Whatever Will Be, Will Be

You lie far away where

wagon wheels and babies once squealed

and after the bustle, tall grass

grew, swaying in breeze

echoing the peace

you now know.


I will journey there

where those hissing grasses

now hush the chaos

where green rolling hills

yet whisper secrets

where I imagine humble Angels

prostrate and praying.


Perhaps, autumn bending to winter

will be the setting, with

gunpowder clouds swirling

but nonetheless, I will sing, ‘Que Sera, Sera,’

and spite the gloom

with red roses.


No Regrets

There are circumstances and

there are best laid plans,

there are needs

and there are



My soul has interpreted the runes of life

though I may not have consciously

perceived; all battles, stumbles

and falls, all misjudged calls

though such brought me



to the sanctuary of us,

to zen words whispered, to

adoring tears, to

your sacred touch that

stirs me from nightmares


I am only relative within your embrace,

I am a scarred and tatty Goshawk

that now resides in green pastures,

worse for wear, yet



your beating heart and caress tells me,

“It is here, that you belong.”

Mother’s Potholders

Dandelion and tangerine blooms

on a quilted field of

neon green, threadbare edges

were testament to

countless labors of love

singed here and there

the only moisture those flowers

saw, was her sweat

and tears.

Gestalt-psychology Versus Existentialism: the heart’s quest

I beheld you gleaming

in tangerine tendrils of sunset,

an ivory altar long obscured

within drumming canyons

and I made my way.


Pleasantries were the birds singing

at dawn, when I reached you,

dithering notes slinking cross your form

and through your raven hair

whispered, “come, you doting fool,

indulge and worship


when I arrived,

I dropped my reason and

the trail behind me disappeared

as I fell smiling into your

Shangri-La valley.

The Veneer Of My Soul Pulses

There is a melodious tapping

as I close my eyes, like

a boat oar

loose in its rigger.


Undulating jade waves

lazily lull me as I touch the veil

of a dream, rhythmic breaths

transport me; I am adrift.


Distant car horns are seagulls

scent of exotic salt air

fills my lungs

I sense a tangerine glow

through my eyelids


perhaps I will write a message

place it in a bottle

and simply release it

with a sigh

as warm waters kiss

my fingertips.


You Will Reckon My Spirit’s Song

I will be there

in the paisley dust patterns

riding morning sunbeams,

in the worshiping of words,

in the tabernacle of fond memories,

in holy moments baptized

with tears


I will always be there

between wanting sighs, amidst

white noise of life glaring in your thoughts,

caressing your hair with

whispering breeze


in the chlorophyll green of spring,

sweating with summer’s frolic,

sighing amongst fall’s adagio

with crisp sage breath

and remembered verses

bled from my heart

will echo


you will reckon my spirit’s song,

you will smile, thankful for the years we shared;

a mix of sweet and bitter.


Sometimes We Just Sigh

Fingers brushing, feather light
with an occasional

from pure Zen breaths
to moist nape is a small reward
even a respite

sideways glances with near teared eyes
are pleasure poses

heart to heart, skin to skin and
sometimes we just sigh.