August 26, 2017

Voices of Nature

The bells toll, the church bells scold the missing participants who slumber through the hours.

The clock ticks, the racing cars speed down the street,
ringing, ringing, ringing.
Night turns to
day, day, day.

Discerning nature from God, from now, from then, to the future towers of Babel.

Carl Jung is that force of nature, a force prevailed within the
scriptures of God's
voice, voice, voice.

Crumbling within his mind, to be placed upon another
time, time, time.





August 5, 2017

My Haiku for you~ Our Joy

Space Coast Sunset + American Flag (5/10/15) | Sunset seen f… | Flickr

Sun shining brightly
We stood in a patch of blue
Your hand in my hand

Winds swayed the treetops
Flags waved to old glory’s pride
Moved our love today

Inescapable Love


Love is a flower
it grows
it buds
it blooms
Love is a shadow
it moves
it’s still
it hides
Love is preoccupied
it gives
it shares
it takes
Love is the heart, beating, dancing, it cries and yearns
Love is deceptive, willful and wanting, fading and dying  
Love concurs
Love aquicends
it’s smooth
it’s rough
it’s molded
Love shines, not gold, not diamonds, rubies or sapphires  
Love is there, it stares, whether you look back or not
Love is all things, and to all Inescapable



August 1, 2017

In The Wake of Despair

I haven’t written in a while and the words come slow.  I manage to type notes out all day long on facebook, but at this moment the essay is halting, not eager to come to the page.  And the reason is...

Lately, or at least these last six months, I’ve thought of nothing else except politics...or the left side of the right side...maybe not so much politics as what’s right and wrong, whatever that means these days.  The just and the truthful; the moral majority seems to be lacking in the words they were meant to mean.

Where are the spokespeople there once was?  The government officials, the hands we elected to set the pen to paper to meet the issues to move us forward, not the scribble that has taken shape with the election of this so-called president who seems to want to run the lives of the world...maybe not run as much as ruin.  The appointments are in and out like a revolving door, and the bodies are flung through the air, sprung from a catapult...never to be seen again.

The Russians are eager to take the potus’ hand, guiding his journey through the White House hallways.  A house he calls a dump...Day and night, night and day, another door closes to our democracy; another door locks as we are pushed into the darkness of despair...the sadness, the depressive rhetoric that tweets day and night from a mad man, a dictator of supreme order; this is his notoriety speaking, his pulpit of fame, his leadership on the pathway to darkness...taking us along in his wake of destruction.