Who was I when I was me and you were gone?

When I left you there, and you stayed in time–

frozen between these endless mirrors

and the breaking waves.

Letting this water wash away your face,

and the sands of this shore

soak into the pores of your spirit.

Who was I then when you were me?

I left you behind and couldn’t see.

I buried you, but thought it wise

to think of you as the passing skies.

Who was I when I was so young,

to think I could out grow what wasn’t done?

And I find you here, where I left you then.

Facing the mirror to see you again.




My memories are threaded with the
peddles of flowers from forests.
Yellows and pinks, whites and reds,
running down ravines to the crescent of creeks.
Moss and maple trees
and simple fishing rods.
This whole forest was filled with forts
and safe havens,
the coming and goings of which held no time–
like rocks resisting the flow of a river’s path.
My memories are woven with these moments
connected to nature and it’s all its beauty.
I still marvel at it all
and I am blessed to have a had a boy
that ran free in search of his heart,
holding wet moss
in the palm of his hand.Woods

Of Course

Among the air of the ocean
big, salty waves crash in course.
The sand dances with the wind
and the sun is setting softly
upon your golden dream.
Like a blanket, like a piece of paper,
your world folds into and through
itself, offering night
were shining reflections of light
once played.
I can still see it tricking my sight
even after daylight has dimmed.
And as these walloping waves
continue to crash
I walk home with whispers in the night.

This Tree

Look up.
A symbol to the sun.
This tree stands here
amongst the mountains and this sapphire sky.
It bleeds with a purpose,
a direction indivisible.
And as everything else exists,
it stands as a man
and, too, dies from flames of fire–
disappearing into a freedom
that beats beyond
the center of our hearts.
This tree stands,
shaped from the soils of its roots
and reaching for its dreams.
A vertical virtue evoking the spirit of life.
And for the sake of growth and goodness,
this tree stands for me
to see.
A sign of things to come.

Cut and run,
break bread and bleed
into that butter.
Right up the middle.
A pool of dark water
sits beneath your table
in the kitchen.
Mixed in with all your moxie
and your parties.
California love.
Forgiveness. Envy.
It’s all a mess now.
Stained glass blurring your bathroom.
And it’s too late to say it.
you really should have loved yourself.
You would have run better
and walked with a whole heart.

The world is waiting for all the poets to die.
And the poets of the past to disappear.
Erasing eternity etched in ink one line at a time.

The world is waiting for all the poets to die.
For all their songs of love, and their sonnets of sadness,
their eyeful empathy, and their empty pockets to recede into darkness.

The world is waiting for all the poets to die.
So let them wait.
Time is only an illusion but patience is not.


As you go off
and out into the world
take with you
that smile that sings
and shines like the sun.
For if you are in a foreign land
without the familiar feelings of the past
that smile will tell all that
others need to know.
Let go of your words,
for your power is in your presence,
your love in your heart,
your strength in your purpose.
And your smile of song and light
shares the story you wish to tell.


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