Update

Poem – Rain

When my mind becomes scattered,
when each of the thoughts I held
in my core is lost to the wind,
I seek out answers and resolutions
from the natural world.

On mornings when the grey sky
covers the sun and the forest
lives in its own green exterior,
the cold air lays upon the skin,
and you know that rain is near.

Each drop a fragment of some
larger being or existence beyond
this world and my body reacts to the cold
by reassembling the core and bringing
this being back into a whole form.

Poem – Awaken

I woke in the fields.
The fields I have never seen.
The fields black beneath the white sun.

Limbs emerge from snow.
Snow scatters into the wind.
Wind twists the clouds around me.

From the horizon a train nears.
The horizon shakes and fractures.
The fractured fragments cover my mind.

I was not yet ready to awaken.

Time’s Plan

Another year on the calendar has passed and we celebrate. A celebration of accomplishments and of moving beyond events and moments we wish to forget and gain distance between.

But time has a plan for us. In the day-to-day scheme of life and the normal cycle, time is always moving forward. Ticking away at the same pace, always giving us 24 hours in each day to accomplish whatever we need to take care of. However, as a certain unit of time passes and in specific moments, we feel that time is going more slowly or more quickly. Does time change, or are we capable of controlling time, wrestling it back onto our path, the direction and plan we desire to follow?

I think at the end of each day, we and time set aside our differences, rest, and vow to continue the battle the next day. But what are we fighting for? What is our plan driving our actions, desiring some result, barreling toward some endgame? And what is left behind, what are the consequences, and who is impacted by our sphere of influence?

Regardless of time’s plan, and no matter what we do and the struggle we exert, time will visit each of us.

What we can do during the time we have, is to strive to become a better human than we were yesterday. To realize the sphere of influence we have on each other, and to make the most positive actions and results we can with the precious time we are given.

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Poem – This is Home

In the depth of winter
with the shoreline covered
in snow blown in from the
distant water, this is home.

A place nestled on a cliff
covered in ice as the superior
waves relentlessly carve away
at ancient features, this is home.

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Poem – When the Snow Becomes Each Soul

Snow falling across the empty fields
we watch from behind the trees.

The white winter sky falls into
the fields and we are weightless.

Letting go of each branch
we fall into the sky.

Over time we fall back
into the fields.

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Poem – The Scorched Field

Across an empty field scorched
with morning light I see
shadows dancing along the treeline
filling empty spaces.

Is this my field?

I remember little prior to this moment
as winter has settled across the land

and in the depth of winter
we retreat into the awareness of self.

I seek warmth from the shadows
emerging from the scorched field.

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Poem – Searching the Earth

Surrounded by more questions than answers
the day continues the race from yesterday.

Searching the earth for clues,
a sign,
some semblance
of another part of ourselves,
perhaps one that has answers,
one that has been down that path before.

We scrape the dry hardened ground and find nothing.

Hands steeped in dirt
the afternoon sun beats down
on exhausted bodies.

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Poem – To the Darkness

To the darkness that is ever present
that is the shadow following each footstep
that is the fast moving clouds –
I will meet you in the empty fields
filled with ten-thousand lanterns
and put to rest the game we have been playing for years.

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Poem – How to Move Forward

Falling into the future from the present
I sense time is changing, its motion
pushing me forward into moments
I may not be ready for.

While science states that time
does not change, how much do we
know of the physical universe
we infer and how much exists

beyond the borders and boundaries
we see and how do we know
how many universes exist out
there, wherever that is?

And if there are multiple universes,
what are the chances that we exist
in multiple dimensions and what really
is occurring is our other self pushing us forward?

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Poem – Empty

With an empty mind
free of obstructions
we can see and hear everything.

Each leaf in the tree canopy –
each breath across the sea –
each grain of sand.

Walking across the empty field
we hear each foot step
and see the wolf before it sees us.

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