Sitting With You


Lake Superior in Spring 2015


I have in morning at break of dawn,

while the afternoon plodded on,

I have in the evening watched your fury,

in the tides of settling sea I have looked.


Yet in all of your mystery,

I will look again for answers,

cast an eye upon your majesty

to realize I am again your visitor


The last rings of winter caress

your sides like clinging threads

on the frame of our shoulders,

only to recede when sunlight speaks.


yet you will continue to be the same,

a master of our universe, just waiting,

allowing many to traverse your skin,

if only to remain outside of your lair.


Those that have dared are nameless

to you, yet families grieve years later,

the depths of your mystique swallow

the kindest soul, the earnest fathers


I look out upon you as evening breaks,

watch the ring of clouds frame you tonight,

only beauty and exceptional grace come

to mind, as I again, wait for your answers.


your history is timeless, the merchants that pass

through your waters, daily, searching their souls,

we stand on the shoreline without ownership.

I stand alone wishing you might one day speak.


If I Lived by the Ocean



I imagine if I might realize the spacious wonder,

that lays before me every morning when I awake,

If instead I could simply step out and wander,

Could I feel the beauty that exists with each wake.

I seem to feel sometimes that I am not connected,

this body of water so remarkably proud and majestic

takes ownership over me. I am simply selected

as one mind, one soul, an individual non-specific.

yet she is wild always in her ferocious waves,

and calming seas during the lovely serenade,

just after the midnight bells, the water behaves

in a manner to allow our eyes to follow the light,

the beacon made in the moon’s presence. There

beneath the sea of mystery, lies a path unknown

that many man has set a row-boat toward with care,

hoping to find on the other side what she had shown,

when first he sat along the shoreline and dreamed.

He only wanted to see how different life would be,

if in a flash of time there could be loved it seemed,

a special world of idyllic lives in her thoughtful sea

CARPE DIEM HAIKU KAI, Carpe Diem #696 – Nudity

Henri Matisse

Henri Matisse


owns delicious eyes

deft desire her design does



reach sensual close

alive trace tip with regard

feels right you tonight


when alone idle

fingertips will travel slow

thinking you always


sweet breeze of morning

tease my naked skin awake

that my own eyes see


garment now aside

alone reality beckon

please take me with you


sweet serenity

saucy sensuality


Truth is Beauty

That’s when I love you,

when I can know the beauty,

every day, so many worlds,

so often we see our truths,

and walk right by,

lives busy with that medley of forgotten

dreams, desires, notions.


That is when I want you,

when I can feel you near me,

beyond your lovely physicality,

yet in the mind where we always wonder,

always wandering, we wonder why,

our hearts feel the way we do,

when love has stepped away,

in the fastidious nature of time.


That is when I need you,

when the pain becomes real,

and I can’t forgive myself anymore,

knowing I let beauty walk away,

because my dreams failed to include,

that simple blend of love and, some call it,



I love you tonight because you are with me,

our world is together, creating that easy magic,

we once wondered if it had truly wandered away,

just another distant memory,

the truth is,

I still love your beauty beyond words,

in my veins, that if I were to pour wide open,

would spill their soul in grateful memory,

your beauty is my memory,

want to, want to keep that with me,

right now

beauty, yours, is …

right, with me.

Deep Inside a Fathom Awaits

How often to choose, to travel inside,

When do the yearnings suggest we comply

There always awaits that worry to slide

Where in moment this world becomes why.


Last night, the winds that toss us aside

So present whistled across the night sky,

A pause of freedom in season with pride

Created sweet reflection in sole eye


Bursts of memory took a solemn ride

While clouds of despair presented the nigh

We cast our shadows without wishful tide

Might sweep love’s desire aside like a lie


Please, provide an island’s quiet release

That hidden fear’s torment evolve my peace.

Slipping Further

© Ester Rogers Photography

© Ester Rogers Photography

We know the mist

when in a morning of indecision,

glance further, hope for a sign,

yet we walk in wander seeing the same.

On an occasional daybreak,

we recognize fog,

a surreal enveloping storm of breeze,

teasing the ground,

to allow our mind to imagine,

a surreal perhaps spiritual mystique.

Speak of its beauty,

in delightful tones,

without any worry,

we watch the heat of morning

soon melt away its special fabric,

and go about our day.

Yet, deep inside the wandering,

when life has allowed us to travel,

beyond the normalcy of time,

into a reflection clouded by judgment,

its there we begin to feel

certain descents, perhaps ghouls

would inhabit our lonely minds.

There in the deep forest

where damp bark in wet soils,

we recall a need to hang on

perhaps use that alternate route,

we might see the distance,

without ever having to experience,

the certain beauty of losing one’s mind.

This Child Again


This child again

listens to the echo,

keeps calling,

speaking in quiet tones,

when once, the world was large,

now no one really knows.


This child again,

on sunny mornings,

at the crack of a new day,

would venture out,

seek new horizon,

fresh spruce and damp soil.


This child again,

when death came calling,

would feel the confusion,

recognize a brief derision

yet, early on would move again,

to a sweeter notion in life.


This child again,

would claim a spot,

in the playground line,

seek out an identity

with friend and foe,

who test their mettle.


This child again,

might ask for less

when in a world

their dream shatters

only to find a need

to live a little better.


This child again,

cried on the curbside,

while just beyond their reach,

could pain and grief appear,

only through a lens

of narrowly drawn mind.


This chid again,

suddenly aged,

became the child’s father,

or mother, wherever

time began the song

of reflection in our soul.


This child again,

does recognize patience,

while navigating a world,

that soon left behind,

some natural innocence,

a rite of resilience.


This child again pines.