raison d’être

mountain tree

Summer days waking the earth
Wind and fire rain upon the land
Will it find hope
extinguished with the flames
or Spirit rising with the wind

Is this the reason for being
For rising tides
and rainbows on far horizons
for beauty and passion
for holding onto life

Meadows fill with windflowers
Born by the light
of a distant sun
Whose love knows no boundaries
Embracing the oceans of time

Where do the songbirds go
When night falls
Do they fall from the sky
Does the earth gather them up
to rise again with the dawn

Do the wing-ed’s songs
Echo and vanish with them
Leaving the Nightingale
Alone – keeping vigil
Through the dark?

Are we the same
Do the dream worlds we visit
while sleeping
Become what’s the matter
with life

Or is life what happens
when we dream
Of forests whispering in the wind
and the snow that waits
Above the Tropic of Cancer


Image: http://transfigurations.blogspot.com/2010_08_01_archive.html

Sea of Love

Sea_of_Love_painting

Where is the Light
Can I hide my eyes
From the morning Sun
Or a Full Moon rise
Without knowing
Its truth Rises
Within my Heart
and Soul Eternal

As the dew settles
On the early lawn
and the Wren sings
to the Light of Day
Hope is forever
bound up inside
the Breath of Life

Faith hidden within
its ceaseless motion
Waiting to be born
Aside this river
Where cool waters flow
As blessings into
a Sea of Love

Image: http://www.sanseitiles.com/prod052152113.htm

The Last Temptation

(Updated from Easter 2012) In the spirit on Nikos Kazantzakis’ book The Last Temptation of Christ, I came to imagine the carpenter, perhaps in the forests of Lebanon, searching for lumber and pausing to know the sanctity of the place, sitting there wondering, knowing, what was to transpire and proceeding with the work; A destiny he would carve into the wood.
Being a Roman citizen the carpenter was well aware of the rules, of the taxes, and the administration of the law, but as a Rabbi he also knew what belonged to Rome and what belonged to the Almighty.
In the years of his ministry he cast his nets on the waters of our emotions, and brought many souls to the shores of salvation, yet just as many slipped away. He dreams of their return to heaven, yet knows it must be their will, not his, that brings them home, so he is overwhelmed with compassion and continues at his task. Knowing full well that in the days ahead his work will end in the words “it is finished”


Father please find me a tall tree –
Deep shade to cool my brow
with leaves that reach for sunlight
in soil alive to nourish strong roots

I long for the forest’s deep silence
The place where your work was born
The love of our Mother unfolding
Becoming the life she would give

To the timber now felled before me
To the boards that are shaped and hewn
By these hands now gi’en to your work
Crafting a tree to the passion of Rome

Give unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s
and take not your presence from me
My work is but only your bidding
Your Spirit my hand has revealed

Have I not cast my nets on the waters
and drawn them back just to see
All the schools of souls you delivered
Have slipped from salvation again

Father, Mother I dream of taking
All my beloved home to you
In my arms I would carry as children
Free from the reins of their birth

This is my one last forbearance
That I could not lift up this flock
Without their own perfect intention
Revealing in life what they pray

I have shown them the way and the truth
I have shared more than I have to give
As my prayer is formed into this wood –
Your forgiveness is all I can find

In shaping this cross, your will is done
My work in this world will draw nigh
A memory, martyred, returning home –
many mansions prepared stand in faith

the poets dream

letters left beside the road
there never was a way
to tell you what the words become
when in your mind they play

upon the matters of the heart
or musings of the mind
unfolding into colored forms
of lost horizons left to find

where we were when willingness
got lost in days gone by
each ever after somehow seemed
another question why

would there ever be a place
or time when dreams become
a light beyond the sacredness
of all we could have done

to knock upon just one more door
and open still another heart
the scent of jasmine paints the love
of life within our art

Undiscovered country


Across the valley lives a man
a soul who found a place
in grasses green and water clear
a lifetime spent in grace

His only treasure left to hold
upon the waters still
is breath beside his beating heart
given by the will

From days in ancient wanderings
and nights with the storms
Once were sailed beyond the shoals
then lost within the form

Of lives long gone, another day
when ages fell in time
Became the life now settled there
within forgotten rhyme


Image:http://www.artnsoulbydeborah.com/2011/10/beauty-in-ashes-reposting-of-arts.html

A place of feeling (solstice)

What of words to pages writ
love letters lying here
Not read into the memories
of thoughts still living where?

Churning colors in the mind
a restless rolling wave
of willows bending in the wind
can be enough to save

all the lessons learned about
the stories we’ve been told
melting into empty tears
as seasons will behold

reaching to awaken from
a dream that fell into the rain
soaked with shivers underneath
the place to be again ~

no, such time has always been
another solstice come to find
inside a vision searching for
a light that leaves us blind

to love that leads us always back
into another time and place
Dimensions turn awakening
passed without a trace

Was the empty hollow sound
another reason to unfold
Words of always into one
more tales of lifetimes told

Circles in the Mind


How the heart is turning
beating for the life of me
Taking all and giving still
until allowed to wander free

From life it’s always longing
for another place in time
Seeking to discover when
the truth distilled is mine

To know, to wonder at the way
of always wandering before
Places we have come to know
then letting go forevermore

A hand to hold is nothing less
than meaning felt within
Hardness of the diamond breaks
before what lies were kept within

There I cannot take the place
or feel the way we felt
For always there exists a stain
on sacred places where we knelt

How can love erase the truth
when really love is knowing
All the words we never spoke
without a garden growing

Into what today becomes
tomorrow still we wake to find
What was left there at the gate
still circles in the mind

Buckets full of living

why would I want to know (how hard it is)
yet this is the place of being (compassion)
roots of another place and time (grown old
and faded) in a cold cleansing wind

there is still a place I recall (every day its
dreaminess returns) and I pause to touch it
my childhood memories are always fair
even the ones that hurt (it wasn’t deliberate)

talk to me so I can hear your voice again (echoes)
like a song that sticks in the head (rock me gently)
all morning long until the noon day sun expires
(another day’s embrace) and life sweeps in again

can’t we just have moments (rich in laughter)
the sky would have no rainbow if (the eyes
had no tears) I won’t cry in sadness anymore
only golden dew drops (for Angels gather them up)

in buckets full of living-ness (they then pour out
as love) bring their songs of summer back
to heal the wounds of living (telling us they
watch) and weep with patience for our hearts