buffoon

Preconceived notions kick in hard
The truck, the sleeveless ripped t-shirt,
“Riding around and having a few beers
on a beautiful Saturday” was what he was doing

Then I notice the energy
It’s inescapable and contagious
I didn’t notice at first, but he spreads
happiness—that is his real trade

You can’t have an encounter with him
and not come away happier
He finds joy in life and he won’t take
no for an answer

In the first few moments with him
my guard is up, but he easily strips it away
What you see is what you get—
nothing more and nothing less

Oh, he is certainly a challenge
He’s overwhelming
The flow never stops—
no breaks to move on

But nothing I could move on to
would be better
I become better—more open,
more trusting, happier. Just better.

Mister Porter will not be remembered
He is changing the world, but receives not credit
He builds walls with stone and brick
He builds a better world with who he is



The View from the Cliff

From a place of safety
to a free fall
a “must have it all”
I become lost

A false sense of security
and a harmless dabble
becomes a ravenous gorge
and I have no control

A walk on a beautiful day
I’m looking at the sun, the view
then rocks move under me
and I’m over the cliff

No warning that could help
It’s a lie!
I walked to the cliff!
I came near the edge!

In the throes of the gorge
there is no joy
there is no pleasure, no hidden treasure
just insatiable need

The line between
a taste and a gutful
doesn’t exist, there’s only grist
but in the end, no flour

In the aftermath
the shame, the hidden blame
I cringe and regret
but too soon I forget

Vows I make anew
An approach with a system
and I get back on the bike
to ride again, the path ahead

But I know
where the path goes
where the river flows
and I see again the view from the cliff



Chesapeake Morning

Like the waves dancing among the rip rap
I am not rushed.
I know the current of the day will arrive,
but it’s not here yet.

A hot day, but in the early morning,
the heat has not yet come.
I know it will be beastly,
but now it’s comfortable.

The morning breeze brings the scents of the bay
and feels good on my skin.
The afternoon thunderstorms are coming,
but they may pass us by.

The cicadas drone their morning messages,
but none of them for me.
They will be screaming in time,
but for now there is calm.

Mourning doves coo
their calm repartee.
My phone will light up,
but for now it is black.

My coffee is hot,
and not too strong.
My evening thirst will come,
but I’m in control now.

A moment of stillness
in a turbulent life.
The life will be calling,
but for now there is peace.



Another Cup

The day begins, with a scent most fragrant
that pulls me from the depths of sleep.
A promise of, the day to come,
in ground beans and hot water steep.

Another cup of the magic elixir,
as I begin to earn my keep.
It fills me with the spark of life,
and helps me sow the crop I reap.

Then I get moving and as I do
my body burns the essential me.
The water of which I am made
I replenish with a thirsty glee.

Then the meat of the day has come and
I find I need a drink more pure
that helps me to think and forge ahead
while calming me with a distinct allure.

And when I cross the line that divides
the working day from the day that’s mine
I celebrate with grains fermented and
relish in my family shrine.

Then a cork is popped with dinner
as we recount our adventures that day
while sipping the fruit of the vine
as we while the night away.

And finally the day is done
and one more splash of wine distilled
the brandy sipped in deep reflection.
A perfect day—I am fulfilled.



The Truth is Elusive

The truth is elusive, if I’m being honest.
It’s something that we can aspire to I’m told.
But if we adhere to this to this abstract idea,
we may just end up with more than we can hold.

Of course it’s a rule, a commandment, a law,
yet everyone does it—don’t tell me they’re not.
But not every lie, is as bad as the others,
and sometimes the truth is more hurtful and fraught.

Not all my lies are harmful or selfish
Many are only a painless way through
Some are told to hide a truth I don’t want
Others to spare feelings of a friend true

But where is the line and when should I cross it?
When does the truth matter less than my need?
If I blur the line between truth and deceit,
when do my lies start to damage my creed?

Ultimately truth is an ideal that’s wanting.
It’s not absolute—it depends on the scene.
And lies can be as noble as any truth
And get us to a frame of mind that’s serene.

When I am pondering stretching veracity
When an untruth pops into my head
I ask myself what I am trying to accomplish,
and whether it’s helpful with welfare widespread.



The Journey

It starts as an spark
below the level of awareness.
It spreads to become an energy,
a restlessness.

It enters conscious awareness,
and spreads to the physical.
It takes on an urgency
and wheels begin turning, planning.

Awareness leads to action—
Planning becomes execution.
I woo. I seduce.
Ideas become reality.

And then I am a participant—
a giver and receiver.
It takes over everything:
mental, physical, spiritual.

My brain is on fire, my skin electric.
I transport to a different plane.
We exist separately from the world—
a universe of two unto ourselves.

The final crescendo comes
and the new universe explodes,
and in doing, destroys its own existence,
with only vestige tendrils remaining.

I bask in the remnants and the memories.
I exist in a glorious fog.
I return—slowly, imperceptibly, and finally
It is over, I am returned.




I want more of it.
It’s just beyond my reach, but I know it’s there.
I see evidence all around,
it’s here and it abounds.
I just have to find it.

First I have to figure out what it is.
It’s something I’ve always wanted.
For as long as I remember,
to make the world surrender,
and give it to me.

I’ve had it in my hands,
But it always slips through my fingers.
I try so hard to hold on—
it’s here and then it’s gone.
I keep searching for it.

Other people have it.
I see it in their faces, in the way others look at them.
Why can’t I have it too?
I’d have it if I knew.
Then people would look at me that way.

I can’t stand it.
I can’t live life without it.
But I resign to life without it.
And though I hate to admit it,
I’m good—for the first time in a while.

And then I see it.
It’s been with me all the time.
It was there but in disguise
I only had to realize
It’s with me all the time.

I open my eyes and it’s there.
I have just to be it
and let it flow through me.
I will become free
of the never ending quest
for it.



Top of the Hill

Everything I see will be gone
As everything I know moves on
From the best of times to my dearest friend
Each thing will come to an end

As I look around to not forget.
I see so much I’ll miss and yet,
so much more that I can find,
in days to come—a new goldmine.

Moving on is bittersweet.
Some goodbyes but friends to meet,
in some still unknown coming time,
at the top of the hill which I must climb.

And at the top I’ll look around,
at all the new friends I have found,
and all the roads I’ve yet to take,
and all the feelings I’ll awake.

But today I am still here with you
And all the magic we’ve come through.
And maybe we will meet again,
At the top of the hill with you my friend.



Part of Her

She walks through the door
And the room changes.
Not in a flashy way, not overpowering.
But everything is just better.

I’m drawn to her
I make my way over,
without the need to interrupt
or steer the conversation.
Just to be nearer—
Just to feel her.

I marvel at her.
I bask in her presence.
I try to understand what it is.
But then I stop.
It’s not about understanding,
It’s about experiencing.

When she is gone,
a part of her remains.
Not in the place, but within me.
I focus on that part and nurture it.
I strive to keep it alive.

And I yearn to be with her again.



Common Ground

What’s that you’re saying?
It’s completely wrong
Your so out of touch
Don’t be so headstrong.

I’m taking offense
to all that you say.
It’s a dangerous thought
that will lead us astray.

We just can’t be friends
if that’s who you are.
I don’t even know you
your opinions, bizarre.

I’ll just spend my time
with my own little clique—
our like-minded kind
with views politic.

But I can’t see the world
through the walls that I’ve made.
Just our like-minded kind
so closed and afraid.

So tell me again
what it is that you think.
Let’s find common ground—
let our thoughts interlink.

I still don’t like all
of what you advance.
But I find little gems
when I give you a chance.

You still are my friend
and I look forward to
exploring ideas—
more than one point of view.

I can move beyond
my own territory
and sample the world
in all of its glory.




The Realm

I am transported to a Realm otherworldly.
A reality of me but not of my making.
Glancing around in wonder, deep gratitude, and awe—
so this is Nirvana.

I don’t know how I got here.
I don’t even know what here is.
I only know how it makes me feel.
I also know it is coming to an end.

It can’t come to an end!
Now that I’ve been here, I can’t face anywhere else.
I can’t go back! I won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay.
In a panic, I search. I try. I engage. Ineffectual.

I’m out.
I go to work. I eat. I sleep. I talk to friends.
I’m back in the ordinary.
Still glowing from the realm,
but at the same time wounded.
A gaping wound in my psyche—
a place once filled by the realm, now empty.
A place that will admit nothing else. Only the Realm.

What is the realm? Was it real?
It was of this world, but not. It was populated by people,
but in the Realm, people are not people,
but People of the Realm.
It was in a place, a place I could go back to,
but it is no longer the Realm.
The Realm is an experience—
a singular combination of
place, people, events, and feelings.

I try to remake it. I put all the pieces in place
and call the start.
But it doesn’t start. It’s not here.
It’s not the same—not even close.
I stay in the ordinary and slowly begin to
forget about the Realm.
I explore the world. I explore myself. And then,
I have a glimmer. Just a brush, a whiff, a glance.

But this time, I don’t panic and try to capture it.
I sit with it and sense it and let it happen.
In serenity, I am present and
I exist in the same space with it.
In peace, I become one with it.
I’m in the Realm and the Realm is in me.
I am the Realm.




Not Now

How high can the pile go, and can I bear the weight?
I’ve gone with the flow, but now I know,
that I’m at my limit.
I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll face it later.
Don’t talk to me about it now.
I’ve had enough—more than enough,
and don’t want more. Not now.

What is it about these problems;
these thorns, these voices, these cries?
Yipping in my ear, nipping at my heels,
tearing at my skin…
They’re just problems. I’ve faced them all,
again and again, one hundred times before.
But I can’t face more. Not now.

Each new problem tears at my soul,
and it seems my goal, is only to stop.
I close my eyes. I measure my breath,
and the tightness in my chest, abates.
But then they come, like raindrops of pressure,
to snap me back to stress.
I’m overwhelmed. I’m spent. I’m done.
I can’t even think—not now.

Then I shut down, not by choice, not by want,
but by necessity.
Staring ahead but unseeing. Unknowing.
Not wanting to know.
I crawl into my cave. I hate my cave, but there I am,
and there I’ll be. I don’t want to see, anyone.
Not now.

But after a time, with blinking eyes,
my soul bounces back.
Not with a roar, but as a summer breeze,
that dances the leaves.
I come back. My tentative steps,
a whisper of pep, and I’m back.
I’m not overwhelmed.

Not now.




My Next Saturday

Awaken well rested, and look to the day.
The urge to rush off, but I keep it at bay.
Luxurious stretching the day I am sketching
in my mind, as I revel
in thoughts of reflection and introspection.
And in time, I transition to the next phase in line.

The black nectar life giving, as I reflect on my time
There is no great urge, and the moment sublime,
is peace incarnated, the place I created
is heaven, nirvana, and home wrapped in one.
And I think of what fruit I will pull from this vine.

I open a book, I’ve been meaning to read
and I am transported, the story a seed,
of a tree that is growing, and soon my mind’s flowing,
with ideas, that I wouldn’t have
discovered, if I were not free to indulge.

I need to move now, as my limbs have grown stiff.
I wander outside, and I capture a whiff
of the life all around me—I run like a banshee
toward nothing and everything
around me—the wonders the world will divulge.

The day it is ending, and soon I’ll be spending
my time, as I’ve done, in the rest of my life.
But this time is not over, the lasting hangover
of memories, feelings, and thoughts awe-inspiring
will carry me forward, to my next Saturday.




My Triumphant Three

Who is that now, approaching the gate
Testing my defenses, overwhelming my senses
I can’t allow them to get inside,
I must protect at all costs what I have.
I can’t allow them to take it away from me.

What is it I have they’re trying to damage
They’re trying to steal, it seems so real
that I can’t let them,
I won’t let them – whatever it takes!
What is so valuable that I protect at all costs?
I’m led astray, and I push them away and out of my life.

I sit back and consider what means so much to me,
and find its value was great, but it can’t be my fate
to let anyone touch it or even see what it is.
What is it really? What is its form?
What makes it the norm,
to be so afraid and defensive and selfish.

I find it’s me, the good side of me, that I protect
but in protecting I am the one who is damaging it.
It’s happiness, peace, and serenity, my triumphant three,
that I strive for and live for, and will never be free
From their hold over me.

So I change my perspective, my path is elective
and allows me the freedom to choose
—choose whom I let close, and cherish the most.
It’s these I find who are creating my treasure—my triumphant three.

The others had the power to damage, but I find
It was me who gave them, that power of mayhem.
It wasn’t theirs, it was always mine and I gave it away.
My power to protect, is not in the battle
with those whom I view as a threat.

By staying away or changing the rules,
I have the power, which grows by the hour,
along with my triumph three,
which will always be safe and protected and strong.
They will as long, as I see the world as it is.




A New Day Will Dawn

I know I’m OK.
I can just get through this.
It can’t last forever
It’s bound to get better

I’ve had tough times before,
and I’ve always survived.
I come through it somehow.
This is only for now.

But what will it take—
something deep in my heart?
The courage to go on,
keep it up till the dawn.

The light of the day,
will show me the path,
that I must take to endure—
that will give me the cure.

To believe I can make it
and be thankful for,
the people I trust,
and to learn to adjust.

A new day will dawn
That will prove to me,
that I can bounce back
from whatever attacks.

I have in my heart
the will to survive
I will always abide
with hope by my side.




For a Time

Here you are, in front of me.
In all of your glory, telling your story,
I enter through your eyes. I travel in your soul.
We become the same person, for a time.

For a time, you are all of me.
My whole mind, my whole heart, my whole being.
I live your life, I feel your strife.
I am you and you are me.

You are me, for a time.
For a glorious time, we share a soul.
I’m not alone, it’s like I’ve known,
you forever, as you become me.

To others who see us,
it’s just people talking. They think as they’re walking
by us, “what close friends they must be.”
But they cannot see, that we’ve become one.

For a time, we are one.
Then the moment is done, and we go.
But you are in me, and I am in you.
Each of us changed, for a time.




Only the Beginning

What the future will hold, I can’t be sure,
but I have no doubt it will be,
a world that provides, all I need,
to live life, contented and free.

Around the curve and over the hill,
are not within my sight.
But I can find what is there, if I can dare
to look into the light.

It doesn’t blind, or cause a glare,
and doesn’t help me see.
The light comes with living and lessons learned—
it provides me with the key.

The key to the world, that I envision
that includes meaning, peace, and the provision
for all that my values and outlook portend.
And shows me the future is not the end—

but only the beginning.




Our Wings, Ourselves

What do they mean?
What can they do?
Are they real?

Wings on a bird,
give it flight,
change its world.
What do they feel?

Wings for us
on a plane,
in our hearts,
deep down, a part of us.

We can soar
above the ground
above our lives
to transcend who we are

We transform
to someone new
still us, but someone else.
An evolution.

A leap of faith
into the abyss
into the unknown
An adventure within.

We soar on wings.
that we create
that we unfurl.
Part of who we are.




Reality of Two

Deep in my soul. Searing. Unbearable.
My desire is who I am—is all of who I am.
Locked in pursuit, I scream but am mute.
My quest, never shared, never known, by anyone.

The pain, it stays—it never allays as it
consumes me, entombs me, forever in its power.
There is no path forward, only the unbearable now.

I search in a panic, desperate, but not finding
My only chance of relief—of overtaking my grief,
is the achievement of my desire.

It drives me forward, but doesn’t direct me.
It excludes all else, my only companion.
A reality of two, that I’ll never get through.

The only way, is to wait it out.
It will end, with time, with perspective, or in death.
But I don’t see that now, and with a hopeless sigh,
we remain the two—my desperation and I.

Listen to the music at




It weaves through our lives, pushing and pulling,
it goes back and forth, once ours and then not.
I can’t always tell if it’s mine or another’s;
it’s part of myself, if not something I sought.

I need it to be there; I count on its presence.
I need it in others. I need it in me.
When I notice it’s not there, the damage it causes,
can tear through my soul, ignoring my plea.

I need it in others, as well as myself.
I search for it deeply, in their hearts and their souls.
I do see it often, but often it’s fleeting.
I need it to be there, to make our bond whole.

It ebbs and it flows. Its coming and going
can upset my balance, and confuse my mind.
I must learn to see it, the patterns and movements,
so I can see clearly, my bonds intertwined.

When it is given, to me from another,
one cannot dismiss the weight it does hold
I treat it as sacred, if rightly it’s placed.
It’s worth is profound, with more value than gold.




They Come and They Go

The back and the forth
the ebb and the flow.
Everything changes.
It comes and it goes.

When we feel good,
we want it to stay.
as we would with a friend,
and spend the whole day.

But just like the tide,
the feeling recedes.
It never stays long,
no matter how much we plead.

But the bad feelings too,
they come and they go.
These we want gone,
as soon as they show.

But if we look hard
and live in the moments,
there is wonder each—
not just joy and torment.

So ride all the waves
as they come in and out.
Embrace every minute
and remove every doubt.




Whole New Worlds

Wait! What is that?
Is it something I’ve seen?
Is it something I like?
I don’t know.

I want to try it.
I’ll see if I like it.
Do I have to buy it?
Let’s go!

A new experience.
A new way to think.
A new way to move.
Rediscover myself.

I’m not very good.
But I am having fun,
and I am getting better.
I like what I’ve done!

It’s an adventure.
A way to explore,
what I can do,
when I’m open to trying.

And when I stay open,
to trying new things,
whole new worlds open up
and I unfurl my wings.




The Voice that is Now

So many voices
within and without,
telling a story.
A reality made.

They are always with me—
the voices, the stories.
They make me believe,
sowing doubt in my heart.

The stories, so real,
so compelling, persistent.
It can seem that they
have to be true.

Who are these voices,
that never stop speaking,
creating a reality
I can’t help but believe.

The voices berate me,
worry me, anger me.
The stories convey
the worst that can be.

But then like a light,
ahead in the darkness,
the present my rescue
The moment is now.

There is only one truth:
the voice that lives in me.
There is only one voice—
the voice that is now.




My Life Aware

I take pause.
Is it ready to go?
I don’t know, will it show
Who I am?

I tried so hard
But I can’t really see
if I should, if it’s good,
Or a sham.

I share myself—
part of who I am.
All of me, for all to see,
nothing held back.

Will people change,
how they think of me?
All and part, bear my heart.
What I lack.

Then I see
Where this road will lead
Connections, affections,
It’s all there.

It’s all worth it,
The risks I’ve taken
I have my prize, stronger ties.
My life aware.




A Time Out

Nothing in the tank.
Mind screaming at me to move,
but my soul says no.
A hundred demands and meeting none.

A time out for the moment.
A peaceful protest against the pace of life.
Today there will be nothing,
so that I can create an eventual better something.

The demands, they nip at my consciousness
like mosquitoes, irritating and relentless.
I move to a mental place, indoors—
away from the demanders, the mosquitoes.

What to do?
I still have to exist.
Time keeps passing,
looking over at me disdainfully.

I engage,
not in living, but in life.
I eat. I pass the time.
I restore.

In that restoration,
I become myself again.
Ready to restart—
ready to begin.




A Gift that is Me

What does it mean
To give of ourselves?
To strengthen connections,
to act on affections.

It can be so hard
to give something true.
To express how we feel
to find what is real.

But in digging deep
we find the true meaning.
The core of our bonds
with those whom we’re fond.

A gift that transcends
this cynical time—
a genuine reason
to go past the season.

And find that we have
deep in ourselves
the spirit of giving
a foundation for living.

It defines who I am
and makes me fulfilled
I find I can be
the gift that is me.




The Other

The Other has acted again and I am Victim.
Its persecution engulfs me and I am powerless.
My power, if it ever was, is no more.
I don’t see it. I don’t feel it. Did I ever have it?
I’ll ask The Other.

The Other ignores my question.
I am anger. I am sadness. I am desperation.
I come to The Other and ask,
Is this all I am?
The Other ignores my question.

Where is the power?
The power to defeat anger, sadness, desperation.
The power to defeat Victim.
I feel a fleeting sense of the power, but I can’t know it.

The Other has this power—I’ve experienced it.
The Other wields this power.
The Other must know this power.

I look for The Other. The Other is no longer here.
The Other is not with me, yet I feel its presence.
I feel anger, but not at The Other. I feel anger at Victim.
When The Other acts, I am Victim.

There is no one here. Not Victim nor The Other.
There is only me.
I am here, now. I am present.
I feel awareness, but not judgement.

There is no anger, only me.
There is no sadness, only me.
There is no desperation, only me.

There is no Victim, only me.

The Other is here. It has the power!
But here, in the present, I know the power.
The power is in me. The power is me.
I am The Other. The Other is me.



The Choice

The constant signal, relentless, unending.
It saps all my energy. It darkens my mood.
It shuts down my happiness, replaced with anger.
I hate it, but live it, in a constant condition.

I know what it is. I know why it’s there.
I know why I have it—lets me know something’s wrong.
But, message received! Goddamnit I know!
I’m working the problem. I’ll do what I can.

I try to step back and take a deep breath.
I try to move deeper, into myself.
I am there with it, but we are not one.
I can observe it, distinct and detached.

I’ve found my reaction is not required.
The signal is there, but suffering a choice.
The two are not one. I’m keeping them two.
And I find I can function and start to recover.

The signal’s still there, and it does take an effort.
I know that I’m lucky that it’s not more intense.
I’ll keep the two separate as much as I can.
The choice not to suffer is mine once again.





I walk in a tunnel, its rocky sides never changing.
Sometimes lighter, sometimes darker.
Ups and downs and periods of straight and level.
Now cold, now hot and humid, but still the tunnel.
Sometimes I have energy,
sometimes progressing is difficult.
Sometimes, it seems I’m getting through, but then
I see that I am still in the tunnel.

Where am I going? Where is it leading?
I search. I continue searching, in what seems
a lifetime of searching. But I don’t find answers.
I’m missing something. I pray I’m missing something.
This can’t be it. It’s just the tunnel.

Are the people the answer?
There are people in the tunnel, but I can’t reach them.
I pass them. I talk to them, but I don’t connect.
The people are part of the tunnel.

Is movement the answer?
I’m moving through the tunnel.
When I walk faster I feel a breeze on my face.
I’m taking one step after another.
I touch the walls and can feel the tunnel.
I’m still moving in the tunnel.
I’ve got to think!

Is thinking the answer?
I can find an answer if I can just figure it out.
I can reason my way out of the tunnel.
My mind contains emotions, what can they tell me?
I can feel my way out of the tunnel.

I walk in the tunnel, it’s rocky sides never changing.
But something is different.
Through feeling, I am connected.
To myself, to my movements, to the people!

I connect with the people and
we talk about the tunnel.
It becomes more than the tunnel.
Hot, cold, up, down, light, dark—
all these were elements of the tunnel.
Through thought—in my mind—
it becomes more than the tunnel.
I continue moving and I sense something more.
It is more than just movement through the tunnel!

I think about the tunnel and my search for the answer.
I have found three answers, but the same answer.

I have found connections,
I have found thought and emotions,
I have found movement.
I have found the pillars.

Three ways out of the tunnel, but just one direction.
Not out of the tunnel, we are still here.
We have transcended the tunnel.
The tunnel is no more.