an ancient curse

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

It takes the rarest blessing shared by all

Human life - the wonder under the Sun.

When shared, life’s not a battle to be won

-together we rise, alone each must fall

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

The bullet’s work done cannot be undone

It takes- unforgiving, breath’s final call

Human life - the wonder under the Sun

when armed, the weakling threatens everyone

 empowers evil to its dreadful haul

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

Like ancient curses passed father to son

-the cult of killing calls in honey-ed drawl-

Human life - the wonder under the Sun.

 For love is never late nor over done

And life offers no guarantee or recall

Don’t tie your precious freedom to a gun

Human life’s the wonder under the Sun.

Emma's Day...

Today the children marched
Down grand avenues in the seat of power
And it seemed that with each step
They grew younger in years and old in wisdom

The tenderness of their years, the depth of fears
The wet-eyed smile in the face of harsh wind
Brought the power from within,
it is within all
To reach for a perfection of time and spirit
When we connect with the self and with the other
When we finally see, the space between us
Is the place of peace, and the warm embrace of Love

The story in her eyes...

...began with a fluttered lash
as a mote of dust filled the scope of vision
a speck that clouded a dream...
the story wandered nomad like but with certainty
it meandered told like a slow river
then rushed downhill and leapt
cobbled time and gathered air
into a foam and luxury.
Gained tempo from urging winds, surged
swiftly and ran to the mouth of land
where it gently opened to kiss the sea.

All along the shore line
across smooth rocks and sanded bottom land
wherever it touched, the story
left a trace, life's precious crumbs
that I could follow, home.

The snows of March...

... they fly to ground
riding gusts, they dress tree limbs,
and coat the world in a cotton-like fluff.
Then lying soft and gentle as winds and fall subside
The muffled quiet it brings, rises to swallow
background sound, in the ebbing
of snow's ride from cloud to swirl

It clings so tenderly and complete
it is as if it knows the chased tick-tock
towards tomorrow's warmth

I watch and an eager feather covers my lash
as a once and unique snowflake
dissolves into a common drop of rain

I speak a thought to the snows of March
"Hold tight, you will not be here very long..."

I feel that sly and knowing smile rise then fade away
as I realize thus and slowly, the snows
have whispered quietly this very same thing
to me