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.

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

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

The Day the Mountain Burst


There was a tree

Its branches strong and proud

Sturdy trunk

Now but a stump

Since the day the forest died


There was a stag

With antlers sleek and broad

Firm built back

Now but bony rack

Since the day his ranges dried


There was a man

With limbs stoutly sinewed

A hearty laugh

Now a chortling gag

Since the day his family passed


There was a mountain

Both tall and steep

Shrouded in dewy mist

Now but ashen pits

Since the day its hot heart burst

Ocean II

ocean one

Boundless tides

Deep and vast

Piled breakers

Future and past


Breaks a wave

Crests the foam

Roars the tumult

Upward a single drop is thrown


It hangs in the air

For a single heartbeat’s time

A gleaming tale

Microcosmic rhyme


Then ’tis gone

In the space of a breath

The moment of its birth

Was the moment of its death


So tiny, so small

Yet how large the sea

My soul churns with the waves

The dancing water gems call out, beckon me