Life’s best is fleeting moments- not snatched out of the water with a worm and a hook
(You don’t catch rainbows in jars, after all)
A crooked grin, a toothless smile
A kiss
A twinkle in the eye of a wrinkled face
A little hand in mine
A tear on a cheek
A glimmer you see on the road, in the distance, and you try to catch it, but it’s gone
The sparks fly upward and then… disappear; the boy in the sandbox finds the real treasure.
It’s not what you look for, just what you find.
All those things- dancing shadows and sparkles- make up the words that are hardest to define.
(Do you see?)
Dictionaries only give you words.
But you wake up slowly, and you realize you’re awake…and love’s just the same.
No one sets out in this life on adventure. It’s just what you make of it, stumbling over rocks and sandboxes, and cornfields and oceans
And if you do it right, you’ll hear the music and see the sparkling lights, and hold in your hand for a moment those things you never thought you’d know, and then you’ll watch them float away like dandelions in the wind, and with a smile you’ll look upward and feel the sunlight.


There is No Frigate…

These rustic yellow pages
Well loved, well aged,
Feel upon my fingertips
As old, old maps
Browned and smoothed
Showing the way to the end of the world
These thin and lovely pages
Bound all up in beauty
Seem to me as pearly white sails
Dancing in the wind
Waiting, just waiting
To carry me away
On the shining blue waters to the end of the world.

Ever Blue

The sea stretches on forever
From sandy shore to soft blue sky, the rippling water stretches on and on
Blue, blue, blue
Dancing, advancing to the pebbles on the shore
Forward and back, and forward again
E-minor motion, slow and smooth as polished jazz
The sea is constant
Like music…a monument of hope
And God too.
Waves and jazz.

Rain in the City

The rain is falling hard today, pouring, pounding,
Drumming on the balcony, outside my window
Rain is falling.
Washing away the cigarette butts and pop bottles
Unearthed after the long winter, buried under a blanket of white
Rain is falling.
Rivers of muddy water running in the streets
Torrents of water from the sky to the sidewalks
Little waterfalls… running over curbs and cracks in the road
Rain is falling.
Even in the gray and dirty city, rain still smells fresh
Fresh with spring and new beginnings
Renewal, Rejuvenation, Revival
Rain is falling.

In a Library

In a library, books floor to ceiling
Warmth of yellowed pages,
Dusty shelves.
Richly colored, musty carpets muffle footsteps
And whispers of people, book lovers like you
Wafting in and through the maze of shelves
As you sit, cross legged on the floor
And think
Worlds to be explored
Waiting all around you.
Sitting in the library,

Light Art

Poetry is easy:
The art of the simple.
It’s only connect the dots
It’s looking
And seeing
Finding commonality
In two different things
Rivers and love, for instance
Rain and music,
Music and dreams,
Me and you.
We see poems where we look for them.
Simple as breathing
Simple as seeing
Tell it like it is, like it should be.
Poetry: the art of seeing.

To Future Me

A few years down the road,
Remember when you had only a thousand dollars in the bank
While you stood on the edge of kid-ness
And prepared to leap off into
Remember you had nothing
But the intangible stuff of life
You loved, and laughed
Because you had nothing and knew how to enjoy it.
Don’t forget that.
God was enough, then,
And when you look back
He better be enough, still.
As you
Grow up in life
Grow up in God, too.