Air moves through me in nurturing waves–

I feel a symphony begin within me

Before I can hear it, and when I do

It is fine as jazz and I tap my feet against concrete

And think about all the sweet things you’ve said to me

And as I make my way to the library I am calm.

I can taste strawberries on my tongue and it all feels like love

And the light pours in like liquid gold.

I’m happy like I was when I was five

Skipping everywhere I went, before I knew

What shame was, and now I think about

How ridiculous it is that we grow up and damage ourselves. I still keep

All the letters from my godsister from when we were ten. I liked history back then

And later bought a calligraphy set. 

We talked about life because back then–

It was mostly sweet, at least for me.

Today, I walk into the library for the first time in a long while

And I can still feel the magic I felt years ago. 

And I know

That goodness still lies within me,

And I must not bury it as I continue along this strange pathway. Through the thick darkness 

There is always something beautiful that you will find. The challenge is

you must not lose your mind.

A Confrontation with Near-Madness

Hazy gray weather fills my cup to the brim

A pool of insanity threatens to drown me

Threatens the birds, threatens the daisies

Threatens this isle of mine,

This isle of sound mind.

Quietly I tiptoe along the path

Up to my tower at long last

And sigh.

Long ago I lost my crown—

Gave it up for what I thought was better.

Gave it up, now I wish I had left.

I know no one and nothing here

I have nothing more to aspire to.

I have been sucked into a whirlpool.

My own corruption. My own doing.

I have lost every ounce of purity in this land

As I look out the window, all I see is unending,

Undulating darkness. 

I thread this needle and proceed—

Despite what I know now; despite what is gone

I must endure.


What is it that makes us wonder?

You are like liquid, like paint

Bleeding into other colors.

Maybe you are light, shining.

You increase, you decrease–

And there’s no flesh here.

But where is here, and 

Who are you?

An echo in my head.

Maybe you are consciousness or 

Maybe you are bliss.

There is peaceful collision–

A swell, an ascent.

You could be a gentle wave.

Love in disguise.

What is anything but form?

What is love without collision?

Ricochet, ricochet…

If we keep going we must be sure 

to take our time.

We are always fading.

But we’ll be back–

As form, ancient and pure.

Let the body go;

Freedom finds you in forever.

Greet it.

Tuesday Morning Thoughts

No matter the journey, I always find my way back to the pen. I am a vessel for experience. Is there even truly a “me”? The pool of infinity surrounds me. Birds chirp out in the wintry air today. I think to myself,

Time will love you if you allow it to.

Then I am filled with peace. In this dimension of symbols, it’s a challenge to find inner wealth. So easy to forget it’s there, but it’s there. How do we truly express ourselves in this limited realm, when it feels like we come from elsewhere? I suppose that is why there is art. How does your soul describe itself? In a poem? In a carefully crafted painting? I am a wanderer with a pen, a keeper of mystery. Who are you? I’d love to know.

The Traveler

From the ashes of my past I rose,

a divine new flame rising within

As my ancestors appeared before me in a dream

Sparking new ideas and urging me farther

Along the twisting roads of life.

I dusted myself off and set out into the moonlight,

No longer afraid, for I’d seen the depths of darkness

And the caves of sad and dreary souls. 

I’d swum in baths of poison and tar, tried to speak

But only the shadows were there to hear me.

I’d climbed treacherous mountains,

And fallen and injured my soul.

But now I stand, tall and bright.

I begin to create, create, create

And fight

For myself and for my right to be

A human on this earth, just living and breathing

And counting hopes aplenty 

In the sands of time. 

Weaving the threads of purpose;

playing music that stirs and heals my soul.

I am no longer broken;

I make my own fate

And leap forward into each day, 

Even as the shackles attempt to pull me back

And keep me in the clutches of despair, 

Cold and damp.

I walk forward; 

I can see 

The castle in the distance– it’s calling to me.

For now, I am

A traveler along a winding road

How Else Would I Explain?

I am drifting through the cosmos

Faster than I realize–

Past the concept of time, 

Through the veil of this illusion,

Maybe on the brink of insanity.

I broke my old hourglass the other day

because it didn’t serve me anymore.

My life is a blur

And it’ll go on for a little while

Before dissolving and who knows?

Maybe my essence will be sucked into oblivion;

Maybe I’m not even real.

All I know is what I feel.

Yet if I can’t think I am 

A wasted ego.

At the ocean, I always want to bury myself

In the sand.

If I bury myself in time, I wonder

If anything would be different for me

Here on this weird planet.

A Monk’s Advice

“Sit to become like a tree,”

a Buddhist monk once said to me.

I obeyed, planting myself

Then was still.

To be a tree, it’s best not to think

Of frivolous things.

Trees are wiser than we;

They sit and be.

What was it like

To sit at the master’s feet?

Some say that at birth lotuses blossomed 

From beneath him.

A tree– that’s what I must be!

Oh Siddhartha, watch over me– 

I do not know

Just how to be.

Be, be, be.

If I chant it

Will I succeed?

How do I let it envelop me?

Oh, how I long to be.

Flower Talk

Violets dot the earth below me.

I lie on the balcony in spring

And dream of divinity.

I heard the flowers singing today– 

Somehow, they recognized me, 

As if we had sprung from one womb

And dispersed across this plane.

Did they envy me? It couldn’t be.

I knew the violets were purer than I–

Full of soul and nothing more.

The day I began to ruminate

I lost much wisdom.

All I have are more rungs to climb;

This human life was made to find stillness–

The greatest challenge.

That’s why I lie here, listening to the violets

And sometimes I begin to sink into what is true.

Sometimes I remember the womb– 

At least, I think I do.

One day I will be whole.

And maybe the earth will open up just for me.


Paradise is a state of mind

shifting throughout space and time.

Stars scatter before my eyes–

beneath the shore, the void lies.

Fingers scramble to assemble

that which once was whole and stable.

Take care as you find your way

up the lighthouse, where you’ll stay.

Feel your heart, alight as guide–

let all be silent

within the mind.

And as you go, you just may find

peace, that holy state of mind.

That which you think you know

is not.

All you need

has always been.

Tea Time

Quit wailing, banshee!

In the yard, beneath the toadstool,

Is the key.

At three o’clock, the time is here

To multiply the line

To eternity.

I take my tea; it’s always hot

And one day I broke my tooth 

On a lapis rock.

When it fell into that peppermint pool

I somehow saw my life reflected there–

My life, as a speckled being that no one will listen to,

Though tirelessly I’ve tried to lessen the frequency

Of splinters in my tongue.

Speak now, but softly. Life

Is a bizarre thing but a friend 

And if you take the time to listen, 

You will never be lonely.