Calm is for sleeping

I see signs all the time that say to keep calm
but I want to be wild, unruly, and free.
I want to run with my arms open wide to let the universe in.
I want to sing at the top of my lungs till the clouds shiver with rain and the flowers take up my chorus.
I want to laugh so loud the stones at my feet roll in joyous ecstatic elation.
I want to write boldly, paint broadly, create till my hands are bruised with hope filled expectation.
I want to be wild, unruly, and free.

Calm is for sleeping.

The first and the last

Today hangs heavy
bitterly cold through
sun’s determination
piercing cirrus altostratus stratocumulus
to touch the ground
wrapping tightly round
its center to
stave off or embrace
as a robin sings its world
into being
It is every day for every one
a day of spring and passing
by as any other
but for me
it is a day gasping for
struggling to overcome
the last image of the stars
falling from my sky
the toy blocks crumbling
the white hat mowing yard
the blue hat with fuzzy ball
yelling as my skis race
towards the finish line
the long drives to nowhere
leading no where more
sand dunes lightening
river waves dusting
steep 4-wheel drive
bronco-ing up tin-cups
clattering to fade
old stones of old graves
flint arrows and poker runs
friday night lottery tickets
all lingering mistily at the edge
past gates and duplexes
past victorian water pumps
and humming bird nests
it whispers past S’s and
up through Springs
and then it comes
faint and steady
over rocky mountains
and oil fields of wheat
past Chevrolet’s in crumbling
and naked rooms way to clean
past blood and bone
and monitoring machines
past too warm hands
that held soft balls, hammers
used skis waxing and horse vice
it circles round my head
like a worn out angel’s ring
almost to tired to speak
through plastic air flows
and groggy medicated notions
of awareness
up from lungs so large as to
fill a room with laughter
over lips filled with kisses
that now kiss no more
I hear you say
‘I love you too’ and
in that moment two days strike as
the only ones that matter

The day you said I love you first
and the day you said it last

I was there for both.

The candle

Soft light lingers
cast upon the wall
flame and shadow
playing tag
Around the base
wax and memory
drip, dry
and try
to reach beyond
tips of silver
leaving raised rivers
of attempts
until the wick
runs out.
I could
scrap and save
worry and fret
the candle is
all but almost spent
or never strike flame
assuring only darkness
for surely a light means
we melt in living.
But no,
I shall put away censor
the ‘abra and the shade
pay heed and notice the
soft lingering dance
casting shadows
on beautiful days
and be a pleasant
until my own
wick is joyfully

On becoming you

There is a notion we will only achieve the definition of who we are when we get to where we are going at the end of some great journey, at the eclipse of some notable accumulation, the education of degrees and accolades of strangers. This could not be farther from truth.

Most assuredly you will find yourself trapped in moments of not quite. You will be left un-footed with skinned knees and hands filled with failed attempts. You will grasp at almost, tear at the edge of someone else’s not good enough. You will find yourself alone on days you’d rather not be, and other days cast amongst the throngs of anxious hands clamoring for the dreams of those before you. And yes, you will sit beneath rain filled skies soaked to the bone without a fire to warm you or a voice to calm. You will wonder if it was worth it. You will scream at the top of your lungs and in the silent spaces in-between: Will you ever be, who you see in your dreams?!

Well, listen to me now and listen again when you need reminding –

Be who you are! Exist in this moment. Everything you need is now. Everything you can rely on is here. Take a look in the mirror and smile. The image staring back at you is beautiful and beautifully everything you have yet to become, but are becoming!


Let fire exist in your eyes – hope.
Let wind carry your voice – sing.
Let stars be your dreams – fly.
Let oceans flow with your heart – laugh and cry.
Let earth be your feet – strength.
Let wilderness be your soul – free.

Be who you are!

.. Be
….. You
……… Right


Perfectly imperfect but perfecting. And at the end of your journey it will not matter the awards of days gone by, but that the person staring in the mirror still recognizes the beautiful person you knew you were and have become.

Open the doors

Open the doors, the windows and shades
letting in Spring a bit early today! \o/
The crows are cawing, a magpie or two
even the mockingbird is singing a tune
the whole world seems ready; albeit a few days to soon
even the maple has the beginnings of blooms
so…. Open the doors, the windows and shades
let in the Spring just a bit early today!