Lunch with Death

Thrice a broken clock,
Would not a fool dare mock,
Unless it lay upon his wrist,
He’d shun this transient vex amidst,
The flames and seething bate, –
But then turn and smile with an accepting bow,
And walk a quiet step unconcerned with this row,
Head held high, to his own fate.

Upon his entry he received,
A lovely piece of golden thread,
With wine, and meat, he breathed relieved,
That Death mistakenly thought him dead.
He asked of what his only kin,
And pleaded for their safe demise,
In turn, he offered his only prize,
An ensign found beneath his skin.

A glance was given to him appeased,
His prize beheld, but not bequeathed.
And kindness contained these two in peace,
That Death in turn wished not to cease.
To the humble heart with whom he dined,
A toast to all his dreams defined,
A promise too he pledged to share,
His riches and affectionate care.


“Jean-Baptiste Faure as Hamlet” by Édouard Manet





A Winter Hug

Fresh from our crisp and silent faces,
I return inside to your evaporating outline,
The fog lifted windows that now in kind,
Reflect the smile of my curious eyes,
Softening dampening unsympathetic lies,
Warming the pause of these long drawn out spaces,
Melting muted footsteps over a spilt and silent seed,
That only hands from unseen gardens can water and feed,
Of what we said so quietly in our cold excited ears,
Of all that held us pending in our undisclosed fears,
Should soon glow of many stars,
Upon the path of many hopeful years, –

Not over the breath of some fading promise of ours,
Not that I should see nothing but my own saddened smile,
Reflected back at me with you long past that frozen distant mile.
And turning to look at the softened place by the fire you leaned,
Where warmth once lifted the edges of my face,
Into a landscape of laughter and possibilities, – that yet all seemed
To be fiction, but a shadow of a whisper of some misled conjured embrace,
That leaves me shaking unmoved by a tense and crackling heat,
Whose echoes and voices overlay and conspire,
Awakening visions and dreams restoring my quiet defeat,
Whose constant reminder is the tending and love of all I desire.

In spite of it all and in this moment of fate,
In the background murmurs of a silent closing gate,
I am gently awakened by a voice who hadn’t left my ears quite yet,
Who, tired in her modest regret,
Came inside to say hello in a manner so slight,
As the fire smiled back at me a tender light,
With her cold hands in my arms, – to ask if she could spend the night.





When I came, you were not there,
Arriving, I waited. –
A life’s questions pondered, I waited,
Plodding the streets to find your voice, you were silent,
Pulling me into hidden corners, you were not there,
Your voice I heard through the walls, you vanished,
I dreamt a thousand times, I arrived.
A cool clean room, old wooden scent, stillness,
You were there, I didn’t see you.
Arriving, I waited. –
Getting up, I breathe the distant mountains,
Moon setting, blueness lighting,
Your voice, I dreamt a thousand times.
Standing, I’m awakened,
Pulled inward, my eyes and mouth opened,
All around, a thousand pieces falling.
A thousand times, you pulled me deeper,
You were there, I didn’t see you.
Your voice I hear through the layers, I am guided,
A vision settled in peace, candle lighting, stillness,
Arriving, I am here. –
Arriving, you were waiting.


woman in the mountains
photo:  Zhenya Bakanova/Alex Grabchilev

Not Lost

I don’t think my life is wasted.
I see myself mirrored in many of my youthful visions,
I have waited patiently for those forms to arise,
I was not lost.
I was held tenderly in my own embrace,
Wanting only the most authentic of those visions to bear fruit.
Who am I, who was I, –
As I banged out notes on keys,
Striking the chords of my attempts to give form to my newest self.

I am forever re-approaching my highest achievements,
Propelled higher, further, longer, deeper.
In my deepest bliss,
In my dance of unfettered bewilderment,
Flushed, exhausted, hungry, drained, –
I touched my heart,
I touched the heart of all that is beating around me.

I see myself mirrored in the sky,
Free of all restraints,
Ready to embrace something I can’t put a name to.

I place myself in this moment time and time again,
Ready and willing,
And then grasping at something that melts between my fingers.

I don’t think my life is wasted.
I am not lost.
I am who I was, and was, and was.
I am a complete mystery to myself.

I found, I find, that all that I am is being reborn and reborn,
Again and again and again,
One more time, I have come back to myself,
I have visited me from my unborn peace,
I am embracing me,
Who I have seen once before,
Looking back envisioning the future.

I am not lost,
Perhaps I am only seeing things differently than you.

Perhaps I am not waiting at all…


photo:  Zhenya Bakanova, Alex Grabchilev

The Igniting Firmament

Filled with fire with magic seeds
Planted in nuclear dust from flowering needs
In firmaments glowing from embers rise
To a landscape golden with enterprise
As if some Sun rose to internal bloom
Igniting the horizon of the morning Moon
Setting ablaze the deadwood trees
Broken the crust of stagnant seas
Flowing in nocturnal tides will nourish
And peaceful dreams of love will flourish.
The hearth that burns warm inside
Lasting endearments to that youthful source
Over many a year that came divide
Many a choice would laughter divorce
Many a voice that temperament cooled
With resenting eyes dried tears on our face
Without a joy we wiped away fooled
And dreamed of love in the cold dark Space.
Placing visions among the fiery skies
Would we come burning along a moonlit field
Voices echoing that we set in lies
Come soothing truths to which we humbly yield
Holding a torch in that lunar chasm
Warming tending the heat of our dreams desire
Calming the cry of a neglected spasm
Reclaiming a stolen gem for which we did not tire.
Blooming to the east that most golden Sun
Lighting a most spectacular return
Forgiving confusion in all that was done
Embracing that for which our hearts did yearn
And lying in our field of flames
We embrace calling forth our names
Holding hands in our naked mend
Into our eyes we do softly blend.


artist: Tomasz Alen Kopera (gif animation by George Redhawk)

Ancient Tree

With two feet planted in earth and deep,
Head so high so far so steep,
Into the upper reaches I do touch,
My arms widely do spread as much,
My heart is open for you to glean,
A breath, a wind, a breeze so clean,
A warmth to comfort console unseen,
A word in eloquence so slightly phrased,
A voice that softly intones a praise:
‘For now you are ready are poised and amazed.
And in your soft repose shall meet,
A garden of dreams laying at your feet,
A silken thread too will glow,
Of your efforts your journey your pathway know,
Of your seeds planted some years ago,
The soil, it nourished it cared to show,
The Tree that lives inside you will grow,
And house the many wishes you’re soon to sow.’


image source


To share solace with those who’ve received none,
To be taught by those who cannot speak,
To be popular among the unpopular,
To have honesty in a field of deception,
To be discreet in a valley of turmoil:
It is through the company of things ancient,
That I understand my present.
It is through my service to others,
That I connect with my ancestors.


bear bull by otto rapp
artist: Otto Rapp