Worlds Apart

a bump
in this cobblestone road
turns determination
to despair

run for the hills,
evaporate in turbulence,
no longer allow yourself
to cast a shadow;

while i
stretch and yawn ~
and expect
the usual pace/face
with the morning paper.

Lead the Way into the Wild

lead the way into the wild ~
etch flowing paths into my feeble heart;
teach me the chords to nature’s truthful sound;
to keep still, when silenced; bound to life.
untie my legs and draw me out to walk,
to find courage within, through gentlest touch.

miraculous; simple touch
revives parched dreams; finds stray hope, running wild.
rivulets of souls mingle as we walk,
to swell; with rawness, engulf weakened heart
and flood; waves’ tongues returning fragile life
to be cradled, gingerly; safe and sound

with these brittle bones, un-sound,
from solid stone to stone we hop; we touch
freedom’s sweetness, to coalesce with life.
find the fountain; youthful, deep pool of wild-
ness; cleanses, with ease, recovering heart
and mends weary bones, now destined to walk

nature’s call, perceived while walk-
ing; earth’s untamed presence, captured in sound ~
bittersweet song, unleashed to pierce the heart,
rises, in delicate tunes; tempting touch ~
the zenith; music, alive in veins, wild;
joyous ~ a glimpse at the meaning of life

strong, steady hand unfolds life;
now, at its fullest, and proudly i walk,
find serenity in this wayward wild.
whole now; the gift of my own voice, my sound
resonates, rewards me; i reach and touch
my soul; translucent, sister to my heart.

and through pulses of the heart,
the one, universal language of life,
we are united; led by spirit’s touch.
from valley deep to highest peak we walk,
among legends; set out, seeking the sound
the haunting rhythm, the call of the wild.

heart’s steady beat guides, wherever we walk;
through life, encouraged by ancestral sound;
by purposeful touch, reborn… in the Wild.

… a Sestina (hard work, argh!), inspired by the Iron Poets and linked to dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight. Doors open at 3pm EST… bring a poem and join us at the bar!

Turn the Tide

children of the new age,
homeward bound;
a deliberate chance to re-
new, to dust ancient lore.
golden age they whisper,
established through the plunge of man – then
spiral to awareness on higher frequencies.

Claudia over at dVerse invites us to write about Change/Turns… come join us at the bar!

Christmas Parody

sparkling clutter; more of it;
to consume – we deem it essential
while the ones
with shiny shoes and thick cigars
chuckle softly into their cognac glasses,
golden bellies wobbling.

” a christmas tree
doesn’t fit into a cardboard home”,
you say
and wander off
to find warmth
in a selfish world.

maybe one day
we will go back
to caring…
until then,
let’s close our eyes
and pretend
that everything
is a-okay.

The Age of Aquarius


bohemian minds;

the source, the fountain of old ~
no longer impelled
to feed on
muddy waters.

dark reign’s destiny
in ancient, golden letters;
a guiding light
through battles
yet to come.

when clarity
becomes palpable;
when angry steel
becomes memory’s wisp,
the world we know
will reveal
a brand-new face.

(hold on)

with purpose,
towards a new dawn.

photo credits:

Movement In Blue

Rhapsody-In-Blue-600x450to leave (to grieve for)
times we knew;
the price we pay
to move
and see…
it’s not as steep
as we might think.

dive in deep ~
and we might find
it will be
well worth
taking the risk
of letting go.

photo credits:

She. (Rebellious Portrait)

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
she attacks the tabletop
blue-painted missiles target
oiled hazelnut craftsmanship
in staccato rhythms.

she isn’t sorry.

she looks at me, a pink bubble
between cherry lips ~
growing, Growing;
defiance in her stare,
challenge extended;
tap tap tap


the pink-smeared smile
doesn’t touch her
(tap tap tap)
her tongue snakes out,
the sticky, playful rebellion.
teeth start chomping again.

she leans back with a huff,
old chair complaining
at the sudden movement.

she isn’t sorry.

tap tap tap
i wait.

Brian Miller over at dVerse Poets Pub invites us to focus on the details today… an interesting challenge.
Come join us at the bar!

Wasted Gift

turns to dust
on the stony floor
of mortality.
the shades we wear
are too dark
to see
go to ground.
all those
particles –
and we
in the thoughtful gift
meant to uplift.

photo credits:

A Painter’s Struggle

sometimes words
shred dreams
faster than we can comprehend.

it takes a long while,
maybe a lifetime,
to repaint
the colorful walls
that once embraced us.

never loosen
your grip
on the brush;
stop the paint
from flowing.

photo credits:


through the haze of smoke and tears
dawn erupts, blows vivid sheen ~
poisoned fumes upon the guilty,
windy eyes, that never seen

empty stares of empty vessels,
empty hearts beat empty minds ~
shallow vultures come to listen,
how the bleariness unwinds

seek the virtue, seek the silence,
seek the truth within the deep ~
find the courage, tear the image,
gather tongues and take a leap.

photo credits:

Rocks and Reasons

as we move,
step by step,
up the side of the mountain,
the valley below
seems so distant,
so unreal.

covered in fog,
we no longer see
where we came from…
how it felt
to be
by earth’s womb.

facing the cold and biting wind,
we force our feet
to keep from freezing solid;
we chase our fate,
our desired
(and sometimes feared)

photo credits:


blame the victim
in its blindfolded state;
follow the equable river
down to the depths of
mankind’s failure

do you see
announcing itself?

or is it just
the dying flame
of a dripping candle;
the last decoy
at the end of days?

photo credits: