Falling Asleep After Reading The Book Of Revelations

Seeing nothing except a white horse

running through snow, 

its hooves throwing winter

from its softened thundering gallop,

spraying pearls into the heavens

that become rambly, twinkling stars.

It turns toward me, its wild mane 

swirling in the wind, its eyes are glowing embers.

But with its dreadful approach comes heated breath,

from its massive hooves, relentless, appalling thuds,

coming closer, ever louder, the ground quaking, 

the stars flaming into creation, igniting fires in our hearts,

fearing life and death and the beginning and end of time,

devolving into unbridled dissonance and chaos,

coming face to face with a distorted, awful presence

until everything crashes into silence.

From: Stumbling Through Dreams, Memories

and the Unintelligible

Unpub. MS p. 12

A Voice Of Madness

Last night I dreamed

about forgetting and frustrations,

losing and finding and not finding,

especially destinations;

how earnestly we seek them;

how elusive they can be.

A woman claiming to be lost

asked me if it was easier to be on the road

rather than being sedentary.

Well...yes and no.

I asked if there were road maps

for living past seventy.

She said, Use metaphors.

Okay.

What I want to know is who was

the raven-haired, self-proclaimed

‘magical woman’ in my dream,

blazingly passionate and alluring.

I was told she was spending time

in another place in some other time,

or something like that.

I’ve heard about those mysterious destinations.

Magical Woman said there are five.

Is she messing with me?

Lost Woman said, Yes!

And out stumbled another 

voice of madness.

From: Stumbling Through Dreams, Memories

and the Unintelligible

Unpub. MS p. 17

After Listening To Brahms

Symphony No. 4 in E Minor 

Taking off my shoes this chilly summer evening,

seeing redwoods as masses of  green

close to the shore,

but knowing at the changing seasons

the wind will be asking

to speak to anyone willing to listen, 

along with the horses and dogs

running on the beach,

asking, Are we here for real?

Sunrise to sunset to sunrise. 

I accept my past losses

and hopes for the future.

Now an ocean wants to speak

and there I am, naked on an empty beach, 

walking on the foamy rim of the world.

Easy now, they admonish, those mystic voices 

from silence so far yet so near, 

Don’t let the future

confuse you or the past destroy you.

Start now in silence.

Step into wet sand,

watch the water squeeze out 

and flow back to fill your foot print,

only to disappear.

A deep breath.

I can only say, 

Just listen…

the heart will hear 

the rhapsodies of the Universe.

From: A Preface To The Universe

Unpub. MS p. 26

What There Are

On your Journey,

what seems to be sometimes isn’t;

what isn’t could possibly be.

It isn’t necessary to know

which is which,

just as long as you know

there are possibilities.

From: Finding My Way:

One Man’s Spiritual Quest

For The Divine Presence

2010 - Present

Unpub. MS p. 1

A Very Short Love Story

Of the finest silk and wine.

Love, long endured, gone awry;

a lonely farewell.

From: Short Poems On How We Ramble

Unpub. MS p. 54

A Journey Of Dreams

Yellow seasons, red clouds,

drinkable dawns—

we certainly indulged.

Then an orchestra,

sprawling, treacherous, lavish, 

with wilding percussion,

rainy brass, nervous strings,

chatty woodwinds.

A growing dissonance of voices

on top of the deep roar of traffic

and sirens, a scream for help,

then the crash of cymbals, bossy and jagged, 

tumbling down concrete stairwells, 

cut through all things fearful,

then quiet but for the breezes sighing

through the barb’ wire fences

and over the range grasses.

The road is elusive.

Always was.

Search for it where it is not.

From: Small Places, Big Places Everywhere

Unpub. MS p. 38

The Grassland Paladin

Hereford, Arizona

Winter

Alone in my gazebo at midnight, 

I’m wrapped in a blanket; there are no voices,

no wind, but the chill of the grassland is flooded

by the half-moon’s light. A few coyotes bark,

great horned owls sing their four notes

to each other from the tops  

of the utility poles along my road.

I have to stifle my inclination 

to talk to myself. I’d be an intrusion

in the order of the night,

though my neighbor’s rooster

lets loose a reminder that 

he is awake and on duty,

a paladin assuring everyone

that he is in charge 

of the grassland’s tranquility.

From: Small Places, Big Places Everywhere

Unpub MS p. 27