I Have Been Many Things

I have been many things

A success a failure

Rash thoughtful



Worried confident

Well that’s enough

You understand.


Tonight alone

At 62

In a farmhouse

On a dirt road in the woods

I can feel my dream moving

Closer as I’f it might

Drop in to greet me.


I think writing is the

Melody created by a souls first

Touch of earth.

That its birth song

Celestial , eternal

Was instantly changed

To beauty that could

Only be retained

By twisting the hearts

Of poets

Into those lines

The ones that stretch

Across human hearts

Back into eternity.

I Am Always More Beautiful

I am always more beautiful
after your eyes have touched my face.
Whether I had become too wary,
or weary, or perhaps too fearful, 
until your eyes touched my face
I had forgotten how eyes
courageous enough to truly open
awakened my own, in loving equity. 
Your eyes were that open,
painting light on your face.
Shadows and light caressed
more angular surfaces than
any moment in present time
would find possible. 
Spiraling inward to the center
of your own beginnings,
along an ancient highway,
where swallowed starlighg shines
and acceptance shown down 
illuminating that pathway, tracing
purity from it’s exit backwards
to inception where I greet you.

Time & Light

Long I worked, learning to
Silence the myriad thoughts
and hungry fears of every moment.

Now the light flows in through my skin
every time I remember to say yes.

I asked the silence to show me a mirror in in which I might see myself, but
the moment it appeared, it was empty.

The sky changes from light to dark and back again, the night sky grows brighter
then darkens again.
Flowers and snow dance in and out
of meadows and sidewalks.

Days fly by, and I am unsure.
If time has abandoned me.

Watching peacefully I wonder, if my life will be over in a single moment or last forever,
If silence is detachment
or unity.

Now it is night again and I will sleep.


I watched the world finding often and everywhere,

sorrow, anger, cruelty, grief and pain,

though I as yet knew no such names as these.

Only disturbances, like stormy days,

Frightening, almost personal, unknown.


In the early days of second grade

I felt my teacher seemed unwell

and told her so and asked her why. 

I rose from the floor, lifted,

one of her hands twined in my hair,

struck dumb by shock.


I talked to my parents who made no response

as if I was a skip in a record our antique Victrola played;

something essential to ignore if harmony is to remain unbroken.

My shock, unheard, that someone wanted to hurt me at all

on purpose, was then yet harder to grasp.


Later days brought a smile on the face of a, somehow, victor. 

Why, of what, for what, why choose me, and

 how is it possibly good to you to paint my pain on my face,

smiling then, as if to teach me to understand

only the strongest were artistic enough to do that.


I tried disgust with myself,

too weak, to ugly, unruly hair, skinny legs,

you know the endless ways to distort your reflection

as if it explained, or justified everything

yet still leave hope that this could change.

Trying to find and heal my invisible offense,

seeming so much less frightening than discovering

how much more they reflected the world than any like I. 


They were always there, returning,

as I moved outward from my beginning,

searching, casting careful glances

like the pebbles I threw into water,

watching the surfaces searching

the farthest ripples of impact,

for meaning.


Who had the answer, or the strength,

to talk with me about these things?

The principle:  Running from his office,

Screaming; “you can’t talk to me this way, I’m not your father”,

when I asked for help, dealing with a teacher,

who asked me to touch him, to hurt him, unsure

when I could not comply nor understand .


I felt the sickness’ twisted ways but had no help to offer.

To soften, what was by absence or incapacitation,

the dying strangled cry of another

or perhaps two fathers lost.


It was years before I understood why he ran while I remained, 

the temporary occupant of his office,

somehow, the only principal available.


I spent my time waiting for answers, 

singing to the sky while walking empty streets at 3am.

Hoping for an answer from whatever might hear me.

My persistent, heartfelt, endless song

soothing anguish into new hope by starlight and solitude.


Later, there was an answer, beautiful,

years long, beyond words or telling.

Before I found a killer hiding within me.

So terrifying in outrage that no one withstood him. 

I was disappointed to find my courage comprised only

 of outrage so complete that fears no found room within me.


None ever learned he would not harm or kill.

Knowing how impossible it was, that violence would unmake me,

that any pain I brought could only be, first and most painfully my own,

striking at the center of, the very thing that I was born to be.

Somehow certain to take from me, what no others violence could.


Even my angry words demanded to be spoken, from grief,

 in vulnerability, without pride or shame.

Such is the cost, and reward of power.


The answer stretched and stretches on,

A thousand thousand pages long.

But this is far enough to go today.


Your gift from me besides hope

Something that my heart spoke to me.

“Whose heart is this so tender and so true,

that it can be broken and being broken love,

the love that made it’s breaking possible, perhaps essential,

finding finally joy and beauty enough in its own tenderness

and, in laughing tears the strength for so many tomorrows.

YOU #1

Just before leaving

Standing on your doorstep

I saw your face

As If somehow it had just appeared

With more planes than seemed possible in the three dimensions of one face.

Reflecting the lights

and shades of darkness

of so many days

Of weight and waiting

Light and sorrow

A richness of hues

Normally impossible

Without color

The brightest

Between human spirits

The colors of ancient hope

Of the weight of forever

Lightened  at the last I noticed

Shining though an equally invisible door,

opening to share a secret Before parting.