Quiet Rest Stops










These places exist if we open their doors,

too busy, so afraid, of letting go.

‘My anxiety is nothing like yours;’

sweeping strands become my complacent throes

like winds scream, thunders a prejudice grasp -

Our minds are often sinewy chasms.

When eyes behold our sweet real lives a hasp,

held out hands, breezy thrills, soft orgasms

of heart felt love in the kindness of dreams.

Crawl, explore … a constant lonely surface

of fear persists, always alive it seems.

Shine in torrential rains, alive we face

soft music sharp awaits with beckoned cry:

sooth, glide, strive for love, forget about why.

Seething Rage


I reach

I touch you,

soft skin delight.

I cannot imagine otherwise.

I want to watch you and cherish you,

love your smile, reactive and giddy.

I imagine a world in your eyes,

and realize only,

you need

my love.

Why rage?

how do we defend

the actions of reactive passion

beyond the scope, a child

with pleading eyes

wonders how now,

why this?

Falling timber

solid in a careen

tramples the brush

only to leave scars in soil

the natural course of small earth.

A tree doesn’t compare

line up or speak

to the soft flesh

in a switch of


We cannot judge, we may silently grieve,

yet in the moment, we do know our rage.


When We Are Children


We can really dance forever,

streaming across golden grasslands

running wild with passion,

in crystal autumn winds.


We cannot imagine pain,

haven’t yet endured a moment

when our world is shattered,

much worse than skinned knees.


We can laugh out loud

sharing special setting suns

in the freedom of blue skies

jumping hurdles that allow.


We can walk along with hands

with open embrace, a love

that means just only that

without any need to wonder.


We will only live this life

in the simple manner we choose;

if holding back a gray cloud,

our shadowed eyes remain open.


We can speak to each other

not knowing any reason, why

we can’t – our obstacles are

far away, deep in the wood.


We can find our way then,

in continued dialogue

well beyond our teenage angst,

rather, delightful designs of love.


We can dance together

when we are children

welcome our wide open fields

share the wonder of life!

The Arms of Compassion


In the season of autumn
when needs do shift
summer’s recreation
begins a gradual wane;
lives are soon measured
in orchestrated assemblies.
Their eyes come in fogged
by the shock crickets will
sound in the evening sky.
Hold on one more moment
before our hearts
begin our next chapter,
the rite of passage
a natural progression is
our preparatory masking.
For we are not yet
convinced of all
‘the man’ offers our lives.
Freshly sewn garments in
attention to style,
some chosen, while others
seems laid before us without an
option to suggest the absurd.
Each day through the winter
haze of icy winds
we will frown on exit
until smiles surround friends.
The arms of compassion
surround us now
as our lives become yours.
Bring us along
this journey so delightful
if delivered with a zeal
your promise suggests.
We do live to respond upon
offerings at your bequest.
Simple human nature is grinning
in the eyes of symbolic rhythms.

Playing With Frost’s Wall

rock wall

The wall is crumbling down the way again.

You don’t say, you think you want to start today?


I think you might go take a look for me.

Well I don’t feel like it’s my responsibility.


I don’t expect you are too concerned about

a few rocks that have dropped into your yard,


for those trees will grow with walking paths.

Get dressed we’ll take a look, you’ll see


the same rocks we glance every year.

Seems exercise is a welcome tool to have,


we’re getting older now; the two of us are

not the spry young fellows we once could be.


Do you remember when you could shoulder me?

We walked the fence, rock over rock and moss,


we didn’t seem too careful then, you and me.

I do remember falling once or twice I think


and you would pick me up to start again.

We’d laugh a postured stance in victory,


that began a time when always we’d return.

Seems many years ago to imagine that time,


when now we walk along the wall. The rocks

and leaves and fallen wood still look the same.