In The Coop


In The Coop

This may be my Walden Pond
Wired place of peace that passes even
My own understanding
Why being hemmed in with these beguiling creatures
Is often my preferred place to be
Still and rest among the fowl plummage

This may be my rock
Here among the current flock of nine
I hide and find a reason
To study nature’s brilliant
Rhythm and routine

At Five they will roost
And I’ll be forced to turn back into the world again
The one where fear and pain and joy collide

This may be my island
My pilgrimmage to solace and relief
I know the neighbors have begun to talk
And question why I go inside
And talk to them, yes I do
(Dolittle did do that too, you must recall)

Naturally, I do not care a ‘tall
Nor worry about world affairs
While I am hiden in full view
inside my beloved coop

Where I will hide only a little longer, in plain view
A refugee fleeing from the headlines
I share the name of those I  shelter
Joy will come in the morning
Alleluia and amen

En Route


En Route

We are moving at the speed of life
Going at the pace
Whose measurement is breath by breath
Some days the beating of my
Heart is set to the metronome of grief
Overlaid by the harmonious chords of Pregnant joy, birth and death almost Collide
How do we stand in the crosshairs of
Gratitude in the longitude
Grief, latitude
I throw the threadbare anchor line
Over, scan the place where grey
Shades into shadows laced by fog
You know the place of slow fade, too
Choose to pause, honoring the loss
Here the refueling begins
I cannot stop
I catch my breath, netted
Held, released
Fill my sails always with peace
At war with the idea of war
Steer the vessel into the path of righteousness
Re-fuel the ship
We are moving at the speed of life
And grace will lead me home

A Triptych

heart bright in wood


It is a strange thing, your leaving
In increments
This slow fade, pains us
The dialing down and dialing back
I wish for your speedy recovery
That you would return to us
It is a strange thing, your leaving. like a dismantling
We are all coming apart at the seams
I never liked one thousand two hundred and fifty piece jigsaw puzzles
Now I like them even less
Pieces are missing from what I can see of you
This slow fade, pains me
I watched you leave us slowly
Someone took the big fat pink eraser to your mind
Long minutes of searching drag by
And you’re still unable to find that lost piece of your vocabulary
The elusive word “chipmunk” escapes
Cruel game of cat and mouse of the mind
But peace attends us in its mercurial way
In a blink we are somehow fine with it all
A fractured picture
It looks nothing now like the photo on the box
Somehow, it looks like this
It is how we are meant to be
Hinged to the past by ligament and thread
Bone and blood
I will be your memory
And you will always be mine


August has come with her goodbyes
I count and recount
Pack mules on every corner
Of every street, the scene repeated
A stuttering and stammering of goodbye
A grand exodus of fallen leaves
And gardens burned past recognition
Once full of promise
Now the leaving has begun
Can you see me waving my hand in hope
Of what will come
I know a secret of these cycles
Spun round more than once
I know the story’s end
The one this Earth is writing


I seemed to think you would remain
Laden with fruit
A freak, an anomaly
Bearing forever
Always dripping with abundance
Your branches
Like a run-on-sentence
No break in the chain of goodness
A train-wreck of the overflow
And last time I checked
You bore one, singular and sweet
A parting gift for your beloved
For that I am grievous
That it is over
The faucet stopped its once endless flow
I let myself think it would never end
For that
I am a fool in the shadow of your love

The Art Of Staying Put


The Art Of Staying Put

I am moving around in place
Hearing of Greece, the far away way beyond the borders of my soul
Hemmed in by an invisible thread of remaining
I will travel to the back quadrant of the yard, where the vines go farther than I
You and they walk me ’round the world
Grabbing the kite-tails of the airborne pods

They, globetrotters growing, serpentine trails mark their route

And I in the backdraft of all the leaving
I brought an inch worm home
A souvenir  from my journey to the land where the tomatoes grow

We choose to stay
And yet we do not remain

You took me to the movies last night
In the parlor, in our chairs

We crawled into the story of their lives
Turned the pages as they spoke their written lines
Love walks you to herself
Redemption writes a script, transports you in the re-discovery
Of grace, and
As if we had gone away and stayed
Story packed our bags
Yours leather, mine canvas
We the stay-behind travelers

We’ll set off into the salty surf, today
It is our going, our remaining
No markets, no mileage, no passports

Our latitude and longitude place us in the still right here
A little boat and little motor 
Invite us onboard, grateful, always weary travelers 
A long, long way from home we seem to go
When we refine the art of still remaining

And discover endless oceans of restful happiness
Peace attends the souls of those who stay behind
We, the necessary 
In this art of staying put


I am spending some time over at my newest writing project which has made some of these days here a little quieter. Working on finding my stride with both projects. Visit me there where I am crafting a weekly letter for email subscribers. Follow the link here: “a quiet place for words”.

Sign up to receive this subscriber-only letter which is quickly becoming a favorite creative project. I am discovering and re-discovering the art of letter writing. And you are invited, as always on the journey.