God’s no Hummingbird

Woke up Sunday morning, you remember

I stared into my mirror and saw God. She

stared back and smiled widely and opened

her robe to my insatiable calls for love. Amply

her breasts greeted my eyes. “You see what

you see,” She said. “But you do not hear my dear.”

My chin dropped, my eyes died, and angels sang.

Then and only then did I realize that God was truth.

Her truth wounded me, my truth left me lost and lonely,

so it goes with God. She speaks only what the world hates, peace.


Those grave silent moments when thistles

meet feathers and random falling of tears.

This love so mortal, so un-Jesus is this life we live.

We used to meet in back alleys, forest weeds

where thistles meet sky, those moments

feather light and gray as though the sky knows

more than we, we know only those moments,

naked and silky like a blanket of milkweed beneath us.

Rain You Silence Me

Rain you silence me,

touching places

no one else has ever touched.

You silence me in shadows

in caverns, deep

where once a flower grew.

But now the silent

syllables of rain drop

like letters from the sky

into me, rain

you silence me.


Don’t get lost in the talk, the babbling brooks,

the winds of change, and missile whistles.

Remain quiet and catch fireflies,

turn them into the thoughts you need.

Your thoughts are fireflies.

Your reality is babbling brooks,

tornadoes, and violent ocean waves.

Stay grounded and be quiet, fireflies.

will lead you to Mother Earth

from which we come, to which we go,

hence we are but fireflies ourselves.

Find your tree and listen.

About a Door

Build a wall said the king

marauders will surely kill our children,

rape our women, and rob our poor.

The king’s minions bowed with fear,

built a wall, and filled their coffers.

The king smiled with a twist.

After all he was the king.

While asleep in his golden bed

a brown child visited his dreams.

“You my dear king will visit the dead,

my father, my mother, and my sister.”

His highness stirred fitfully, “Why

young boy do you visit this way?”

The boy faded into the mist of memory.

The dreams came night after night.

The king asked his wisest minion for help.

“How do I chase the boy away?”

“How can I keep him from my dreams?

The wise minion with hand on chin

thought for a moment, shifting in his seat.

“We must build a wall around your bed.”

He opened his eyes, the birds were chirping

yet his surroundings were as dark as ink.

His hands scraped against the wall, bricks,

fresh concrete, and a stale smell of cigarettes.

He screamed for help, but his minions never came.

The king received his request, a wall.

Somehow the wisest of all minions forgot the door.

No one ever heard from the king again.

The kingdom fell silent, once again

lies became lies and truth became truth.

A small brown man became king, a good king indeed.

“We will build no walls without a door.”

Our children will know their mothers and our mothers

will be keepers of the door.

The Jesus Diary

I am the light you don’t have
just a hole in your tent
from which you can see my radiance
I am the can of soup
which multiplies for feeding five
pass it around and drink my blood.
I give to the least of these
homeless shelters
soup lines
scabbards for your paring knives
Caesar’s gold is hidden
where rust doth not corrupt.
They buried me in a pauper’s ditch
you will be blessed with a vinyl box
I never came back from the dirt
neither will you
sing halleluiah
sing to each other, I’m not listening.

Concrete Shepherd


Where the mountain dumps

its lava lipped edges

into behemoth bulbous warships

floating just beyond the reach of man,

a man of stone sleeps.

A shepherd lost for centuries

with vacant eyes dead

yet see he does more than I.

Leonardo robe ragged now

propelled by a painted wind

Sistine quiet he is the incense of history

if only I could know his story

for he surely knows mine.

Little Gray Cat

It was late evening when I saw you alone on a branch,

way up high where wind whistles strong

your green eyes peering down at me

You knew I am alone like you,

out of place you and I

on such an autumn evening

Won’t you come inside,

share some chocolate

perhaps a bit of revelry?

The chill is wrong

for two gentle folks like us.

We deserve a better fate than this.

La Kremlin

Remember the shuttering passion

like lightening screaming through our skin?

Those days clear as Holy water

slide softly into my mind, slipping away

only when my reluctant eyes close in darkness.

We said forever, forever is soon, too soon.

I love you like the bells of Le Kremlin

Sunday mornings and French music.

The vineyards have never been this fragrant.

We have always been Sauvignon Blanc sweet.


Sometimes I regret having lived beyond the lives of so many friends.  I’m not that old really but I’ve lost so much wise advice from others.  I’m sure you have too.  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 thoughts of this Earth?


One of the last poems I’ve written is about an old friend.  He could be described as a sage I guess.  His name is Will and his words of guidance helped me realize that I must be more patient, mellower, and more forgiving to myself and to others.  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 instead of revulsion.  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.

May you find you.