Innocent are they who cause no harm,

Nor seek to bind with artifice or charm,

But loving all of life in pure delight,

Play free in day and sleep in peace at night.

Magic is the breeze of summer air;

that ocean, field, and summit all caress,

that bears the hawk and eagle high in flight

while butterfly and flower are gently kissed.

Grace to all that live and wander free,

Trusting the heart to take them where it will,

they leave their bodies open to the light

to drink of love until their hearts are filled,

then pass like beauty flowing in the wind.

More than mortal thought can bind in lines,

the light that makes them sighted that are blind,

sacred the life in songs that poets sing,

in words that light our tongues with spirit fire.

I knowing this though fearful will attend,

to bless will blessing gain to bless again

to give and want no more than this dark hill

a heart to love, a quiet place to dwell.



The Veterans Life


Occupies small spaces set aside in parades

to march amidst babies and balloons.

In old uniforms, bright campaign ribbons

under fluttering flags, emerging cleansed


of quiet rooms, coffee and cigarettes,

prescription bottles and embattled nights,

days awaiting mail and monthly checks

signifying their dwindling esteem.


Now trying on pride marches once again

scanning eyes for signs of understanding,

appreciation, or interest in its

yearly appearance, or apparition.


surrounded by the foreign landscapes  

of civilian life, it tentatively

emerges braving new explosions as

sharp cracks of applause replace cartridges


scanning faces, awaiting recognition  

dreaming of places and lost friends fallen

it retreats once again to the comfort

of older, more familiar companions


bidding another rigid farewell,

to its heartland, like children and villages

family dinners, backyard barbecues,

innocence and safety, all lost

forever when the killing began.



A sound unknown to those who never dare,
to love themselves in naked blood and breath.
nor fall in laughter to the sun soaked ground
or feel their life the more rare for knowing death.

Uncalled, by silence to the twisted trees
to places still untouched by ordered fate
beside the pool in marsh or rippled rill
in silence for the imminent to wait.

Alone, unchosen in the world of sound
the voice of fear unclear and unexpressed
my silence hostage to uncertainty
while anxiousness played havoc in my breast.

Till I met death whose perfect silence shone
in light and welcome beyond all I had known
I wept to hear that I was once again
cast out once more to leave my silent home.

What I feared then I now rarely recall
but rather listen to the changing wind
that as the seasons fly their circles round
quiets to bring the birdsong gently in.

Silence offers still the sweetest sound
broken only by laughter sweet and bright
to counterpoint the song that silence sings,
as life’s bright music fills endless night.