25 Saturday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Eternal, Hope, Infinite, Infinity, Life, Love, Multiverse, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Survival, The Universe, Unity
In his last days, he contemplates this:
In the multiverse, our universe,
In the universe, our galaxy,
In the galaxy, our solar system,
And in that, our planet,
Where you find us,
Small as we are,
Celebrating
What it means to be eternal,
To join the stars,
To become one with love,
Two points on a line,
That extend forever.
23 Thursday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
The chimes of summer,
Are the same chimes as winter,
Hear them dangle their tangled songs,
As we wait for the cold snap,
As we waited through the heat wave,
As the birds sang, and died,
As the dog died,
As everything waits to die now,
Snatched in snow and cold.
Our lives play out,
The seasons bang on,
The seasons leave behind,
Like some great train,
With its clang and clack,
Plowing through snow and rain,
Unloading its passengers.
12 Sunday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
11 Saturday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Family, Forgiveness, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Yearning
IV
Sit, and let me sing you a song,
Of our perfection,
And our imperfections:
No species sucks so bad
At getting what we want—
I’ll title it, Love.
Realization must come
Too late, or it’s not human.
Only in losing do we understand
The full measure of what we had,
Basically, chances, and with chance,
The opportunity to grasp —
It—
And I’m back to the title of the song—
Love,
And how we suck at it.
11 Saturday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Children, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Forgiveness, Grace, Life, Longing, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul, Souls, Spirit
III
And now, I pause
at the feet of your memory:
Your laughter,
before there was nothing
To laugh about,
Your strength,
Your fatal optimism in your strength.
I’ve learned,
Being a rock, a steady hand
Wasn’t always conducive
To being a full man.
And there is the regret,
(Mine, not yours),
But it’s too late for regrets.
We are who we are,
And so little escapes that reality;
What forms us,
Forms all others, formed me.
Sometimes, we are left to weep
at what could have been:
We could have called,
We could have written,
We could have cherished,
The moments we came
Wanting to be cherished.
I misspoke,
When I said imperfections fade away–
They don’t,
But there is no anger,
Only a dull futility:
The reality that is, versus
What we hoped it would be.
11 Saturday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Family, Fathers, Fear of Death, Forgiveness, Happiness, Infinite, Love, Memory, Parents, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul, Souls, Spirit
II.
I’ve seen enough of spirit to know
that you’ll still be here
when I write of letting go.
How love becomes energy,
And energy can’t be destroyed.
The power of memory:
Imperfections, fade away,
Only Love remains,
As a steady anchor,
A steady hand through—
It’s been a while
since I’ve seen you laugh,
(There’s not much joy in dying,)
Yet, I remember your laughter, too,
Your tears wiped away from crying.
And it makes me smile now,
How we watched you break down,
Such a serious father,
Completely undone
By your laughter.
10 Friday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Eternity, Family, Fear of Death, Forgiveness, Life, Loss, Love, Love Poems, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sacred, Song of Sorrow and Joy, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Yearning
“Once I heard a song of sweetness,
As it cleft the morning air,
Sounding in its blest completeness,
Like a tender, pleading prayer;
And I sought to find the singer,
Whence the wondrous song was borne,
And I found a bird, sore wounded,
Pinioned by a thorn.”
I.
The song of joy comes
From the same place as sorrow:
All losses bound together
With all gifts,
Wonder and tragedy,
Sifted, then mixed.
I will hurt no more, I said,
And it was as if my soul
Was dead to happiness, too.
But now I stand,
Ready to let go of you.
05 Sunday Dec 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Loneliness, Loss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Yearning
These silent months:
No keys
Struck,
No strings
Plucked,
Or strummed,
No words strung together
To write a poem.
Said another way,
Everything that heals
Has faded away.
Yet, here I am again
Trying to make sense
Of the void.
Loss,
There is so much to lose,
We are willing to toss away now.
Have I tossed away now–
The joy of now–
Because I am afraid of losing?
Letting go, letting go, letting go…
Keep saying that,
One hundred times,
Then more.
24 Sunday Oct 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, dogs, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, wolfhound, Wolfhounds, Yearning
I watch my wolfhound mourn
the loss of our wolfhound.
Her sighs, like cries,
a wheezing must of being alone.
The certainty of death:
A large hole we dug
To lay his body.
Hole covered,
It’s now a patch of dirt
Among a browning grass.
Such loss does not get easier.
Did you think it would?
Day four,
And she still cries in her sleep.
I join, and cry for her,
for him, for me,
for constantly losing good things,
noble things,
Beings, we so wanted
To keep.
13 Friday Aug 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Gratitude, Infinite, Loss, Love, Love Poems, Mt Spokane, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Spirit, Yearning
“I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down –”
I will trace your body with my fingers,
I will kneel before you with cupped hands,
Because that’s what it is to love,
To memorize this moment we inhabit,
To see your chest rise and fall
In mutual breath and beating hearts.
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
All those who have passed, there,
beyond the smoke, is the mountain:
Minutes, seconds, days, and months
Turn to years, but always the mountain,
Who recognizes only eternity.
And here, we embrace in its shadow,
Speak words, like living things do.
Comfort, does it comfort you
to hear your name spoken from my lips,
To know, someone will fall down
When you’re gone?
*Italics are verses from, The Summer Day, by Mary Oliver
24 Saturday Jul 2021
Posted in Poetry
The universe told me
Our hands are empty,
They do not contain miracles
Or, even wise words.
Moment by moment,
Only moments,
The brokenness of hearts,
A temporary rise to our feet,
As if to help,
but we didn’t–Did we?
Because our hands are empty.
13 Sunday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Belief, Death, Death Poems, drought, Dying, God, Heat, Hope, Horse Poem, Horse Poems, Horse poetry, Horses, Life, Loss, Love, Miracles, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Sacred, Sun, Survival, weeds
Drought year,
Everything is dying early.
We realize what is hearty,
And what is not.
Weeds, they multiply,
Even after we spray,
As if they know,
This is their time.
They sink taproots,
And suckle what is left
Of underground aquifers.
We’re breaking heat records in June;
The sweltering, unrelenting sun
Is just getting started.
How many trips to the barn,
Down this cackling road?
The day I saw the barn cat
Kill father Robin–
It was an ominous sign
For the foal.
And then I succumbed
To this hackling cough.
Death is a time for prayer,
Calling out
for whatever hope God can spare.
Cries sent, not into a dark night,
But a hideous brightness.
13 Sunday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear, Fear of Death, Hope, Horses, Life, Loss, Love, Miracles, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Prayer, Souls, Survival, Yearning
When death gets a foothold,
You don’t know who it will take.
Souls grow heavy with guilt,
And the weight of silence.
Hope, a fragile light;
It fuels us.
Small, but mighty.
We wait for miracles;
They are fickle things,
Miracles.
05 Saturday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
The virtue of aspen:
quake of leaves
in soft wind;
you see one tree,
friend,
look beneath,
it’s a family,
a colony
of roots and starts,
a community of rattling souls.
I imagine, if one is cut,
all else will shudder.
04 Friday Jun 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Courage, Crows, Forgiveness, Hope, Horse poetry, Love, Love Poems, Mercy, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ravens, Truth, Unity
We don’t understand what the birds say,
Or, the horses, who nicker and neigh.
The raven sounds far away, a message,
We think, a harbinger of what will come,
On this path today. A fellow traveler?
A moose, a deer, we can’t know,
But we try to know.
Yet, people cry out to us in real words,
We thought we knew: Black Lives Matter,
Isn’t that true? Isn’t it a simple thing
to say, but you insist it’s wrong:
All lives matter. They do.
But which of us is hurting now, friend?
Which of us feels our lives might end,
Or, be judged for the color of our skin?
Why can’t our words be simple again,
and our hearts open, to a better beginning?
24 Saturday Apr 2021
Tags
Children, Courage, Death, Family, Forgiveness, Generations, Hope, Life, Love, Marriage, Mothers, New Collection, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Strength, Survival, Women's Poems, Yearning
It’s a wonder I’m here, progeny of lost souls,
orphans, abandoned wives, poverty & places
so uninhabitable, unsustainable—
Yet, I’m here, and the generations beyond me
refuse to wither, too.
When the earth begins to close,
there’s always just enough left
to sustain us. One small patch of grass,
free of weeds, or drought,
and just enough blue sky and sun.
We find that place, and stay long enough
to drag another survivor on.
26 Tuesday Jan 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Anger, Blood, Civil War, Death Poems, Divorce, Forgiveness, Hate, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Souls, Violence, War
If air could bleed,
the space between us
would, indeed, pour out.
Hate is a balm
for our hurt,
and the danger
we fear,
becomes anger.
My dear,
Are we beyond healing?
Or, is there yet
a latent spark
of forgiveness?
Remember when
we so easily embraced:
bone against bone,
a crushing lust,
our mutual love.
But now there’s dust,
and if the space between
could bleed,
it would drown us.
23 Saturday Jan 2021
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Ash, Beauty, Bird Poems, Bowl and Pitcher, Courage, Death, Death Poems, Dying, Fear of Death, Healing, Hope, Life, Moss, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Ponderosa, River, Soul, Souls, Spokane, Spokane River, Strength, Suicide, Survival, Winter, Winter poem, Yearning
I wonder how many have plunged,
broken bodies against the steep,
unforgiving basalt, to flow far away
from the tether of this rocky outcrop.
There are worse places to die
than underneath a basking ponderosa,
on a glorious day in deep winter,
high, above the earth’s mucosa.
Here is heaven, its gods, the osprey and eagle;
they preside from piney thrones, regal,
and survey with indifferent contemplation;
from their perch, suffering is also celebration.
There are less noble ways to die,
than beneath the wings of geese.
See them glide peacefully
over the rapids of the Spokane,
rage of water in the ears,
shiver of blue sky, full sun.
Yet, if hopeless traveler made the steep climb
to this one, celestial throne:
its blood, a brilliant green moss,
its body, the bare, leafless skeleton of alumroot,
entreating with outstretched arms:
See, the promise of spring.
If they were to navigate loose rock,
on the treacherous path that leads here,
would it be enough to make them cling
to the rock wall in front of me,
this low, precarious barrier between?
15 Thursday Oct 2020
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Afterlife, Bird Poem, Bird Poems, CoronaVirus, Courage, Covid19, Death, Dying, Forgiveness, Hope, Infinite, Life, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Spirit, Spring, Survival
“There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.” Robert Frost
Yet, they do fall, and silent, rot
beneath the changing bow.
Birds gather to peck the flesh
making less of loss,
Or perhaps, no loss at all.
You see,
the Universe claims everything
we leave behind.
Our regrets, too,
like spoiled fruit,
eventually fall away
scavenged by the sun.
Seeds are revealed
inside what we took as dead.
Trust me, next spring
there will be a new start.
12 Monday Oct 2020
Posted in Poetry
Tags
Alone, Chaos, CoronaVirus, Courage, Covid19, Death, Hope, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soul, Souls, Spirit, Spokane, Survival, Yearning
“The hope is that if you live through it, there will be art on the other side.” (Louise Glück)
Two hundred and twenty days,
the sun and sky, still uncaged,
yet, our lives, like flotsam,
float further and further away
from what we knew:
The Fox Theatre sits empty.
And my friend,
how we’ve drifted apart,
you, on your wreckage,
me, on mine, further and further
from the place. Our lives hit
that large rock. The ship
is lost, lost, lost.
Will someone find us,
and salvage what is left?
What is left?
Bits of Poetry 