It stood
right across my path
side stepping, I moved on
muttering
who said walls have ears?

seasons on I returned,
to see
writing on the wall
was in moss

side stepping
around some forlorn bricks
of fallen hopes
I moved on

startled by a deafening noise
I looked back,
a witness to its collapse

my mind was in chaos

when the moss returned to dust
I felt like a culprit
for being blind to
writing on the wall

If Robert Frost were writing today
When lawn mowers scream and sputter
Catch a snake or mouse unmercifully
In their alternating blades (and blood!)
When cars and planes pollute the world
With their fumes and noise and such
So that no wilderness remains completely wild
When diesel tractors not hearty horses
Do most of the work and pesticides are sprayed
On the grass and the flowers and the fruit
He would not be talking about labor and hay
The way he does, as a gold more noble than elven coins

a lengthy poem I wrote
depthy in meaning
and breadthy in scope
yet ranked heighthiest
on a list
of lite-weighty tripe and
curtly dismissed

damn prissy grammar police!

I've sped this interstate before
with horses racing 'neath the hood
while thoughts of work pecked at my core;
no attention spared for field or wood.

But this afternoon the snow flakes swarm
clearing most traffic from my route.
I switch heater to hot from warm
attempting to keep the chill out.

Then suddenly I'm forced to slow
by a wave of sudden thick whiteout
and as I gradually cease to go
I take time to think and look about.

In a more weak world the most aggressive advantages
don't always deal in what is referred to as "fair consequence."

Being an empire built of sharks, snakes, wolves, and rats-the most basic of beasts-
we really understand the most prehistoric philosophy: survival.
Using it as the first building blocks and the cracked foundation for this society.

surfing
amidst clouds
ready to bolt

diving
with torrents
uplifting mood

skiing
on rapids
icing on cake

Money here, money there, everywhere
you make the world go round
miracles and wonders lies at your finger tips
healing and deliverance is just a click
then who say money gives you bed not sleep.

you are the salt of life
you are sweet like honey
like an umbrella in the time of rain,
those who found you finds shelter
then who say money gives house not home.

Each droplet of rain
a mercenary of life
god sends from the skies

we hear them knock on roof tops
waking us to join rain dance

Love fall from heaven
dark skies rain clouds are forming
silvery droplets

body cries out for comfort
from a stream boiling inside

Sun heats the waters
mist is freed of gravity
the clouds puff out full

butterfly exits cocoon
as clear drops fall on my head

Sometimes as drizzle
at times in heavy torrent
drops of rain perform

Because of the noisy river
I can't hear my own thoughts

It is a nice interruption
Nature yelling

BE
HERE
NOW

Caught up in
The abundant flow

Of everything
Beside myself

Music,
from strict and logical Baroque,
to whimsical passionate Jazz,

voices,
from screeching streets
to dialogue of thought and hunger,

towns’ breathing
from morning yawns
to electricity of evening laughter,

the wheeze
of changing wind,
the rap of melted snow,

the thunder,
the cries of newborn foxes,
the acorns’ clatter on the forest floor,

the noise
around me when I wake up -
illegible mix of chirping,
snoring, neighbors' chat,
and resonant thud of the past.