The Giver

Of a past
Forgotten, buried
Or perhaps a future
Yet to be…

Swirl and dance
Drift below
Muffle the ground
Like piled snow

Grab your sled
Hurry up, come on
There’s something there
Something not yet begun
Can you taste the colors and the sounds
Everywhere… they cover the ground

Too many for just one
Bent and broken soul
Too many for two as well

S o   r e l e a s e . . .

Let them drift
Let them fly
Let them billow
Fill the sky

Memories bring joy
Memories bring pain
But in the end
There is wisdom to gain
So catch the snowflakes
Before they turn to rain


The Rite of the Right Way to Write


What is the right way to write?

There are a few ways, so I’ll set you aright.

First, seize your right—tis your right to write

And tis right that it’s so.

Write the sound of the birds in flight

Copy the might of the failing light

And the vast, encroaching night

Record the squabbles and the fights

The lazy arc of the summer kite

And humanity’s enduring plight

The nightmares that give you fright

And the growing season’s blight

None are too trite: W R I T E !

I don’t care, gape and stare

Note them all, bad or fair

Listen to the sounds that blare

And the subtle creak of the rocking chair

In the town square

Or in your private lair

But above all dare…

Dare to write.

Writing is the right way to write

Seize this right, and make it your rite.



He gave me a typewriter

With clackity*clack keys

And a chime that rings

When I’ve gone too far

And need to



This sort of typing

Feels more like writing

Fingers flexed

Ink on the page

Uneven, imperfect

And glorious.


Strike the keys

Stamp each stroke

Hard or soft

It’s up to you

The writer, the typist.


He gave me a typewriter

With ribbons blackened

And linkages yellowed–

All things considered…

I suppose he really is a

Decent sort of fellow.

The Adventures of Piet


Katy wasn’t watching.

Usually she did.

Today she forgot…

Slip, tumble, and a gentle plop

Piet dropped.


Wait Katy, wait for me!

Came the tiny, yarn-like shriek.

Over books, under a chair,

To the door, and down the stair…

Hang on, Katy, here I come!

But there were many steps,

And not just one.


Jump, hop, skip,

Grab the railing tight

And  s l  i  d  e

But mind the puddle,

Jump aside!

Katy, where’d you go?

My stripy legs are a tad bit slow.


Is that the subway up ahead,

The subway that they always ride?

There is Katy, but she’s climbing inside.


Hurry, Piet, don’t be left behind—

I’m coming, Katy, just in time!

The doors hiss shut, but where is Piet?

There he is, by Katy’s feet.



Katy, startled, dropped her pen

And picked up Piet instead.

“Silly monkey… did you wander off again?”

The Sojourner’s Song


Sunrise in Arlington, Texas. – R.H.

Here I’ll stay a while
Here I’ll rest my head
Here I’ll spread the canvas
Here I’ll drive the tent pegs

No walls to guard me at night
No city gates to keep me safe
Only cloth between me and the sky
A City is promised, but not yet

Sojourner, traveler, I wander
Through these lands
Promised but not fulfilled
Promised but not yet

Not a city of earthen walls
Not a city made by hands
I wait for something sweeter
A Holy City in a Promised Land

Promised, not yet fulfilled
Promised, but not yet
Still waits the consummation of
A people, and our place of final rest

Falling – Catch Me Not

Aerated Pool

Our silence

Isn’t strange

Side by side

We ponder the range

Of towering stone

And water spray


No more words

We just watch

Curtain sheets

Dancing water drops

Tumbling down hard lines

Coating the rock


Can you hear my silence?

Because I think I hear yours–

Somewhere in my heart

You’ve opened a door


When I’m with you

It feels like home

A safe place, kind place

And it whispers “why do you roam”


Tell me when you hear

The sound of my silence

Reader’s Gaze


Just once

I’d like to craft some lines

That mean nothing at all

That will perish with time

Just once

I’d love to form an empty shell

Hollow, devoid

So read into it what you will

And infer as you like

It will be similar

Yet not the same

And in doing so

You’ve made my words your own

To you they belong

For you ascribed meaning

But for you

They’d be dull

Tedious scratches

Just ink

Nothing more

But you give them life

You grant them meaning

Words have weight

By the might of the reader’s gaze