Not Quite Guilty

Regular common events
agreed to measure
the passage of time
continue to occur regularly.
My suspicion that I should
actually be a ghost now
makes my enjoyment of them
a not quite guilty pleasure

The fear that I’ve really
been a ghost for years
experiencing an elaborately
constructed hellish heaven
or heavenly hell is not something
a sane person should consider
so I try not to

Rather focusing on
the beauty of regular
common events in faith
that I am experiencing time
in the common regular way



A quarter moon
in a clear blue sky
a gentle breeze
makes me want to fly
straight up to it
but I can’t do it
I’m earthbound
no way around
that situation
but it doesn’t bring me down
the spirit takes me
where my body cannot be
it’s almost the same
as really being free

Bold Enough

With all the distractions gone away
what was it that I wanted to say
is there anyone to say it to
is it just a way of getting through

Coming back to a place
dreamed of years before
I hesitate before
opening the door

Do I find what was lost
or being lost, get found
not much difference
in the way they sound

Whatever it is
it’s just waiting for
the hand bold enough
to open the door

A Good Chance

The clouds were missing
a good chance to rain
thunder made empty threats
the wind could not be explained
darkness descended
we lost our focus
there were those in the shadows
wanting to choke us
to keep us from learning
what we needed to know
to put up a fight
to make a good show

They had facts and figures
supporting their claim
that the victims needed
to shoulder the blame
we had nothing
but a will to live
and a notion of what
we were willing to give
when the clouds missed
a good chance to rain
how we escaped
I cannot explain
divine intervention
is a possibility
and a stubborn refusal
to be less than free

When we slipped through
the dragnet, the clouds finally let go
washing our tracks away
so evil could not follow

Late Summer’s Night Shakes

Gentle sunshine
rains down on the perpetual parade.
Plenty of nothing
signifies the sound of one
hand clapping furiously.
Perchance we only dream
of these outrageous fortunes,
rub-a-dub-dub and let it Be.
Curiously, the cat dies of
inattention rather than
dignifying any of this
with a response.

Come Out, Come Out

The Dreams are missing
I don’t understand
they were just here the other day
have they gone into hiding
while reality gets
all up in my face?
I thought they were
more dependable.

No matter. We shall continue
to do what there is to do
until they choose to
come out, come out,
wherever they are.


Desire sails
the ocean of dreams
in fair winds and hurricanes
seeking ports of call
seeking the armada the fleet
the companion vessel
to validate the voyage

The Dream sails
the ocean of desire
using celestial navigation
dead reckoning and prayer
in search of the Lee Shore
where running aground
into sanctuary and respite
is the goal of the voyage