The Burgeon Muse sways across the porch
Down in the yard everything is climbing
everything fighting for light and life
The way ferns unfurl

The Book of Secrets falling open
Leaves peeling back
Barely seen symbols and schema written in every atom
Arcane thoughts made manifest
revealing. . .
What. . .?

She likes to come up behind me and put her arms around me
She touches my shirt
My hair
Her hand cool as it brushes my face
Her soft whisper
an amber echo in the dark chambers of my heart

She opens my mind that she might instruct me
There is music in the mud carpeted forest

Music in wet life dancing
A dance in the way the wind plays with the porch swing
A seductive undulation of the wind
intertwining with the ascending mists

She smiles her unique dark eyed smile
This silence. . . is her Art
Her art eases my parched throat
Unburdens my troubled soul
Soothes my heart to a healing ebb and flow

Dark Rich Earth Hope

All I see’s
not all there is of this young tree
It’s not all of you
Nor all of me

Twisted and bent
Scared and broken
Seems last night maelstrom’s
fury has spoken

Pause a moment

With your heart, look to see
the dark rich earth beneath the tree
Branching roots drinking deep
Winter comes
the tree shall sleep

Come the Spring
Hope can’t help but grow
Come the Spring
New life shall show

No Longer Afraid


Having spent a very long and stormy night
losing the ‘what if?’ game
For no reason at all
I decide to play the ‘mindfulness’ game

in the trailing days of a lingering summer swelter
I become – unstuck
Somehow this moment falls away
swirling like that leaf

I reflect on the refractions of Autumn
Autumns past
Autumns to come

Yellow poplar
Scarlet maple
Rust red oak

And look
Pathways in the dancing leaf shadows
Pathways beyond number. . .

Faith When Wisdom Fails

There is a thunder in the world
a thundering heart
But under the sound of my every breath
there lies a silent conviction
that the World is somehow broken
and there is nothing I can do
to fix it

Yet my children hug me
My students thank me
And friends speak with me

I have come to see all manner of beauty in the World
In the sun, the clouds and wind and sea
and grasses and leaves
and . . .
I have come to stand in the presence of Queen Anne’s Lace
Sunflowers and daisies
Black-eyed Susans and Oswego bergamont
and have known a measure of the serenity prayer

So is it possible that this is the way
it was all meant to be?

I am not wise enough to know