April 29, 2012

A Pebble Washed Ashore

One little pebble, that’s all

just one little pebble I saw

a little pebble is not a big pebble

no weight, no heft, nor credible

An unusual shape, round on one side, flat on the other - it wanted to nestle down into the sand, but it rolled and tumbled with each wave that came along. and to skim across the water was impossible, it fell with a little plop

it was ready to stay
just wanting to sway

but it rolled and flopped
when a wave lifted up

In the turmoil of winter, in the heat of the summer, and in the rain of the spring 
and fall

the little pebble was stuck

at the hands of a waves beck and call

April 24, 2012


Feel with the tips of your fingers 
Feel the sigh, as my breath lifts
Can you feel the air change, the earth move 
or the displacement of a grain of sand?

Can you feel the clouds, the sun, the moon, the rain pouring down upon your heart?

Can you feel the twinge, the essence, and the reverberating spasms of life giving lyrics birth?
Is this where we start?

Hold those feelings, as capturing a bird cannot be

Hold that touch, as softness turns the world around 
from a cacophony ear splitting sound

April 20, 2012

Ruminations: By The Water’s Edge

Photograph by Kathleen Sara Shattuck

Time, time is everything.  Why think about time, why now? 

Time goes by, time stands still, time solves the problems of the world, and time is spent, used, and given.  Time is whole, halved, cut, and cherished.

Sitting by the water’s edge, surf just far enough away as to not wholly encompass me, just the tips of my toes is enough. 

Lapping against time, a crease and wrinkle are born; time takes its toll, and sun burned skin turns brown.  

Age takes time.  
Age anchors time.

Patience, stay patient I tell myself.  You’ll get there soon enough.

The tiny bubbles of foam slide across the hard packed sand, assuredly going out and coming back in, to soak another grain before I wiggle my toes, hiding beneath its wet surface.
Hide, I tell my toes, hide before you are exposed to the sunlit day.  Hide before you can be revealed; look out, I say, but the foamy suds breaks the surface of time.

The enemy, the foe, the friend, the lover, a consumer to those who wait, envelops the distance of time. 

Swirls seek, and find the time hidden beneath the water’s edge.

April 3, 2012

The Whippoorwill

Listen now, upon the hill
Can you hear the whippoorwill?
Listen to the quite verse, listen to its song
Open your ears, your heart, through the strident throng

There is a world outside of this world in which we live, in a forest of trees, where the Whippoorwill resides, a world within a world we feel, to hear, to know, or is it too still?

Maybe it’s the walls, barricades, fences and hedges that surround us, tall and deep
The world appears to have abandoned those feelings that seem to want to seep

Yes, they ooze, and puddle on the ground, in tears, when no one
 is around
The Whippoorwill tells us a tale, she tells us to fly, lift your feet up off
the ground

Speak to me, oh, speak to me. I’ll try again, and listen as she speaks to me
Will you listen too, or will you only hear a bird whispering in a forest of trees?