It is with regret that I have lived beyond the lives of many friends.  No I’m not ancient and dabbing my toes in the River Styx, but I have lost so much wise advice.  The fate of many I’m sure. Perhaps I’m being just a bit morose.  Poets are supposed to be a tad morose you see.  Otherwise how could we give wing to our morbidly depressing thoughts of this life we live?


This next drivel of thought is about an old friend perhaps I should call him a sage.  His words made me a man.  His actions made me a better man.  I lost contact with him years ago.  He and his wife moved to Texas to be near their children and grandchildren.  He was several years older than I and fought with Cancer for quite some time.  I’m not sure if he won the battle.  I hope so.  If not I do hope he is safe in the womb provided by Mother Nature and I do hope a tree sprouts from his resting spot.  He was a wood carver, a musician, a singer, and a man with great hopes for a world filled with peace.  To him I say so long.  To you, I say again so long until we meet again on the white sheets which carry my poetry across the skies and oceans between us.


May you find the middle

in your life

the center


inner peace