What Zombies Wish They Could Tell You To give upyour heartand soulis to lie downwillinglyallowingzombiesto feast;you crythe painwill endbut fear theywon’tfinish the job—and you becomeonealoneof them.Dig deepmy dearholdthe fence lineanother day.I know youwantto quit;Fight.You’re tired;Fight.Rememberyour dreams;Fight.Is it betterto wander alifelessvagabondcravingdeathnever-endingno peace;Fight!Or liveto the end asurefootedSojournerconfident ofhopevictoriousat the risingfrom dirtand rock aHomecoming aNew Nameawaits;Fight!LifeNever-endingLifeNowLifeTomorrowLifeAmongThe LivingWithThe LivingForThe … More What Zombies Wish They Could Tell You: An Easter Poem
Nutty coffee. Blue water gulf.Salty cool breeze. Sun-warmed skin.Squinty-eyed bright.Rolling waves crash.Up and down in my ears. Up and down.Aqua-tan sandbars submerged.Beachcombers on a fifty-five degree day.Most in sweatshirts. The adventurousin swimming trunks, shirtless.Thermal jeans on my legs soakingsolar rays. I feel peace today.I feel joy right now.This moment in time, an island all to … More Prose by the Gulf
Like stars on a treeyour mind sparkleswith dots of brillianceThough darkness and voidfar outweigh the specksof dazzlementBut noticeglobes and candyand toys and tinselornament the voidThe void is material,not emptyMatter exists,not hopelessWhere there is matterthere is something,not nothingWhere there is something,even in emptythere is hopeSee through the darknessStare into itWhat do you see?A reflectionYour face is … More Starry-eyed Dreamers
My life is fleeting before me, but I pause this morning to capture the beauty and grace before my very eyes, frame by frame, but not mechanical like a movie projector. Flowing. I watch my 13 year-old daughter wrap the black ribbons around her ankles. Her feet positioned just so as she ties each knot, … More Missing the Pointe
My 15 year-old son shared with me the disheartening news. “Dad, the author of ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ died today.” You’re kidding me, I thought. Maurice Sendak died today (Tuesday, May 8th) at age 83. Read the NY Times article here. The second blog post I wrote for Lifesummit in 2009 paid a brief … More The Final Rumpus
Five Spoons to rule them all, Five Spoons to find them,Five Spoons to bring them all and in the chocolate bind them
Roads branchinto lanesbearing fruitof tiny farms,a patchwork quilt.Ten thousand feet. Angelsblow smokeover the hills,settlesin ravines.Twenty thousand feet. A thin bandof yellow and red,smudgesthe horizon–blue above, gray below.Thirty thousand feet. Angelic smokenow covers all,an untaut blanketrippled with wavesfrozen in time.Forty thousand feet. The white carpetwelcomesHis entrance,too brightin my window.And holding.
My heart had died,strangled, beaten,desire eaten by disease;black and blue, but crimsonseeped out.Like fallen tinder on trace ember,His gentle breath—hushes turned rhythmic glow.The threads of a cloud,its weave pulled apartby the light;one ray becomes two,two rays become seven.Hope is.
Homeowners Association GestapoYou can’t park there.My temples throb. Take a breath.I can. I live here. Sunshine DirtThrough shadowy websof branches on earth’s canvassunshine on dirt. KeyboardHard, dusty plastic.White on black staring back at me.Intimidation.
Leaves green in summercome flutter in fall.Oak, Cherry once richsurviving stand tall. Drab split-hardened skinscared naked exposed.Arms reaching to heav’ndread long dark and cold. Fearful of winter?Forgetful of spring?Hope fades but a wink.To rebirth you must cling. Blood pearls on Hollysmooth waxy rich green.Triumphant sweet Pine!Faith steadfast wise tree. Breathe forth sacred snownorth winds from … More Tree Wise of Winter