In Sorrow



Art Courtesy:


There is a welcome soft sadness

One that tastes of joy and loss

Peaceful contemplation inviting

A road few can find, or cross


It wells from deep within the heart

Spreading, it opens to peace

A lonely openness expanding

In which fear and pettiness cease


And I am lost

A feather borne

Aloft wisps of emotion

Into the day reborn




Stop The World


If I could but turn a knob

Turn down a world gotten loud

Thoughts derailed, wreckage


The text intruder chirping

Vibrating with delight

Caressed in your hand


I would rather hold yours

I remember when, once

A time before the noise


When the pages were turned

Friends were real, here

Not a number on a screen


Still, I type, reluctantly

Always first with this pen

As the thoughts flow to the page


Decisions & The Void


We act as if by some free will

Thinking we are the doer

It helps us to feel safe, it helps us sleep

But of even this can we be sure?


We keep our world smaller and manageable

Within conceivable limits, and time

No ripple from a choice, or separate thing

This one flow neither yours nor mine


We pick, and choose, until the end

Death happens, endings must come

It is nothing personal, apparently

Though it may feel like it to some


We choose, and accept, the result as ours

Good or bad it helps us feel in control

The illusion of doing most anything

Is imagined, and so is the toll


To simply let go is unthinkable

Exactly; don’t think and let it go

Everything is just as it must be

We really don’t reap what we sow


We haven’t figured it out yet

Maybe we never will

Yet we search for something; anything

Poured into this void we must fill



Calm Introspect


Winter calls, Lake Superior flexes
Billowing skies promise rain today
Weary waves finding a second wind, gasping

Grasping, toes curling, their final destination
This solitary road, tree leaves twisting, whisper
Walking, just because, watching, seeing

Thoughts of my father; if maybe once he walked
A lonely road, in overcast wind, thinking of me



Pic courtesy of:


The image is blurred, flawed

Of ourselves assembled, slipshod

Incomplete, shards of past experience


A reactor, reactions of others to us

Self constructed of discarded parts

Already obsolete after the upgrade


The core-heart, always current

Without beginning or end, timeless

We build what was never broken


So we cloak in tattered costumes

What is ever new, ever true

The fit is poor, yet we hold it tight