Pieces of Me

Wish I could find

smallish memory

wrap them in twine

drop them in the sea

Then might my eyes

witness some effort

now questioning why

an absorbent support

Will their history

rather sink than float

farewell this century

shadowed life he wrote

Above water may I not abhor

Pain left living on the ocean floor


When a factor,

a measure in time,

while the observer

the other’s own dime


held out to the beggar

for the sake of truth

to confront that pallor

would it be uncouth.


To trigger the moment

we all lose our shell

in pity we might lament

our loss is our hell.


Have we crossed the line,

lost our grip on soul

or is this only a whine

while we play our role.


When once the word rang

strong in a crowd of eyes,

now it seems we do hang

only upon the other’s I’s.


Workplace monotony

could paralyze the confident

when idle scrutiny,

the albatross does resent.


For when I die, I might be

happier, or fly above the sea.

If Letting Go Were Methodical

The things we see,

we rely upon like a sea

of emotions flooding our shores,

waves that toss our lives across

a horizon of indifference.

Yet why so important than if in one sweep

of fast moving passion,

our lives than become scrutiny,

theirs, not ours, them, the people,

outside of our comfort zone.

Those are the enigmas we’d rather not have to deal with


or any day for that matter,

but the immediacy is clear.

We have to suggest a methodical manner

toward finding a respectful attitude,

one that includes yet lets us depart

from all interactions with the pools,

schools of jelly fish together remain an obscure

delight, a visual procession of beauty,

yet one alone,

distant in the murky sea of illusion,

that perhaps might indicate,

a haunting reality follows every hope and dream

toward letting go,

for their beauty always remains near.

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.

Insulate My Dreams

For without truth I travel a stray

leaving no one in my path

certainly avoiding their need to say

I might once feel their wrath.

If I might pretend that my world

exist in a rich and fancy land

straight away, my life unfurled;

the lights come on, white sand.

I only wish that my dreams could spell

a path of delight, love abound,

where we all beheld time’s eye’s well,

to open doors, a lovely sound.

Once, when the sea opened slow

we watched as time drifted toward

a frightened outcome we all know

instead we listened not to the horde.

When ruthless fear, our lives are held upon

no scrutiny, when then dreams have won.

Inherent Love

Recently a suggestion was made

I suppose the human condition was at play

We explored a society

Our world as we live today.

With so much pain across the planet

It is sometimes a wonder if we truly

Love one another.

My world exists in a sea

With every wave I travel,

I experience a new

Shall we say, depth.

As my body drifts in the open water,

I suddenly am compelled to

Embrace the current

Sweeping my body further into an abyss

Or slapping me back to shore.

We have many read the story

An elder rather seasoned man

Fighting for his own life

Struggles against the current

The true Nature of the sea,

Only to return to land

Empty-handed but free.

Perhaps he knew then

while surveying skeletal remains,

Life was too short to not

Love one another.

As I fight my life and spirit

Inside the ocean waves,

I do know there will be

Some pleasant soul,

Perhaps not of our world,

Yet so ethereal,

A welcome surreal experience,

Who might be far ahead

While the human condition does battle

With our saving grace, that is, to

Love one another