Pastel pages turn and turn,
colour mix turning to burn.
Foster baby cries its first,
bursts of today taking its turn.
Every shade will have its season,
every fire will find its reason.
Blister pack locked it in,
soaking up packets of sin.
Last moments in the soup,
regaining a sense to recoup.
Hold the light against the glass,
let the colours drift and pass.
Nothing owed and nothing lost,
only the turning, only the cost.
Past the future round and round,
pure chaos in master the sound.
Beauty in the knowing.
Everything showing.
Like the first snow,
Like the rain
Like the dead red leaves of autumn
Everything is gracefully falling
Into place
The way I did things before is gone
The character that did them is gone, too
I blow her away like autumn leaves
I cast her into the air like softest snow
I let her heaviness flow like water
Seeping into every in-between
Rippling, touching everything
I laugh as I go
Mother Moon whispers to me
That I am her daughter
And she has prepared a place for me
Upon her ivory shores
Where I can gaze in perfect view
At our father, Great Sun
And I’ll soak in every detail
As if the battle’s already won
The trees stand still and tall
Still, they are falling
They are shedding their old layers
They are girding their waists with ringlets, they are
Shaving bald their heads, they are
Preparing for the bare, still night of winter
To adorn themselves at dawn
The trees are standing still
Like the first snow, I am softly falling
Into the arms of grace
Like the trees, I am silently rising
Stretching out my unused wings
Death,
Sad, forgotten,
Crying, fading, mourning,
Coldness, neglect, emptiness, tears,
Laughing, smiling, singing,
Warm, remembered,
Life.
(“Tipi Sky”, 2007, original oil)
Day turns to night and night to day
Each one handing its baton to the other
In a race to a finish line, we are compelled to cross,
Two sides of a whole, the surface and the deep,
Dancing with and around each other
Moon in all its moody phases
Sun in all its brilliant glory
Incessantly we dream day and night
Sometimes clothed, sometimes nakedly
Consciously or not.
And when we cross that line, what then
And what next?
Consciously or not
We pass the baton.
(5/16/26)
Although far from the sea
I can feel its tides, even hear its waves
Pulsing deep within me
And take solace in the fact
Such relentless comings and goings,
Swell and retreat in perfect rhythm.
If I lived on the beach
My mind would align effortlessly
And I’d weather cycles
Of change and stasis
Better than I seem to do
With only the hint of the sea within.
There is always something to learn
And sometimes that can be as simple as
Letting it all go
To simply settle
Where and how it does
Without personal choice or direction.
Even though I am a long way from the sea
Its tides pull within me
And without me;
The former being a constant reminder of change
And the latter a reminder how simple
Liberation from cyclic existence actually is.
(4/30/26)
April soon concedes to May,
where early blossoms will mature,
and move toward Summer bloom.
There, Springtime promise is fulfilled,
and as the cycles of all life-
wane in Fall, to then meet Winter gloom.
Hellos and goodbyes
I see God in your eyes
Like a freeze in the spring
Like a landslide at sea
You shake me so violently
My head falls out of place
And I faint
Addition and subtraction
A fatal attraction
Is there anybody left here
Who speaks how I do
Can you understand me
I know they can’t
But so I go
You do a part and I do a part
Your blood is from my heart
The gods are returning home again
Home again, home again,
Into the waters of these playful streams
Into the cascades of falling stars
Into the foaming glitter over lost dreams.
The gods are returning home again
Into the un-peace of this possible place
Dancing on the doorsteps of a neighbouring universe
Collecting flocks they gather grace
At the scum sketched shore.
The gods are returning home again
The pounding of their feet is heard once more
On the husks of the clouds above the gardens
In these watercoloured hills.
The gods are returning home again
Thumping, thumping, home again
Over the mush fields of mindless country men,
The gods are coming home again, my dear
The gods are coming home again I hear.
I was born into the pastel of Spring
But lived so long in Winter’s grey
That I forgot almost how to sing
Or how to dance the night away.
Our life it seems is into seasons divided
Not measured out like those of nature’s
Some are overburdened, rather lopsided
Others have short swiftly moving features
Years of Winter’s stormy chill
Gentle Spring blooming in an instant
Indolent Summer so tedious and still
And Fall a hurried picking – reminiscent
All in all it rounds out full
Although unbalanced be,
So when it’s time to say goodnight
It’s a fine furled farewell to thee.
In the Serengeti, a leopard meets a gazelle in surprise
A corpulent kori bustard stands nearby, witnessing a neighbor's demise
A black butterfly fluttering its wings in springtime
Alluring scents of jasmine and gardenia are so sublime
Old Man Jack blows his bitter breath on a January New York night
Men and women walk briskly, clutching their coats tight
A waxing gibbous smiling in an African sky
Honey badgers are out and about seeing what's next for them to pry
Sweet, jubilant voices frolic on a playground
Innocent, mirthful energy freely spreading around
A chimp swinging from tree to tree,
Just hanging with unmitigated glee
At night, before I fall fast asleep when the nightingale sings
I lie in my bed and think this is the nature of things
Sometimes I black out and hallucinate
I see things that aren’t there
I think I hear voices of angels
I operate in low vibrations and fear
I have PTSD from the military
And I dread the color red
My heart races in crowded spaces
And I can’t remember things I’ve said
I have episodes of insomnia
And long hospital stays
I see a therapist to talk about my problems
And then I go missing for days
Then all of a sudden, I’m normal again
And go years without incident
I become happy again
And live life like it’s meant
I go off my meds
I think I’m in the clear
Then out of the blue
I’m tormented by despair and fear
The blurred lines between reality and dreams disappear
I am late to work again
Because I’m paranoid and can’t sleep
The melatonin isn’t working
I think I’m being chased in my dreams
Here we go again in the psyche ward
And the treatment is twice as rough
The ebb and flow of mental illness
Takes a toll and enough is enough
When I die, please bury me in mud.
Don't put me in wood, or in a furnace.
For all I have been - meat and blood.
Belongs to the earth, and it's done its service.
When I die, please lay me with the trees.
Let their roots take as much as they breathe.
Let them grow as beautiful, as tall and free:
as the universe intended them to be -
with a little help from me.
Don't treat it like someone's still there,
For all I have been has gone, and wont be.
The time has come for the body to lay bare
and for my unknowing soul to finally see.
I walk a rope that hangs in air,
It moves with rules I do not see.
Each step I take feels watched, not free,
And I forget who I used to be.
The rope is soft yet too tight and pulls me back,
Like Kind Hands hiding quiet chains.
It bends around but doesn’t break,
And leads me through the same old lanes.
I feel the pull from sides unknown,
Not just by you, or even me.
Some hands I never see or name
Still change the shape beneath my feet.
I walk like water in a glass,
Shaking with fear I cannot speak.
If I fall, is that called freedom?
Or just another circle made?
The rope still turns but never ends,
And still I walk though truth is blurred.
Still I walk, though the knot is hidden,
And the wind keeps shaking, blurring what I see.
Cycles and routines
create a loop
it can be positive or negative
the loop that is never ending
You can be stuck in a cycle of
progression or degression
seasons they never end
thats just how the loop
Begins.
Cycles
Living in my mind,
This is my “Dawning Time”
My healing Season,
Near completion.
Thank you, Lord,
For your perfect
Timing.
In my waiting,
Your hand,
Maturing.
I emerge,
Through your
Strength,
Captured by
Your Love.
Hope, fulfilled.
In my Winter,
Cometh Spring…
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