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Here am I; I have arrived

In this moment I am alive

There is no next, or one before

I am the open door

I watch, I hear the falling rain

There is no pain; no need for gain

Who am I; I take my bow

I am; my name is Now



I now love a cat

I would even go to bat

if it came to that

for this sweet black cat

Never knew I would do that

but lives are like that

when they belong to a cat




Shuffle away night’s haunting dreams

shuffle twisted covers aside at seams

shuffle barefooted down the hall

shuffle cards for solitaire one and all

shuffle dishes into the sink

shuffle messes room to room, while you think

shuffle clothes to wash dirt away

shuffle round in circles, throughout the day

shuffle memories as darkness begins to fall

shuffle back to bed again down the hall

shuffle to find the place in that book

shuffle the lamp off after a last look

shuffle through thoughts, hiding in your head

shuffle all that is left unsaid

shuffle the breath out of your chest

shuffle body parts, until you’re at rest

shuffle your soul toward the lee, growing high

no more shuffling, just touch the sky




Days run past

hurrying around the bend

I can’t grab on that fast

as they slip away in the wind

I don’t see where they go

but, definitely out of my view

If only their pace would slow

then, these far betweens may become few




Down on calloused knees

pulling weeds from an overgrown heart

many resist, their roots so deep

but “tut tut it looks like rain” will start

If it pours awhile, becoming a contender

perhaps the caked soil will soften

to aid removal of the worst offenders

which trail underneath, so often

Pour down, pour down

ease this relentless toil

wash clean the ground

lessen the inner turmoil

Eyes wet beneath the hat’s dry brim

more clearing left to do

 heart soaked through my skin

 I begin anew





Photo 106

Some mediums cannot be erased

Light tints don’t cover darker hues

So, I am only partly colored in

with most of it, a deep blue

Somehow along the gallery wall

time got lost in the paint-by-numberings

while unfinished in a corner, sat a portrait

pushed aside with day-to-day encumberings

 Dreamsight faded into monochrome

the past leaving a large lasting stain

if only all unwanted marks could be washed away

like  watercolors in the rain



The small blue bird

always perched very near to

 her older, more experienced friend on the power line 

Whenever a storm brewed up a strong wind

she leaned heavily against her protector

She had no awareness of her own weight

until the dark, foreboding, day she was pushed away

causing a hard fall onto the rocky road

which rendered her unable to fly

From that day on, she stayed

alone in the brush, never to see

her dear, feathered, companion again

The little blue bird often wondered if

on that tragic day

 her strong friend had merely collapsed

 from the exhaustion

of holding steady on that wire