poetry

Ripe

by

every day is ripe for something for a coming into in its own way   most days I miss this imposing my own urgency pushing like one   born late but every now and again causes and conditions conspire   and I still– against the better judgment of my petty voices   I sit and … Read more

Ordinary Magic

by

shortly after the apple the labeling began, all the this and that, the these and those, all the ins and outs – who decides? this discriminating mind as useful and as dangerous as a knife –what makes one bloom a flower and the next a weed? here is a power beyond all words– choose to … Read more

how can we not love her?

by

as the first clouds of the coming storm ride up and over the mountains, catching and casting the gold of the late day sun, while in the valleys arrayed to the east deep cloud-shadows slide up and over and around, caressing the long curves of her hills, then fall away, smoothly like the silk of … Read more

Old Man

by

in the wild untended fields of my heart sits an old man. the day is late but warm and the low-angled light spreads like butter over the tall grass. his beard is white gone beyond gray and his hair, long and thin shifts with the wind. he wears an old vest of many colors, stitched … Read more