and why we’re doing,
what we’re doing,
every moment of every day….
we wouldnt have to worry
so much about the
‘end of the world’!
if we really lived
every moment of our lives,
we wouldnt fear death!
if we gave all we have
to give, we wouldnt be worried
about what we dont have!
if we listened instead of talking,
we’d find what we’re looking for!
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the hands….
lying on urine stained sheets,that planted the bulbsin the old woman’s flower bed.that washed the dishesfor forty years….the hands…that built the old barn,that plowed the fields,that harvested the crops….the hands…that stroked desire’s body,that found each secret treasure,that closed the window.that held the baby,that taught the child to write,that buttoned his suiton the day he was…
rape is a horrid act of violence
a terrorist act against the victim!anyone found guiltyshould be dismembered!whether the victim be female,or male… they should be treatedwith the respect due a wounded soldier….the human heart knowsthat when one of us is disrespected,we have all been disrespected….in this knowledge lies the keyto healing!
there is a voice
that distant shore…a voice familiaras my own….there is a placewhere dreams are born…and then given form;where fire is discoveredanew every day!there is a mountainthat no one has climbed…a river no man has seen.there is a cave thatgoes on forever….a path no foot has trod.there is a flowerthat only blooms once…every million years or so.a horn…
september, and roses;
and the book never readstands alone on the shelf.the clock ticks, scrapingagainst the walls of eternity.part the Sea, or just walkon the water, what difference?lying naked on the rose petals,or standing in the unemployment line.the ghosts of Martin Luther King,Jesus, and that old catwho slept in my guitar case.every ordinary moment, holy!and small memories we…
i often wonder…
skimming rocks across a lake,building kingdoms in the sand.do you hear what i’m hearing?do you feel the shudder, and the shake?do you lie sleepless in the night?do you walk barefoot into the darkness?are my words made of stone?of feathers? of dust?is my heart an open door,with no knob, no lock, no key?i cannot hold the…
birds of prey
from my bones tillthey were bare…and that which had echoedthe pounding waves,and had held the wind…bare bones, and empty…no longer an echo,no longer a cup…the sound, the waves, the wind…all empty!from emptiness we come,to emptiness we return!