Sunday, November 22, 2020




Most evenings as the sun descends

The sky becomes a flame

As if trying to wave goodbye to the day

I always feel a tinge of sadness

As I witness the passing of time

When night gradually suffuses the light –

A tiny death preparing me for inevitable endings


Most evenings before the sun descends

I watch a parade of noisy quail march behind my house

Their pretty colors barely visible in greyness of earth

They seek their simple goal of slumber in safe shelter

Unaware of their beauty, or the gift they bestow

On the watcher who forgets about death or sorrow

Or the greyness that envelopes earth

Time becomes that moment when the quail seek to sleep

While the watcher awakens


Monday, October 26, 2020



Her nightmare was surreal
As most nightmares are
A message from a dimmed reality
Intensified by terror

"You want it darker?"
Something asked 
As she saw forests devoured
By hellish flames
The spirits of animals, trees,
Homes (yes they have souls), humans
Evaporate into darkness

"You want it darker?"
Charcoal painted fields
Covered the dead earth
As the fumes of putrid scum
Rose from oceans
Fusing with thick grey air
Beneath a blackening sky

"You want it darker?
She witnessed monstrous hate
By humans inhumanely killing
Irrationally rationalizing wealth
As natural evidence for 
The "fittest" of the species' survival

"You want it darker?
"NOOOO!!!" she screamed awake
Fearing the truth of dreams
She realized
Darkness can engulf darkness
It  CAN get darker

("You Want It Darker" respectfully borrowed from the title of a song by Leonard Cohen.)

Wtitten for Earthwheel where Brendan provides many writing challenges revolving around Halloween and All Souls Day.  

Thursday, September 24, 2020


Never again, they said
As if never is a place 
In time's non-existence
So that by mere exclamation
We can rest
That lessons learned
Are eternal

But time is an incompetent teacher
Unable to engrave marks on its own story
Instead like a child who enjoys the same book
over and over
Time repeats
Stories of disasters in a world deranged
Like the story of now

Some are convinced that subjugation
Is necessary for their own elevation
While we, (the sane?) protest
Because we're convinced
This time we change 
Humanity can rearrange 
Time's never ending story
To be repeated time and time again


( For Dverse poets where Grace asks us to write a protest poem.)

Friday, September 18, 2020


I grew up in an inner city jungle 
Where poverty's wilderness was muddy thick
Hard to run through without getting stuck 
Or see light beyond its grey shady canopy 
I flew out through a narrow concrete crack
Discovered that nature is wildly alive 
Like you
Like me
Each other's reflection
Conglomeration of
Order - chaos
Growth - destruction
Reason - insanity
Love - hate
Life - death
I saw myself become
Green then a rainbow
Naturally fused
I am nature
Nature is me
Our bond 
Superbly strong
Like a weed

For Earthwheel.

Friday, July 31, 2020

Off a hiking trail, in the mountains near Taos, New Mexico.
My favorite place in the world.

               A BLESSING

Every time I call my 91 year old aunt
I ask for the blessing
"May God bless you, take care of you"
Tradition requires these words
Younger person requests
Elder gives rote response
Ritual of my culture
A simple repetition
Stemming from a sacred mystery
Of love entwined in the intangible

For a more solemn intentional blessing
I visit my hidden nature chapel
Away from the myriad of obligations
Imposed by this "civilized" world
I sit on a fallen tree
Amidst its leaves of fertile green
Listening to an inner hush
Created by the stream's rush
Down the mountain of serenity
Delving into vacuous silence
Absorbing its graceful giving
Expanding my awareness of all
That is living

I visit this place to seek
Blessings given freely
By this world's lush grandiosity
This small space to me -
A symbol
Of nature's grand cathedral
Available without ritual or pomposity
To all who seek
To find peace within chaos
Love without promises
Blessings without words

I didn't make it to respond to Brian's prompt on Monday.  But I did want to write about my special place.

For Earthwheel.

Monday, July 20, 2020

Jane Goodall is an English primatologist and anthropologist.[4] Considered to be the world's foremost expert on chimpanzees, Goodall is best known for her 60-year study of social and family interactions of wild chimpanzees since she first went to Gombe Stream National Park in Tanzania in 1960.[5]
She is the founder of the Jane Goodall Institute and the Roots & Shoots programme, and she has worked extensively on conservation and animal welfare issues. She has served on the board of the Nonhuman Rights Project since its founding in 1996.[6][7] In April 2002, she was named a UN Messenger of Peace. Goodall is also honorary member of the World Future Council. (Wikipedia)


The day Jane hugged me
I felt her heart untamed
A jungle breathing
Untethered to vines of ignorance
that kill animals without restraint

Her hug contained infinity
A touch of holy tenderness
Love unstoppable
Bravery against those who fail to see
My value in the wilderness

I thank all who follow Jane
Assisting her idealistic quest
To help humanity become humane
Acknowledging dignity of the wild
Because all creatures deserve respect

Sunday, July 19, 2020


I once saw a play about a man's
discontent at being in this world.
He sought an alternate universe,
which he found in dreamlike state
within his mind,
then in chosen death.

Afterwards, friends and I analyzed,
like Jung and Freud dissecting a patient.
What made the man decide to leave?
What was hidden in his disdain for life?
Was it work? Was it his wife?
Was he not afraid that in death
He might still be chased by fear -
A hellish game of cat and mouse?

Is sadness a weed that grows thick
with no cultivation?
Can it entwine itself around sight,
obscuring all light, defying
gravity of love that pulls
in opposite direction?
It was interesting
to hypothesize, to intellectualize 
But death is so much more
Than interesting.

Today, as I write, my memory jolts
to ghosts of those I knew, who left
because they felt they had no choice.
Their potential was strangled by despair.
Like my young cousin, still grieved
By us, who love him still
Wondering why, like a Rocket Man
He left, to find another world.
Does he still feel despair
Unparalleled in any universe?

"Now, I think it's gonna be a long long time
And I think it's gonna be a long long time
And I think it's gonna be a long long time
And I think it's gonna be a long long time"

(Lyrics from "Rocket Man" by Elton John.)

The play I saw was "Rocket Man" by Steven Dietz.

For The Sunday Muse.  This is an old poem I've edited for today's picture prompt.