‪A Season of contrast‬‪

Spring vibrant green‬

‪As Democracy withers‬

‪impassioned hearts‬

‪Like crimson roses‬

‪Scalded by cold rage‬


So hope and beauty come

There is much to fear.
Banks contrive to steal money;
Carmakers engineer deceit;
Politicians abandon moral stances
for name calling and a bitter accusations.

Whose heart lives that is not weeping?
whence hope and where Solace?
when the oceans are poisoned
and our food twisted by science.

Still, I have only to stop,
the length of three breaths,
for small glimpses of goodness:

The face of an infant unmarked by travail,
an unexpected kindness,
the sound of strings in open air,
a sweet scent on a spring breeze.

So hope and beauty come,
somehow more vivid in silence,
in numinous illumination,
transforming a landscape,
mundane only a moment ago.

The Hammer

It’s easy to talk about how upset I am with:the new president,the threat of environmental destruction, cuts to Medicare and Social Security.

Yet the truth is not so simple when
I am no longer growing stronger with every passing year,
No longer the first choice among job applicants,
or as quick or agile.

My heart is deeper, I’m sure I’ve grown wiser, and my experience is important.
Why don’t they seem to care?

It isn’t just me I’ve talked to the others. They get the same responses from the same companies after 65. They want somebody younger, someone who will stay longer, and cost less.

It’s a little frightening, and sometimes more than a little.
Instead of keeping up my house and improving things, I find myself wondering how I will manage my expenses, if I will be able to keep my house or maintain a car.

I’ve worked all my life; many of the years I had two jobs.
It’s not as if I want a lot; Just a few new clothes each year;
A car for transportation, with tires that are safe in the winter;
to be able to go to the doctor when I need to and pay for medicine if I should need it.

Lately, every year, it seems more like the world is looking down on people like me, People who don’t have enough money.
As if we should be ashamed,
as if we had been lazy, as if we hadn’t contributed so much for so long.

All I really want is to have enough to enjoy the days and the people in them without worrying about losing everything. I wonder if they notice, me and if they do why they don’t care?

I won’t tell anyone that I’m afraid; just talk about the insensitivity, irresponsibility, and greed that fuels their need to destroy the new deal, to avoid the expense so they can add to their already incredible sums of money.

There are ways to stop myself from feeling fear. Anger is the tool I reach for when the fear is not acceptable and like a hammer it smashes the world of which I am afraid.

Saturday reading Rilke

I have felt the extremes, the joy, grief, and fear that are filled with human concerns.

What I want most is to take the beauty and power of life, untwisted and natural life, unaffected life,within myself and to watch it cover the feet of those who approach my shores. 

Then, the power of their lives  washes over me and their inspiration becomes again mine.

Scenes from remembered time #1

And here, the old barn,
reflecting the light of a hundred summers,

Yellow red and brown rainbows
glowing in porous wood.

Timeless, it Iingers, a reminder of another age; silent, empty, remembering.

Leaning forever, then finally falling; it’s last act,
returning light to the earth.

In The End -New Edit

Picture –  Mehmet Akin- on Pinterest

In the end it is not who we will love that is our choice, only whether or not we are willing.

In the end it is our acceptance or denial of what we are that defines our lives.

Even in denial, our bodies are etched, into images of our intentions.

In the end our bodies are maps, indelibly marked by the paths we have traveled;

our strengths and scars, historical documents,
marking our journeys through folly and fate.

In the end, as in the beginning, what is most precious is the presence of companions, and of certain love; 

to ease our fears as we begin the journey into a world as yet unknown.

*Please give me your feedback on this edit so I know whether or not you think it’s an improvement, or takes something away from the original.



Violence is an odd thing,  
so many who enact it
are certain they are victims.

Angry, they strike those
that they perceive have something,
something they deserve, 
but is denied to them;
by those that judge them unworthy.

As if they had spoken of their needs,
as if Love was an obligation,
as if they were entitled, 
but had been deliberately cheated.

They demand that we see them,
that we forgive their violence
knowing it was only a cry of pain
inflicted by our inattention.

I would have seen you gladly
had you been here,
had you been open,
had you dared to trust. 

If only you had accepted
my need to do what felt true
without assuming that anything 
I had not offered,
was a declaration of your inadequacy.

Perhaps if you had been courageous enough to feel,
opened your heart widely enough to notice your own beauty,
 you would have come as a friend, rather then a thief;

contributed to what we could share,
rather than attempting to destroy all that you wanted, but imagined you had been denied.

Now that you have shaped your isolation and rage,
enacted it that you might see it,
named yourself anathema;

Now it is true, I will not save you,
nor carry your anger on my body or in my heart.
Know that having come to no harm,
in an instant you could.

I am the Owl and the wolf.
I see through your darkness,
guard you though you are unaware, and separate you from the pack until you are well.

I will oppose your violence 
with eyes that know no fear,
with strength that has no end,
with love that knows your heart,
And holds your soul sacred.

In the end if you sicken beyond healing
I will give you a piece of my heart and the tears
that are the price of sending you home.


Accretion (1st Edit)

Each heart, like every chrysalis, must break,
its transformation complete.

Like a field it must be harrowed, deep furrows in hard earth,
broken to embrace new growth.

Waiting, unsure, winter seared, until; Spring’s first warm days when all life stirring wakes.

I let the growing beauty guide my feet, and bearing water, sing my dreams to blooms.

Every scent and shade infused,
eyes opened by beauty’s silent roar.

Content in knowing, that when at last I fall, my gathered grace returns to fertile soil.

This, in truth, is love.
Life undefined by need, born of water, spirit, earth and Sun.

Through such as I is all great beauty bred; passed on to fragrant air the blessings pour

giving to they who pass of dying less, leaving for each who comes; of loving more.