This year

This year 

this year as fires wave 

too much silence to find

in the face of implacable 

Mother Earth - garments 
shredding, poets writing, 
as the world searches for 
one or three or any wise 
men or women - a bright 
star to see - as heads 
across this globe are 
bowing under the weight 
of hatred loosed -

this year as fires wave -

sweet rain is gathering 

ready to fall fast and soft

on all fires - freeing 

blossoms 
waiting 
to be born 

sundaywhirl.wordpress.com

By the seat of my pants

CRAZY FROG: The Long Wait for a LUCID DREAM

By the seat of my pants

There was a time when
all was planned in neat
boxes around school
schedules and papers
due and yet to be
written or graded
or published or tossed
There was a time when
all was planned in neat
seasons of time –
blowing cold, warm,
rustling leaves
bright blossoms
There was a time when
death was a nightmare
from which one would
be kissed awake and
held cuddled in the
dark by strong in-
vincible arms –
and tomorrow
was planned
and certain
to arrive
on time
there ..

Just

Just 

I crawl on scraped knees and belly 

through a found small  wormhole in 

that solid barrier around your heart 

the one you built to keep out this un-

wanted banished immigrant  ...it did

not take much to decide to pay your 

implied tithe, I offer a bright vial of my 

blood dripping from a slashed  heart - 

this desperate offering to indifference -

Yet, I watch the tide of your love recede, 

and I am left prostrate on a barren shore 

with only a stern chide against myself 

           and the vanishing dream of 

a smooth ride as my only companions.