Monthly Archives: March 2021

Too Enough

Pushed too far to be patient
Stretched too taut to be kind
Wrung too dry to be social
Hedged too close to be blind

Depression too deep to be active
Connections too many to be free
Compassion too spent to be trusted
Obligations enough to be


Hushed, somber whispers
Cultivated fields of grass
Sown and fed in wealth

I cannot

I cannot make them listen.
I cannot make them see.
I cannot make them value
The me I have to be.

I cannot make me guiltless.
I cannot make me free.
I cannot make me happy
With all I cannot be.

I cannot make us better.
I cannot make us blend.
I cannot make us anything
But a struggle to pretend.


What Is Your Shield

What is your shield when your world overturns?
Is it the pulsing energy of a crowd?
Beating thoughts back with drums and lights
Is it the muffling weight of a closed door?
Burying fears with books and stories
Is it the driving whip of frenzied work?
Blotting it out by crowding minutes
Is it the rhythms of a formal prayer?
Barricading with symbol and sermon
Is it the thrilling spike of vital risk?
Bolting, diving, or vaulting away
Is it the warmth of a loving hug?
Blanketing all with comforting care
What is your shield, your shelter, your escape?
How do you survive the strikes of fate?

Soft, Singing Whispers

Soft, singing whispers
Chorus from the restless night,
Communing with trees

Assembled in Bits and Blocks

Assembled in bits and blocks –
Built and rebuilt and built again
As moments inspire, and years destroy.
Shaped by souls, study, and society
From overarching shape to enfolding voids:
A life’s achievement and frame, as well,
Completed without plan or oversight.

Sunlight Acrostic

Soothing warmth
Unholy pain
New life’s food
Leaching drain
Inviting brightness
Glaring blindness
Hope for the harvest
Terror for the same

A Dozen, a Multitude, a Score

A dozen, a multitude, a score –
The paths stretch forward, back, beyond.
First steps so clear, so precise.
Too quickly, the paths turn and twist:
The steps fade, blur, and obscure,
Leaving the path’s distant end
In dark, unsettled uncertainty.

It Traps

Gray matter emblazoned with patterns and paths,
Taught, learned, innate, and in-between.
Like a spymaster, it traps information
And sends it through those labarynthian paths,
Never seeing the walls of its own creation.

Spirits of Spring

A flicker of red
Followed by bright, brassy calls:

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