Is this what it’s like
To be dead? 

A big FAT blank.

Not even being able to think–

Is this what it’s like
To be dead?  










Is this what it’s like 
to be born?

The whole world
In front of you.

Your happy places,
Spread like golden pastures

Just waiting for you to gallop through,
Thinking, singing, screaming–

Is this what it’s like
to be born?


Synchronicity: The Herd


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20170419_211840We must move together,
One mind, one soul,
One body, one purpose,
Says the herd.

We’ll bend our necks
To the ground,
Bite off blades of grass,
Like so: the Mustang,
The palomino mare,
The old sorrel gelding.
See how our heads line up?
Front, right legs forward,
One ear to the herd,
The other to the sky,

And bird sound:
The high pitch
Of the kildeer,
nesting in grass nearby,
The chattering of the geese,
The barn swallows,
returned to their nests,
Above our stalls.

We hear their song,
A composition,
Carried by the wind,
Through pine,
Through aspen,
Through crocus
And snowdrops.

We must move together,
One mind, one soul,
One body, one purpose,
Says the herd.

Flying Things


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Under the wings of Canada Geese,

Rushed time:


Moments we wept

In our loss,

Wept in our fear,

Abandoned each other.


I stood alone,

Amid an ocean of dry leaves,

As the sky flew by in freedom,

And helplessness.



How can I forget

That great yellow butterfly,

As big as a barn swallow?


It hovered around you,

Like a message

You wouldn’t hear.


Finally, it landed on your bare shoulder,

As you stopped work,

Leaned against your shovel,


Encircled of frail spirit,

And our children,

Chasing, laughing around you.


While I, woman in flight,

Watched silently from the back door,

Knowing I was letting you go.

The Way


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The way the sun lit the branches of the aspen,

Traced the snow-lined needles of the Ponderosa,

Shone off each blade of grass in the dry circle

underneath that great pine, surrounded by snow.


I said, the way, as if it would lead to a thought,

But, in fact, it leads to fog, or the lifting of it,

Near the tiny Lilac bushes,

And, further still, across the blanket of snow–

A blanket that someone lay upon,

But not under, leaving an impression of a body,

The soft parts, blown away

From the crisp, frozen parts.

Look further still, through the lifting,

You’ll see the great Spokane Mountain,

And all the trees and houses

Which lead from here to there.


For a moment, you may think you can touch it,

Stretch, reach out your hand,

Trace your fingertips along its lonely edges,

And lift it into your arms.

Magnetic Poetry Board


Dead Cat


I miss her sleeping

beneath moon flowers

her slow desire of green spring

her sacred wild killing

I want to be that vast

To delight in cold birch

Grass & sky fire.




eternity is a cry

a laugh

a whisper

It is a troubling mess

A concrete death.


They harvest fabulous yellow flowers

with joy and poetry

The Coldest War



Capo 3   (Am, Em, G, C)
His letter arrived on January Two,
He said the British were coming, but the snow came, too,
And they didn’t have food, and they didn’t have shoes,
He wanted to be home, but had to stay through.

Dan, Dan, come home to me if you can.
Leaving now won’t make you less of a man.
Come home to me now, if you can.
Come home to me now, if you can.

Soldiers were buried like sheep in the snow,
They were almost smothered by the storm.
The salt water froze, so the boats stood still,
And there wasn’t an escape from that wintry hell.


By the time my words arrived, Dan was already gone.
He didn’t have a chance to heed my sweet begging song.
And, the storm went its way, as if it hadn’t ever come,
And the world went on and on.

Dan, Dan, you’ll always be my sweet lovin’ man.
You’d have come to me if you’d had the chance,
But the world had other plans.
Yes, the world had other plans.

Where Are You Beautiful: A Song


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Fingerpick C, G, Am, F repeat


Who are you,

And where are you beautiful.

Where’s your song,

That you must sing?


Lose yourself,

In all that is beautiful,

What’s torn apart,

What’s crumbling.


What’s Crumbling?




Let me hear

Your sweet song.

What makes you cry?

What sets you free?


It’s you and me

On the edge of losing

All we have,

To eternity–


To eternity.





Tell me now,

Where are you beautiful.

What makes you cry?

What makes you sing?