To Our Children

Life is beautiful,
and without a doubt,
the most beautiful thing about
this whole ba-zing
is you.

you wouldn’t know it,
but you’re one for the books,
and the looks that you’ll get
when you’re down in the rink
or up on deck
will tell more than the headlines
about the one you’ll become.

and the very next time
you can't see the rhyme
or the best in your friends
you must remember the kindness
that exists in the world around you,
it may confuse you, or play
with your heartstrings
to feel what another heart brings
in your lowest moment.

so do not fret it,
and do not forget it,
live and remember,
I’ll be there with you.

Every Bird


Every bird has a right to be,
Yet I do not
Every song more right than me,
Mine be so forgot


In happiness there was virtue
And in flight as much a right
As the standing of a tree
Yet here I sit


Wonderment exists
Only to be seen
From the bark
And through the leaves


Perhaps this is why
That all the ink may dry
And all the children play
While I in darkness lay


And though I’ve yet to meet
Every bird in greet
I’ve bet there’s yet to be
One written in its flight


So special we must be
For all I’ve yet to see
I might never be so clever
As a bird is with it’s eye


Or is it I with wings
And mighty trunk
And wistful leaves
So silly I can be


I won’t answer
With a letter
But only
With my eye

Mourning the Colder Birds

Of my morning breakfast,
There isn’t anything goodly to eat,
And that bothers me badly to meet
Nothing unconscionable in the food you prepare.

That you would be knowing of that which you would not give care,
That Father is more like Grandmother in dating of speech, 
not so songly, crushing’ of manhood
About the words you tongues squeak—
That sharper treep of truisms
Does think of harder tripe too kindly,
Speak too kindly to the world of wings;
Command, tell, is nigh to be distracted by the bow of sky 
at height to my distracted claws and walking down the steps of wood 
to dimmer light and warmer eyes and sharper smiles,
Leaving the world of possession by the reply
Of larger wings, and eyes of scars, and reversing a curse of piety,
A lady of wreath, breathe of me, softly voiced
And check the rugs pulled to the stone
And a cross lower than the stars,
The knicks on the string of my soul
The brushes on the door of the home
Of my heart, of my self, of what I want to seek,
Bound, of emeralds, tugging on the voice of clove in mastery, 
and a trove of bones.

Will not be forgotten

If each day a vine
Grows to pry your ribs—
To find the jewel
Let the tendrils touch it

For you will never
Find any harm
But the protection
And nurturing

If each day a flower
Grows to touch your lips
Take the scent of this love
That you will not forget

Preserve the heart
For what you want
And this jewel will lay
At the end of a garden.

The paths may be winding
And confused, but not
To one who seeks truth,
And the truth is

No one can ever take from
The vines and the flowers,
The heart that is held
In amber

I will sit

I will sit
in the rains
all day, all day.
the moon will
give me a dream
to dry my heart
and wake me up
to warm my cheeks
at your smile in the stars.
hold the one
inside your arms
that never looked away.
be the one that
when I need,
shows me how to cry.
live that I see
more to life than
but to do and die.
how cold I was
before that moon
that I knew you,
if death had come
we never spoke
before.

All That Was Good

All that was good in the world
was for her, and the rapt,
joyous expression on her face
Will be made anew
every morning with the dew.

dawning comes to warm the grass
to give life to her lips,
and as the dew leaves to the 
sky in the heat of noon,
a cloud forms to the eve that
she will see with beauty in her eyes.

as the sun forgives the day
with light upon the moon
the blackbird sings
what was in her all along
and I hear beyond belief
the voices of children.

Two Soles

These great ones who live
as inscriptions in stone,
what is penned from their soul
may have known memory.

It is he and she who live in me,
and though in life we are unique,
in death may we give amnesty
to stuffing boots for smaller feet.

forgive their missteps
so that in reverence we
do not forget to see
ourselves

allow your eyes to see
what has been written
in ages, and glints that
may be found in pages

a diamond mind and a heart
That, like the still mountain lake
has a depth known only
in the glass of its mirror

give these feet to the way, and 
let these eyes see life’s play
wherein the heart claps
while all else may hiss

may this mind live to give light
to the day that has awoken
all those before you
and give your voice
to the etchings
of your soles