Poem – Stars

And we sailed in a cosmic boat made from dreams
across an ocean of stars.

Guided by distant energy we only feel
drawn to what we do not yet see.

Paddling through stellar dust
we travelled through star nurseries.

Something on the other side draws us closer
as we lose track of the passing years.

Stars long-ago transforming through explosions
greet and pull us closer to the beginning.

Poem – The Border Kingdom


We drive the dusty road
east from the mountains toward
the flat land not divulging
any secrets from this distance.

Still morning the intense sun
withers fallen vegetation and
quickly dissipates dew clinging to
cactus needles.

We have not spoken since the pass
where we studied the horizon
surveying what we left behind
and the road leading into the unknown.


Thousands of acres on both sides with
open fields fenced yet empty,
arid, harsh wind blows dirt, small
stones, and tumbleweed across the road.

I turn to say anything, to comment
on the traffic, and I think you are
asleep, at least drifted beyond the
shared space – I decide to remain quiet.

The morning sun has become the afternoon
companion we now follow as the road
veered west and rises toward the
cloud-free sky.

Mile 418. Unfolded, stained, torn map
found in the dumpster at the
last gas station says there is a town
and a river near. I see only tar and dirt.


I remember watching grayish skeleton limbs
against milky blue backdrop through
quarter sliced windows blocking
winter wind and snow

while you slept near the fire
on the black leather couch
you brought with
next to the dog you desired.

Your struggle became
more apparent to fit
two separate lives
until I relented.


I imagine not God’s kingdom
behind pearled gates transcended from mortal forms
meshed with forward singular time
wrapped in fear and repentance

but a kingdom earth bound
free of time, free of the wind
torn sands. Here dreams flow
spherically with no sense of direction.


And in the last dream I remember
the river flowed beneath skipping feet
chasing prophecies and false prophets,
spoken words and brutal lies.

I saw life fading away, fading into vastness
I tried to pull the visible strings together.
I saw a painted face in the sky above,
one of the many angry gods of war.


I see fire building
across the open field
and briefly invent an
overgrown empty field burning.

Before the shift
rumors crept into conversations
of the border kingdom
high in the mountains

a city of mist and rain
immune to desert wind.

Even the name gives birth
to images of purity and salvation.

A place to find and enter
leaving behind and never looking back.


In the dark days
darkened further by doubt
time slows, lengthens
pause between beats,

the space pulls strings
emerging from the mind
and eventually each pore
turning you inside out

until you do not know
you. Who is that in the mirror
and why are you staring at me?
What is this you are showing me?

That is not real, that is not me.
In your eyes you have one truth,
in mine I have another. What separates us
besides the glass mirror?


My faith began to waver
when grandpa passed.

Years spent building a foundation
enforced by dreams of winter
laying nuclear ash upon the
ground, vanished
when the vessel
released the soul.

We have become God’s of
individual domains defined by the
things acquired, captured, and scored.

I listen to words of peers and words of teachers.
The shaman speaks of reality and no reality, of mind control,
of the matrix infiltrating mind and spirit and becoming sleep,
unaware, lost, wandering that dark black path
through an empty field yet not realizing the empty field
is empty, the reasons for being empty, is the true path,
is our own creation.


When did this, this life
become this hard?

I listen to these words and in
the same breath know there is no
one way through the everlasting shift,
searching for my own salvation.

Like fragments
I choose the pieces that make sense
that ease the deep fire burning within.

This fire I must learn to harness,
to control, to bend, to shape

until I become the shape shifter
able to take back control.


We approach the border –
a wide river moving swift and cold –
and stop. Both looking through the
bug-encrusted windshield and our hands finally touch
to remember this last speck of civilization.


I used to dream day and night
of flying above the clouds into
upper reaches of the atmosphere closer
to other borders, other layers
of various gases, closer to the burning
sun and becoming cold and frozen
without direction, spinning,
until a different light skewed
my vision and stripped everything away
and I was able to fly unburdened and free.


I pause briefly just before
the bridge, a final thought
to be discarded, one less
burden we must bring with us.

We cross the border under
the new moon with shadows locked
safely away, to be revealed
when reaching the kingdom.

Poem – Winter’s Song

I lost my breath in the empty field.

Lost in the blinding snow.

Thrown over the mountain tops.

In the silence I heard winter’s song.

I ran across the iced field in near darkness

my bare feet light and swift as I cast

no shadow and left no trace.

I ran across the iced field until it gave way

to the infinite valley filled with the missing sun

and I fell slowly and forever into the

sun as my body and mind separated.

From across time I sang winter’s song

at every breath.


Poem – When Darkness Becomes All That We Know

Grey infused frozen water consumes the last light before the fields darken.

Distant planets follow me from dawn until dusk and a new world emerges where I have become one with beings and energy I do not understand yet make sense at levels I did not know existed.

I left my field years before I arrived here, in search of a new beginning, a chance to erase the past, the stories I have written.

Days traversing empty fields become lost in the mountain shadow where the sky became the ground as we became blind from snow and ice.

With no vision or guidance I was forced to remember ancient words from mountain tops.

It was difficult to separate the truth from lies, the cloaked wolves from the bodhisattva sent from beyond the shadows.

I stumbled upon a rock and fell into a creek feed from glaciers. I feel deep to the bottom of the creek and then I stopped.

The cold become the darkness of my being. The shadows thickened and became a vision of nothing, an island of another existence.

In that moment of eternity I stood on the shoreline of swirling black light and stared at the island. On that island a life played out like a movie and after some time, I realized it was my life, it was my movie.

I watched the choices and decisions I made, the people I loved, and the people I hurt. I watched the distance I kept and the selfishness I exuded. At times, I thought those on the island, in that temporal dream state, looked over at me across the distance as I watched them, as if they know I was there apart from the person they were interacting with.

When darkness becomes all that we know, a choice is presented to grow beyond the person whose own words and actions put them there.

Poem – Reflection

The calendar turns
an arbitrary delineation
time passing one numbered year to another.

Moving through and beyond
this system of numerals
the flow becomes more
chaotic, less understood,
more beautiful.

When the meaning is removed
when each layer is peeled away
we find inside everything we
hope for, everything we dream of,
everything we can be.

Out there we see galaxies,
stars, planets through
the telescopes eye, distances
marked by light-years, and the
concept of time murky and fuzzy.

Deep down things gather
and expand, push and pull
creating the matter, the
parts of everything, in
infinite patterns.

That we see out there
is a reflection of ourself.
Can you see your face, your eyes,
your consciousness in the constellations
or a nebula?

Omega Nebula

Omega Nebula

Poem – Deconstructed, part 3 (Fracture 12)

Have we met before? Perhaps on a distant planet, on the other side of the known universe.

White and gold petals scattered through the void we cannot see, while consuming everything we do see.

I stand within light on a floating island. The willow tree comforts me on the long journey from planet to planet, looking for you, whose voice I can hear as a vibration, but the source is not visible.

Are you her, the angelic tone that pushes away transgressions and thoughts of fire and puts to rest questions returning no answers?

I reach across the dark matter through space in time searching for the light and the vibration I feel from you from far reaching places and spaces.

The day had no beginning, no end. The sun and moon do not exist. A void in the universe that has no explanation, an origin that escapes us.

Spheres and prisms suspended within the blackness are floating in the distance, displaying unfamiliar images and scenes from a path, a river and a great race.

And I move forward, toward the spheres, a chance meeting with a source and free spirit existing beyond the bonds.

Energy buzzes through fingertips, veins vibrate against bone, and my spine is loose.

The central fire burns, expands, and races outward, depositing dust particles and ingredients for life.

When my eyes close and the light subsides, clarity arrives knocking on the inner soul, the mind’s eye scanning across distant horizons. Within are the answers we seek, the light source that shines forth igniting the tunnel, expanding the vision before us.

The purple sun rises twice each day awakening weary eyes and mind.

And within the awakening billions of years pass and I see the one cross-legged suspended, held by hands of light, waiting.

The Fountain

Image from http://media.theiapolis.com/d4-i1UKW-k4-l1V3X/the-fountain.html

Poem – Deconstructed, part 1

The sea laps at empty

Rocks cast empty shadows.

Tree leaves fall through empty space.

Ground swells erupt across empty fields.

The faceless moon speaks of empty origins
the billion year story.

Wheat and corn stalks gather snow flakes
from an empty blue sky.

Where is this?

A cylindrical vessel floats off
the coast hitting a large rock with
each rolling wave.

The size of a city bus
I see the setting sun
through the other side.

And nothing within.
No seat, no lights, no buttons –
no one.

The surface feels like glass
or carbon fiber.

Warm to the touch, it is
silent and still.

Further out basking
in the rising sun’s light path
pink cubes rest just
above the surface.

I look around, down the coast,
up the path, at the ground beneath
my feet.

Is this a dream?

Dream or reality

Dream or reality?

Poem – Waiting

Across the sea of sand and water
thousands of miles away
weeks and months may pass before
we hear your voice.

To forget about the time and
placate our worried and disjointed thoughts
we look for your face and
hopefully a smile in someone’s photograph.


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