WISDOM

when we are weak

self doubt is a close companion

and the madness of this life

it never ends, it comes again, it hammers in

 

when the heart is empty

the tongue lacks pleasing phrases

and the beauty we posses

is desert rays, a thousand days, an ugly haze

 

when we shudder at tomorrow’s coming

for every morning the same fears call

our feet no longer want to dance

they hear no song, their steps drag on, the miles long

 

look into your past you broken hearted

listen for the voice of hope that calls

she will tell you tales already known by your heart

she bids recall, of times before, old melanchol

 

she cries,  “Walk in the graveyard of your heart.

Stroll in the shadows of death in your soul.

The air is thick with the stench of despair.

Your heart was low, the beat was slow, and full of woe.

 

You rose from your casket scarred but living.

The words upon the slab ring stark and bold.

HERE LAY ONE IN THE WINTER OF HIS HEART

BUT HE IS GONE,  FOR SPRING HAS COME, AND DEATH BRINGS WISDOM”

* I wrote this over 25 years ago, in my early 20’s, maybe younger. I remember being sad about something that happened. I can’t remember what.  But I was beginning to realize life is full of ups and downs and it was best to just hold on and wait for it to pass. This has served me well in the darker moments of my life. Good or bad, the moments, the days and the challenges die and fade away. We resurrect to a new day and new places in our lives that offer new possibilities and new beginnings*

 

 

 

HOPE

worn down by ugliness

cynicism creeps in

the feeling that nothing and no one can change

 

but hope for humanity

for us and for them

requires belief that good is still true

 

hope leads to risk

risk opens chances

for ourselves and for others to start something new

Ski Day

63DAE77E-1AD2-436D-A384-BDEAE840E69Ctiny diamonds caught in the snow
sparkle, before the edge of the skis
cut them and throw up a white cloud
no clouds in the Colorado sky
blue against the green trees
whose limbs drop with icing

sweaty under the warm coat
the slap of cold on the face
racing down
down down down

nothing in the world is wrong
when you’re skiing
weaving
through the trees
sunshine and mountain beauty
fill each breath
and your muscles ache
finding the rhythm

THE WATERS

a voice from the past

called last night

reminding me of a girl

I used to be

 

his voice was full of colors

the vivid painting of my past

streaming from some secret river of before

onto the cavas of today

 

I consider this girl

she seems a stranger

her ways are wild and unthinking

her smile is bright and unseeing

 

youth was a bright flash in the night

we flew hard and fast

we beat our wings to the heartbeat of life

 

our color high

we joined hands wet with the paint of our lives

our eyes eager

we joined paths to run together awhile

 

I consider her face

in the mirrored water of time

the ripples lap around her eyes

her image shifts and gathers back again

 

the sparkle in her eye could just be a reflection of the sun

but her voice calls clear through the years

echoing the same dreams and fears

changed only in perspective by time

 

her watery gaze is displaced by the wind

but this fragmented surface is a truer image

for ever she blew with the wind

wheverer the wind would blow

 

she is me and I am her

I cannot deny her colors paint my life

her reflection is mine but mine is not hers

for ever the waters shift and gather back again

Birthday

it’s my birthday and if I had my wish
I’d get everything I got
a man I love and admire, who loves me, respects me and and tries every day to be a better man
children who have grown to be their own people
each who hold their head high
and have their own music that they dance this life to
a career rich and full of meaning
colleagues that I admire
a house that is a home
a sister who I treasure
a big fat silly bunny who hops after me for treats
a dog who can smile and throw sad eyes like a baby seal
a cat who is my constant companion
words that I still love to write and read
endless piles of books that clutter my shelves and end table
a grand piano that I dreamed of
enough money to make it
dreams that still light my soul