(2014)
One lit candle burns brightly As I make a wish upon it’s Golden aura, that Humankind May learn to caress the earth As the wind does a field of flower…
You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own
Red and gold leaves Falling, Sing to me Of the season of change, Before the snow,
Not a word heard As the river flows Over rock, around Banks that lie Waiting for visitors.
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
Half a world away, I walk a narrow, stone path. In the rice fields, the Balinese people
The buck in the garden Chewing up hard earned Labor, His antlers raise, His ears perk up, as
Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay
To open and risk hurt... Or stay closed but Never really live. Pain can reveal... A connection to
My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last
Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry
Her smile was like gold, Her lines were often bold, Her stories of wisdom told, In books that are now sold. She has left the earth,
Many thoughts in the mind, Some productive, some not. They glow like fires, Created by needs and
When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old
Red bird perched on a tree limb laced with snow. So happy to see him and the joy he brings.