Tuesday, December 11, 2018

Summer Rain

We watched grass burn brown in the sun
And waited for the rain to come.
For weeks we watched for days
Clouds pass by but never stay.
Beneath the grass the earth skin cracked
Like dry and dusty desert lips.
When finally fell the healing rain
It washed away the burning pain
Of sun scorched land and skin
The grit from blood shot eyes.
Red skin cooled its way to brown
Green crept back along the ground.
We laid aside our shady hats
and turned our faces to the sky
Left behind our icy drinks,
sat and watched the day's light shrink.

Thursday, October 4, 2018

Stories Leaves Tell

Why do leaves when they die hold more beauty
than they do in the time they spend alive?

Leaves green in life changes colors as they die,
and I wonder why so plain in life?

Why save so much color and beauty for the end?
Sometimes the beauty of a story is the end.

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Be Like Me

Be like me, said the tree standing tall and strong, arms open to the sky.
Sink your roots deep into the earth and stretch your arms to the sun.

Be like me, said the bird as it lit on a branch of the tree,
then spread its wings wide and soared into the blue.
Let the wind take you west into the great unknown.

Be like me, said the cloud as it rode that same wind
over mountain, valley, river, and plain. Gather as you go.
Be filled, and then fill in return as you share what comes to you.

Be like me, said the water as it fell from the cloud to nourish the earth.
I give and receive as I flow over, around, under, and through.

Be like me, said the earth over which the rain washed.
I soak it all in and send it all out through root and branch, blossom and stem.

Be like me, said the flower, fragrant and glistening with morning dew.
I am beauty on display, hope for Spring in the death of Winter's cold.

The wind smiled as it blew through waving grass and rustling leaves
Under the sun's warm one-eyed gaze watching life unfold below.

Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Noticing Matters

I am often distracted, even consumed by a desire to do something useful, meaningful, something grand by which to be remembered. It is not that I have grand ideas I want to implement for the benefit of mankind, but rather that I want to be one who has such ideas. It is not about the ideas, but rather about my desire to matter in some way to this existence.

Perhaps the problem is I am trying to define my usefulness. We all want to matter and to know we matter. In the vastness that makes us all insignificant, we long to be significant to someone, to matter somehow. We don’t want our existence to go unnoticed.

Perhaps in truth this life is not about the grand things we do or don’t do. Perhaps this life is about the sum of all the little things we do every day.

When I cross paths with someone, that interaction is all that matters in that moment. We all have different experiences, different stories to tell. Whatever I see or don’t see, feel or don’t feel, taste or don’t taste, smell or don’t smell, hear or don’t hear, whatever I experience in that moment becomes my story. Whatever else I have or have not done does not define that interaction. Whatever I give or take in that moment speaks on its own to that person.

We all want to have good stories to tell, stories to which others will listen and affirm as worthy of hearing. Perhaps love is noticing those around you and making them matter to you. When we notice, we give life. To ignore is to take life.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Eyes Full of Empty Hearts

Our hands are never empty. 

Our eyes are ever filled with images 
that claim our lives are not what they could be. 

But images are fantasies of lives that don't exist, 
of happiness hiding in places it does not exist. 

We fill our hands and eyes with emptiness 
and wonder why we don't find happiness.

Tuesday, January 9, 2018


There's a map of the world on my desk. It reminds me the world is both big and small, and all our differences are both big and small. I am an invisible dot on that map, and yet I cover whole continents with the palm of my hand. 

It's all a matter of perspective. 

What can I do but weep as I read the names of so many places where people do unspeakable things to each other? What can I do but weep when I seek refuge in my own heart, and there find so much fear and selfishness? How can we do anything but weep when we wake up each morning to a broken world so full of darkness?

Will we ever learn to listen and to see?

Will we ever learn to love?