Perhaps no maps
to guide us anymore
no way to know
what may be in store
any time we go out the door

Traditions and rituals
lay abandoned by the road
maintenance is hard
when you carry the load
of too many farewells
too many resting in peace
that first instinct
is to seek release

Survival mode makes demands
that we don’t even understand
underground, under water
hold your breath and pray
 that path through the wilderness
brings you to the light of day


No Gifts

Not Ebenezer Scrooge
not Clark Griswold
not the Grinch
nor Buddy the Elf
certainly not a Wise Man
maybe an old drummer guy
if I played drums
with no gifts to bring
except to sing
in excelsis deo


It is said the stories we tell
need conflict to hold our interest
but the stories that we live
require no such test

The happiest story has its sorrows
the saddest tale has laughter
regrets for things both done and not done
and the things that happened after

every spirit that you meet
is a saga still unfolding
with many lessons made for learning
and beauty made for holding

and those that can look back
and say, okay,
I did what there was to do
may have the experience to know
what is and isn’t true
that days unsiezed but gently caressed
are the days that you remember best

At Bay

I left a candle burning
like the light at Motel 6
no one sought this meager shelter
no one stopped by to fix
any holes in heart or mind
but really, that’s okay
the candle did the job quite well,
keeping the darkness at bay


Been talking to the moon
but I get no reply
I hear the branches rustle
I hear the night wind sigh
but the Moon, she will not comment
on these earthly goings on
she’s lovely, but she’s distant
as I wait for the dawn
she draws me like the ocean tide
keeping me in suspense
the thrill I feel is only
the echo of her silence

In Spite Of

Hard to find things to celebrate
easy to find things to fear
hard to find things to laugh at
until I look in the mirror
but there’s a star in the east
making one thing clear
in spite of all the madness
the season of Hope is here

Do Over

The setting sun thumbs
its nose at the darkness
with a final burst of
color and light smugly
shouting, “top that, night!”

The night is cool
it calls and raises
a few thousand stars
and a calming moon
boasting its stolen light

On the fence between
passion and peace
the witness waffles
can we do it over tomorrow?