Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken. — Oscar Wilde. Let’s start off by saying the world should be a place where information is free, and artists of all sorts, inventors, teachers, librarians, and social workers are more valued and compensated for the importance of their work. We all need to look out for one… Read more

I imagine youSkipping across the cosmosComet tail glittering in your wake,Free and laughing with amazement,Curiosity pulling youInto the next adventureThe ordinary now far behind you.So boldly you stepped awayThe air left the room,The light and senseLeaving with you,Searching the stars andSeeing how far BeyondMight stretch.Unfolding like a wing, or seed,Or newborn,Spirit bounding fleetlyCoursing with energy… Read more

An honorable thief,Stealing life from odds against,Fighting hard to have arrived, here,At this point in time,Somehow still crackingBackward jokesDaring someone to try again. Will I know when the time is?Will I sense it coming like a storm frontApproaching?All majestic cloudsAnd thunder.Lightening reaching for offerings in the earthDischarging relief for the joy ofRebalancing pressures.The stretch of… Read more

People hear my nameAnd suddenly thinkThey get to have some piece of me.Whatever the conversation,It changes to what they can know of me.Ask why don’t I match their expectations.How dare I challenge their assumptionsAbout me.Is that your real name?Does it mean something special?Funny you don’t look it.I apologize for being pale and colonized,Assure them that… Read more

Are we talking aboutSkin color? Ethnicity?Culture?Strands of DNA,Blood percentages,Country of origin,Language spoken,Explaining a name or a look,The content of one’s beliefs,How your family acts,Or who they are? Are you asking or assumingFor my benefit or yours?Mere curiosity?What story does that information tellYou about Me? Shouldn’t it be aboutAsking our ancestorsFor their life lessonsAnd good blessings,Celebrating… Read more

I look across the canyon, the valley, the river,The field, the forest, whereverA beautiful view from where I stand.I could have taken another path:Stood where I am looking now,Seen where I am now standing, Only from afar.I take a momentTo take a look at me in that other place,Unknowing of all the other things that… Read more

Every time I see you is the last timeAt least as far as I knowBut then years passAnd I feel foolish.Still better to haveGrabbed the opportunity to savor.Though Flowers can be beautifulEven if no one ever sees or smells them. One of these days it will be the last timeMaybe we’ll even knowMaybe we’ll finally… Read more

I’m snowshoeing amongst the smells of pine. The fresh powder shushing as I make a path following the way I know. Save for my footsteps, the only sound is of wet snows leaving their blanket piles, shedding off branches, making soft noises collapsed on the ground. Occasionally I come across others enjoying the small sounds… Read more

I imagine the concept of blanket,In my dogs’ minds.Endlessly warm and comfortable,Familiar and cozy.The natural designation ofWhere to rest.Best if tucked into a soft cornerOr in a sunlit spot.They pile against one another,A lap or other warm spot.A space free to hoard and revel,If you get a chanceTo have so much.The best seat, though it… Read more

Open the tapsThe water will go where it wantsIt exists because it flowsBut don’t we all. Fill what space you’re givenFeel your edgesKnow your boundariesAnd honor what is not yours Remember to ebb and flowBe gentle in your erosionSeep into the ground deeplyAnd sustain what is around you Know your core forged density,Know that you… Read more

Imagine burning so bright,You didn’t need to flag,You were known,knew who you were,And where you stoodWithout one. Imagine prayers said out loudTo anyone who listened,Prayers as well wishes,With whatever God connects for youWhatever inspires awe or wonder,Challenge or curiosity. What if every word, step and actionWas made out of thought givenWith purpose and love,Asking for… Read more

Cricket song slowsIn autumn,Becomes a little less loud,Less synchronous,Sounding tiredNot quite a choirAnymore. Plants stiffen, dry, retractFrom full bloomTo single stems and seed.The wind in branched leavessound differentIn the cooler air,Somehow sharperWithout the same warmth and humidSong of sap and syrup. Yet nights have a dampnessThat chills the skin,Long for blankets, andDust off long sleeves.… Read more