Written after a trip to the seashore, 4-2023.
The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,
Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the
The lines in my hand, Were read once, By a gypsy, who Predicated a long life... But with many interruptions.
When I sit And watch The in and out Of breath, Thoughts no longer
You may not know what you’ll do next: Hit the open road With your thumb stuck out. Give up all you own
Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…
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
Standing at a crossroad Between this life And the next, Heart in hand I knock on that
Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset
Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon
The gift of summer Is the sound of a Creek flowing through Rocks. A blue bird perched
The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down
When I first heard “The Blackbird,” In the middle Of night, I was just thirteen.
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…
Firefly shine your light, Brighten my life, Lead the way, through The meadows, in my mind. Firefly, float so high,