Crying

smoke fills the air but there is no burning

it stings the eyes, rasping the throat

but there is nothing to make it stop

there are people who go beyond explaining

shaking in their boots, clinging to faith

they think they have won but they don’t know us

truth be told, we don’t know them

and question facing us all is, “why?”

what do we do when we say, “enough?”

when blood and vengeance are too much

little groups go about their business—

the business of taking lives, burying secrets

we don’t know why, we just know

after the fact, not before

and we proclaim we are the righteous

walking our path, living our lives

and this we know: the spirits are crying

Listen

What do we know as the eternity rains downward?

how many people will die in our ignorance?

tell us a remembrance, something that is new

make it something the youth of the world can share

for our lines are being drawn in the sand

our vision is weaker than we had hoped

but we can still hear the bombs and the gunfire

and the innocents as they sleep in their beds

But it is like this in all places in the world

there is no place to run to safety

until we hear the message, the cries, the burning

what do we understand after a plague of locusts

we have prepared to offer up our first-born sons

a fair exchange for our years of blindness

do we give this anger to our opponents

or do we save it for the next great battle

no more pretty pictures, only our resolve

to keep ourselves safe and listen for the message

something only the quiet can hear

The Job

The young ones in our fold

must be nurtured with gentility

a fine patting on the back

and hugs in unexpected moments

we must take on the role of guardian

while they seek their place in life

so they never lost sight of our love

but should they take a wrong turn

as they make their trip through the labyrinth

no matter our desire to stay in touch

they must be assured that they nest in security

still if we have misplaced the seed

of joy and light, it must be said

that promises made will be kept

in the honor of one generation to the next

as we kneel, weapons long in waiting

never used, as perfection blossoms

and we can see while coming out of the fog

that our job is done

Where They Choose

when you display, our brothers,

with firing squad intentions,

think of the time you were allotted peace

but now we have no peace, our voices

overheard as we try to get your attention

leave your  silly songs behind and welcome

the greater truth that we carry on our backs

for by your own statements, you harbor homeless,

there are hungry people who die a slow death

we do not have a plan for resolution

we only now that the greatest of woe

falls with the sound of a pin-drop today

though it will not be long before bloodshed

will speak the truth as we offer empty coffins

for lives so tired of spin and regulation

we could all fall asleep in our escape

and then awaken, we must, to start a dialogue

to begin the peace process today, not waiting

not covering our faces, but carrying the burden

that everyone wants to live where they choose.

One Heart

the first snowfall of the season

takes me by surprise

harbored by tree limbs, my car, the sidewalks

I try to stay warm, layering knit shirts

and sweaters tightly knit

I realize there are many

who wear gloves without fingers

coats with tears, layers of thermal clothing

those who cannot escape the dictates

of the sky’s demands and iron-clad will

my wishes for the fulfillment of their needs

fall upon deaf ears as I have nothing to give

but I keep hoping that I might, somehow,

bring happiness from one heart to another

Watching

the sky bereft of clouds

filled totally with azurite

little parachutes drifting down, down,

its warm enough, quiet enough,

for the dream to form but not to change

and I realize more than money

can be exchanged in places where the dog runs

but why don’t we feel compassion for the dog?

the circus man cracks his whip

and the energy is gone, as if

it had washed away in a giant sink hole

so where are we now?  how much we don’t know

let alone what anyone knows

so it all comes down in the rain

like a belligerent teenage boy

challenging the truth, the fly by night owls

or whoever is watching, watching closely 

Wait and See

the grey one flies with the South wind

waving his sword, casting his shadow

but for all the work to make the world see

there is longing for the distance

a longing for home, a need to let go

Beware the warning signs, the fires,

the quaking of the earth, rising of the shades

for the blood explodes in the warm bays

and the ocean’s partners come ashore

here you are waiting your turn

scathing remarks run down your back

and never along, never too long

The silence will be broken and life

will grow wings.  wait and see

Sunrise

in either case the trumpets blare

the living green turns to brown

what legacy we find behind us

a warning cloud exactly played

for humanity writes its own notice

the song is freely sung as we

peer over our shoulders wondering

who put the blood across the lintel

and how did it happen just like that

for in one single moment, the earth rattles

and tips this way and that, dizzy, fearful,

not another warning, but full steam ahead

the good, the bad, no one recognizes them

for the hatred is gone from their eyes

and all we want now is a good night’s sleep

and a sunrise in the morning

Release53115

sleep comes when the dust settles

imagining the light of day progresses

a wince at first light, hold your breath

and watch the wax figure melt

before your very eyes into a pool of blood

so thick that it is more than bone

now the tantrum of the decade

flies apart in all directions

and the lotus flower exaggerates

its bloom, merely floating on back eddies

and making a home for the frogs

whose pleasure in life relieves the sky

of its many-winged predators

and only then will the release be fulfilled

Always Be So

looking so long the eyes go out of focus

dimly remembering the maze, the chase,

not something that sticks in your gut

but as the clouds clear it can be seen

and we see the changes the challenges

that we once know by rote, by heart,

so that however many times questioned

the answer would be right there on the tongue

waiting in all its readiness to come forth

just as the meaning of dreams emerge

like memories of yesterday or beyond

and we get pats on the back, handshakes,

because it all came out perfectly

and we wonder if it will always be so

Walk of Dreams

I cannot see what clockworks tick

but leave me full of curiosity

in the fog of discerning right from wrong

I merely know the words spill from my pen

and uplift my soul from the dark pit

deep and silent with little reward

or expectation but shall enhance loyalty

to those who have spared me of woe

and secretly urge me forward along my path

where I can heal the frailty around me

once I am whole within myself

and so I reach my fingers at great length

to touch the unknown and collect feathers

as they fall upon my walk of dreams

Restored

I see the world through stunning eyes

the brightness of each the lightness of heart

the mask I bear and the shadowy hair

I reach out to you, my brothers and sisters,

to tune in to the vibrations of heart

wherein the wealth and happiness of all

resides in respect and dignity for humankind

let no child live in fear of the future

let cooperation and harmony be the anthem of nations

the belief in good and the welfare of all

the motto and creed of every nation, al people,

how will we overcome hatred and nationalism

let us all lay down our swords and speak

in a single voice so that we are heard at least

in the wee hours of the morning

as the sunlight hides her face from us

and we live on the hope that all can be restored

Truck Drivers

pushing until sleep is inevitable

meeting deadlines through weather that

sends ice through his veins

and makes the shiftable load heavier,

more dangerous, as each slip of the hands

upon the wheel, each nod of the head

all the more treacherous to himself

and the many drivers on the road

how he makes the bridges, the curves,

one can only speculate on experience:

years of driving the same routes,

weaving successfully in and out of traffic

to provide for his family, to take pride

in the work, in his commitment

to his fellow drivers, a determined lot,

moving the goods and products from one end

to the other, waiting to see his family again,

getting reacquainted after weeks of service,

thankless service, on the open highways

and back doors of commerce

with his ear on and the Jake brakes secure

Shadows

shadows play in the mind:

implications, innuendo, intrusion

into the consciousness to do the work

that vows of honor will not allow

and so the covert words, the threats,

the thinly-veiled intimidation

the posturing that makes us want to scream

because the shadows are not there,

only their sarcasm, their desires born of hate

and activated by fear, sudden, constant fear,

yet who would point a finger?

who could point a finger at a shadow?

for they are hidden in the cowardice of their numbers,

never to face the sighted, never to act or argue,

for the right is on their side, in the dark.

Garments

spring sprouts its wings, taking flight

with lilies and hyacinths and tulips

a host of color against a backdrop of green

we take a slow stroll past the gardens

where they highlight the house, the garage,

ever so demure in the shyness of opening buds

soon we will give them over to the bees

to spread pollen and cast their scent

for a longer distance than we might suppose

yet spring gives life and renewal to the earth

renewal to all things that have rested

in sequestered silence until now

and we gladly accept the rebirth of the sun

as it plants gentle kisses across the face

of the earth as she turns to look

at the fine garments she possesses 

Charade

never know the ebb, the flow

questions that are never clear

and answers that mean even less

as if a game of charades has begun

but it is all the more impossible blind-folded

and with hands tied behind you

what meaning, what intention, what will

is to be gleaned from subtle words?

how can we suppose the dark clouds

will go away when expectations crumble

and the fickle ones change their minds

each day, each hour, each minute

there is no free will, no certainty

it is all balled up ready to be shot from a cannon

and we are so lucky not to be hit by it

Sparkle and Shine

Dedication, wide eyes, idealism

to make the world a better place

early on it seems shoulders are so wide

and results are served on a platter

but years come and go, as patients come and go

and life responsibilities add to the burden

so slowly it doesn’t seem noticeable

until you find yourself looking at a wall

and wondering about your place in the world

if you are meant to be where you are

doing what you do so very well with

years of experience under your belt

it is merely that somewhere along the way

you forgot that you need that same

tender loving care as you give others

the respect and gratitude to maintain

your shine and sparkle that you carry

in your memory of days gone

Inspiration

inspiration comes from the least suspected ways

and often when you least expect it

“out of the mouths of babes” we hear it

in the middle of the street

where the gang-bangers run

and the bag ladies make their collections

you never know when that little bird

is due to chirp on your shoulder,

never know when help is on the way

you just need to know that you are

right where you are meant to be

at that perfect moment when

synchronicity calls you to speak,

to move in a certain direction,

to shine a light on the darkest corner

you will know that you have done your part

helps just one or in time helped many

and then you know you may not save the world

but you have made it better

Everyman

what is everyman but you and me

the worker whose back is sore from bending

the aged who cry as their abilities decay

the disabled who rage at not having a chance

to see their dreams come true

the healers and helpers who absorb

the failures of society day in and day out

the wealthy who can never be fulfilled

and the poor who don’t know how

not to question what life terrorizes them with next

we are all interchangeable

we are all on a merry-go-round

up and down as we make the circle

one day we have one role, the next another,

taking and giving, playing our parts,

not looking for thanks but wishes for it a little

the cycle of time and life and strength

and weakness, power and a soft moan

that few can recognize but in time

comes to everyman

Illusion

it may not be what you think it is

do your eyes deceive, is it slight of pen?

you carry the world in a tin cup

and sprinkle the stars from a garden hose

no one suspects, no one relates the mystery

in the stream of time when blue-collared birds

fly and float on the air, whirl and dive

can you dream? do you suspect?  close your eyes

and envision the magician stepping from the fog

his assistant smiles and steps to the side

but who pulls the puppet’s strings, really?

let it be your imagination, your desire to see

what the world cannot really give you

and, truth be told, it all fades to gray

when the clock strikes three and

the house of cards falls down, down, down

and the rhymes no longer sound in chimes

Answers

Perhaps I don’t know the answers

perhaps they are written in glyphs

but my point of view is the one I see from

an opinion like all the millions of others

so I still get through my day

just like you will get through yours

I speak my Truth and maybe, then,

the message is not for you, if you don’t understand,

like the old adage, “If the shoe fits, wear it,”

but if it doesn’t, move along.

I’m not judging, I’m just saying

in plain and simple language,

what I see, what I hope for, what I love.

And if I know the answers, maybe I’ll share it

in coy response, in tangled metaphors,

but why do you get ugly when I speak my mind?

Emerging

Amid the pattering of raindrops

I heard the pitter-patter of my heart

a light, hopeful beating that inspired

the coming of the sun back into life

and fight though I may, I had to endure

the lofty clouds that darkened the sky

a churning of the gray cotton as I lay

staring at the ceiling, at the wall,

awaiting a moment that I knew

would inevitably come to reawaken

my soul and invigorate my mind and body,

a lifting of the shadows, the terrible grinch

that had stolen my voice and my thought

but I knew the day would come

because I could smash the frightful thoughts

out of my mind and challenge the naysayers,

those who had long past given up on the me

who resurrects occasionally like a phoenix

out of the ashes and into a greater being

with a louder, more confident voice

Roses

lips curled in gentle smiles

painted in shades of crimson, yellow,

so wide-eyed one might think

they would fall from the thorny stalk

yet pride and lofty fragrance

keeps the blossoms overflowing there

where rows of bushes create a collage

of color, bright, renewed year after year,

a circle of promise, kissed with dew

like a morning sunrise carries hope,

offering up its face to enlighten the world

and bless each life with grace, respect,

a choice bud of beauty granting life

Dream Stories

dream stories tell us our truth

we believe, we doubt, it may not compute

it seems eerily odd, the high and the low,

so much to tell us, so much we can know

when the consciousness is resting

our eyes closed in quiet slumber

we go somewhere to meet ourselves inside

with pictures and stories not to be denied

for there are our greatest gifts to self

to know and understand our place, our shelf,

where we are going, where we can be seen

the whole thing lines up in the story of a dream

Message From Aliens - Are We Ready?

Blur

so much going on around me

while I lay in half-sleep of half-flu

weakened and chilled like a rag in a mangle

raising the head is hard, let alone a hand,

the eyes cannot stay open longer than a minute

and life floats by like a blur, like a movie

at the end of the reel, just flashing and flapping

no meaning that registers in the brain

no activity more important than breathing

no desire greater then huddling beneath a blanket

and regaining the will to live, to do, to dance

through the room and gather dust from my head

and fog from my brain to blow it all away