Into the Soul - Spiritual Poetry

These poems are what arrive when I invite that "something deeper" to speak - that blessed madness that spins planets and curls toes. Feel free to share your thoughts on them. (...and thanks for all the great feedback. I don't always have time to comment back -- but know that I am most grateful!)

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Something Etched Upon Your Soul

you came here
for a purpose

something etched upon
your soul continues
to speak to you

the same notes
that sung
Moses awake
through a

the same
voice that
Ashoka gave
his life to
the guarding

Christ bore
a Cross to
amplify it

a King
stood on a
top" to
sing it
awake in
his children

sit quietly
each day

find yourself
on its map

Sunday, July 06, 2008

The Taxonomy of Sound

the licking and lapping of a pomegranate --
a crimson yearning for the condensation
of the morning dew

a dog barking in the distance
is a yet to be unearthed miracle

mitigated against silence,

the creaking of millions
of houses, still making
their decision to settle
in one spot

or the beatific coronation
of endless car horns against
a beleaguered but

undulating ocean tides
lap and lament the births and deaths
of a billion sea creatures --
saline musicians
conducting their underwater symphonies
that push against continents
and the occasional
floating landmass

it's the sound grasses make,
rubbing up against their cronies --
the scratch beats of countless
slender green drums

or the startling absence of sound
as a moon careens, hovers,
then scatters across a
bewildered sky...

one lucky soul
will have discovered sound,
as if for the first

and that will have been enough.

The Mud Flats

Once upon a time...

We lived in mud flats --
shallow organisms
ringing that bell
inhabiting the land
white water liquid crystal displays
pledging our loyalty
by photosynthesizing
a planet

time passed...

sunset madness,
then the moon songs --
campfire meadow cries
echoing across canyons
meandering through valleys
sheltering the young and old
from the Great illusion

Ganymede makes love to jupiter
and grass warms the feet of trees

while in the stillness
the wise ones steal heaven
and share it with the strangers
still living inside
of you and me


Dear Lord,

Give me a poem --

A poem that will shatter my mind

and rip open the ebony doors of my heart

may my chest explode from your heavenly light

ablaze in rainbow feathers

I wish to be like Belize,

with its winged ones

that circle the canopy of jungle

to alight next to the soft cool

chatterings of waterfalls

humming the tune

a forest sings to newborns.

Sometimes, like a poem

I can't help but bleed into the God around me

No memory of being separate

circling like sages

in the dawn mist

dancing to the Ocean

begging to be drawn back in again

awash in the foam and the crackling rocks

to ebb and retreat...

ebb and retreat...

spending eternity

brushing up against

my own skin

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

The Squaring Knife

my shadow's wake
plum and full with longing

and the silent moving meadows below indicate
my altitude has grown even more pronounced

the sea of consciousness
has feathered me

my fears have morphed into
confections of sweet honey laughter

like a squaring knife
has aligned me, perpendicular
to that strange and lustrous

that now peers out from behind everything.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

My New Book of Poetry Is Now Available

Greetings all,

My new book of poetry is now available.

Here's the website:



Monday, December 31, 2007

Understand Yourself as Liquid

understand yourself as liquid

although the other forms of matter will do

it's a stable breeze that suspends us here
high above the cliffs

caught up in the thermals

we withhold our judgments
to be lifted higher

what we think of the world
changes it

why not stop thinking entirely

and allow the world to be
exactly what it is

beyond our limited projections

understand yourself as liquid

lie down at the feet of rocks
and small children

allow divine gravity to mold
you into a shape not unlike
Moses or Niagara

understand yourself as liquid
and yield to everything
that wishes to make you
part of it

and it
part of you.

Thursday, October 04, 2007

At Home In the Silence

It's as simple as this...

dawn is your wake-up call

the stars are the lamp beside your bed

shake your bones regularly against the earth

to ensure the life still flows through them


you should melt more --

water yourself a tree or an ocean

or a parched stranger

maybe you'll become a saint

or be a bastion of sweet laughter

for a frowning world

and no words in any combination

can match a well-timed smile.

Learn to be silent

and traverse that inner cave

spelunking across the great granite

crevasses of your soul

because not even a Senegal,

with its drum troops

and thunderous rattlings of

griots with koras

can equal the goliath reverberation

of the one that makes their home

in the silence.

Sunday, April 01, 2007

The Ability to Explode

I drip like seeds
onto your fertile soil
splashing in patterns
of refined thought

Laughter will catch
up with you, my friend

like a cancer
has rendered you

while the
to explode
is what you're
really after

Let creation
throw pieces of
you everywhere
so that no one
can tell where
you end

and God

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Planets and Poems

on this earth -

lover's moon
gazing down
whispering her reassurances
in beams of light and
arcing and ebbing ocean tides

you stand inside me,
the millisecond before
"let there be..."
intoned a world into motion

a sky before a sky

the God before God

towns that blaze eternal
from inner light
beg to call you their home

like some palm branch
making love to a passing breeze.

it's you,
ya know

it's ALL you.

my sweet,

there's a game we can't
seem to stop playing

that always
leaves us


in planets

and poems.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Stay Close to the River


I built a shrine to you. Right here.



At the end of all your brave and brilliant quests for something better,

I'll still be right here.



Although you've forgotten. You've forgotten to lean close when you weep,

when you weep from your lilted loneliness.

Touch our hand to your cheek and feel the river that has run through a million billion wondrous earth bodies -- this majestic membrane that masks our starlit eternal glory.

Such is the game of remembering.

If you somehow lose the link to this poem, don't worry. There's a billion more where this came from.

Just look around you.

Stay close, Dear One.

Stay close to the river.

Friday, February 02, 2007

The Art of Opening a Door

The final approach is most important

the seconds before skin meets brass

timing is everything

and that twist must be subtle yet firm

sometimes feeling a slight tug and then that satisfying snap! of the little lock undoing itself for your entry

now the big question, does it open in or out?

not to repeat any of those embarrassing moments
exiting gas stations or walking into restaurants

those painful nose-against-glass
soft shoulder against stubborn wood fiascos
that echo through your mind like
cannon fire many painfully self-reflective
minutes after.

and now, mindful to remove your hand at just the
right moment to encourage the proper velocity
of hinged wood sailing away from door jam home plate.

if done properly,
you should have the benefit of inertia in your favor
slightly propelling you forward.

Now it's just a matter of strolling...

A topic covered in-depth in previous chapters.

Speechless, Among the Flowers

among the flowers
until I too
unfold into

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Playing Catch Up


with their one hand clapping

and gong-like silence

witty as hail storms

on Spring mornings


open minded


a Gershwin

or a Ganges

flowing into

uncharted territory

waiting for the

rest of us

to catch up.

Sunday, January 14, 2007


Maybe we'll find it:

that one choice

that one
of a choice

that clear

"I will go THIS WAY!"

And the invisible
crowd roars

and some beautiful
woman or man
hands you
the award

Forgotten friends
and neighbors
out of

"Ya know,
I always thought they would make it...
Just somethin' about them."

The yearning
for stardom

is the memory
of the stardust
we came from

a faint
of being a light
that could be seen
all the way
across the

But look at us now!

Strange bodied creatures

Sticky and awkward

so specific

with a name

and strong political views

wandering a planet

searching for something...

soft and tender
diffused light

that can now be held

by another's

Thursday, January 04, 2007

and then peace said

"My most precious child
the war is over...
the war is over."

Wednesday, January 03, 2007


With a tongue
wet with kindness

and a heart blessed
with eternal sunshine

I speak these words to you

withstanding all
life has to offer.

I billow in wineskins of reverie
remembering that white light
cadence we all sprang from

before we were flood into orbit

before we became a nationed Earth.

I tell you this,

I will chalice myself
upon the parched dried
lips of the Christ
inside of you

and feed myself to you
in words and sweet songs

until your Urkraine
and Denmark

and Great acres of Kansas
all resonate in unison

with the words


OK, Try This...

It all began like clear glass -
a reflection without
anything yet to reflect

the meandering meadows
were the first to arrive.
blazing flowers -
marigolds and whisps of lavender

white snow-flecked petals
gave way to what we now
refer to as "morning"

It was Tuesday,
to get specific -
although the term "Tuesday"
wasn't yet coined

then I appeared

not so much "appeared"
as realized I was standing there

ahhh yes,
taking in that first sweet morning -
the sun "just so" in the sky

and a thought of oceans

yes! "oceans!"

then a huge tale overtook the foam, breaching

a "whale"

although he referred to himself as "Ned"
back in those days.

There was just one of him, you understand

in fact, the concept of more than one of
any animal wasn't something that
occurred to me until much later

still, I can't say much
for the world back then...

no ferris wheels or shopping malls

no complicated plot structures or
wicker furniture

no multi-attachment bagless
water-based vacuum cleaners
invented by some guy
with a thick indiscernible
Eastern European accent

not even the concept of "eastern" existed yet

We're talking "way back"

Still though, the essence was there -

and a determined desire to manifest something
out of nothing.

And Love...

Yes! Love was there.

She's pretty much the one that got it all rolling

In fact, there's this little kind of "trick" I know...

Ya see,
Love always leaves a little "calling card"
to ensure her presence was noted -

although, most tend to overlook the obvious

all that is needed is a little quieting down --
becoming still - where ever you find yourself...
just focusing on that space in between thoughts -
in between you and everything else

that place where "I" becomes "other"

the place where "I" stops being "I"
and just is

yes, I think you've got it!

Now, just stay right there...


Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Yearning for Something Wet

thrice I came to you
bearing gifts of
precious oil and
good tidings:

sweet air and dusty feet

the mountains are
prisms of grass
turning pure
white light water
into rainbow

lining the bottom
of every laughing
gurgling stream

what were once
sun-tormented rocks
for something

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Swimming Lesson

She stood
just outside
of view

like a memory

or a scent

a thin

all of the
up by

in the Dance,
it becomes



isn't just
a game

it's a

an atmosphere

and Greek Gods
and the fairest
of maidens got
it all

it's tangential

like an equation

an ocean one
must learn
to swim

great flocks
of children
kind of Love

cloud exploding
vibrant shafts
of light
kind of Love

no more of this
drowning business


that island!


She hovered,
just outside
of view

like a memory

or a scent

a sweet
uncut jewel


the way
holds the

and I
went up

and took
her hand.

Friday, July 07, 2006

I Don't Like the Look of that Mole

You've come down with a rather unique ailment.
Your mind is obsessed, night and day, with cataloging all those things that might be wrong with you.

"SARS? yep, I probably caught that off the drinking fountain the other day"

"Foot and Mouth Disease? It could be making a come back!"

"I don't like the look of that mole."

However, behind the eye that reads this there is a much more serious condition afoot,

an insanity more prevalent than any mass contagion

You see, you've mistakenly identified yourself with the name on your Driver's License.

You somehow believe you are separate from that which spins planets and hatches new galaxies just before the morning tea.

You've already won the lottery and yet you still live like a pauper.

My friend,

If you can become the sweetest tear you've ever cried, I'll have no choice but to make a few phone calls on your behalf.

With any luck, we'll have you jumping up and down like some crazed game show contestant by sundown.

Monday, June 19, 2006

A Mouth To Feed

Trained to search
siphon the world
empty handed,
I look within

Tuesday, May 02, 2006


In the shallows
I become afraid

all the small talk

I'm not sure
what to say

a strange and
majestic sea

longing for
the deep

Sunday, April 02, 2006

I Travel Light, She Says...

she lives in a magazine, full time

just adjacent to the impulse buys at the front counter

she watches the vagueries and well-defined lines of human life pass before her eyes

safely tucked behind bent metal wire

beyond a name -- just a smile -- making the most of her two dimensions.

a baby's wandering oceanic eyes --

then a careful old woman

visibly loosening her grip,

nestling a bit closer up against the Great mystery

water drips from somewhere in the storeroom -- but you can only hear that at night when everyone's gone home.

a neon light buzzes blue --- remembering when its molecules were a cicada or antelope fur -- or the creaking bark of a blue spruce, making room for the thin lines of water determined to work their way back up into the heavens

clouds are born

and the asphalt becomes wet -- emitting a curious odor.

She greets the morning crew

as the slight morning breeze filters through the automatic doors

and points her in a slightly new direction

this time facing the chewing gum display

"I travel light" she says...

Thursday, February 02, 2006

The Old Man

I abide
like still

into you

old man
filled with

Come sit with me.

Sunday, January 15, 2006


OK, here's what's on my mind.

I was up all night with the incessant
thought that the wildebeest
(as a collective, mind you)
are really holding out on us.

There's something they’re not letting on,
and it's really getting to me now.

I see them on the National Geographic Channel...

Ya Sure! They look simple enough - huddled
around in their little "herds", shaking off flies,
pretending to be some insignificant tributary off
evolution's headwaters.

But what's really going on?

I'll tell ya, plain and simple... Snickering.

And the tigers? Ya, they're in on it too!

I hate to break it to you folks,
but we're the only ones that
don't get it.

We're too busy using cell phones,
collecting beanie babies, and
inventing shoes that morph
into roller skates.

How often do you even take
the time to notice that blazing
god of a sun that bursts through
your window every morning,
pulsing its light codes to
10 zillion plants,
saying GROW BABY!

we're far too busy erecting
concrete gardens that
hermetically seal us off
into a world where
LOVE must have
two arms
and two legs
attached to it.

When the real love,
The BIG Love, is off
building thousands
of corpuscles in your left
elbow and navigating
famished hedgehogs to
their next meal.

We’ve accomplished
quite a feat -
to shoehorn something so vast
into a holiday that equates
chocolates and roses
with that which furnishes
entire planets with

So it's time for a field trip, kids.
Back to the African plains!

Best bring a notebook and
something to drink.

We could be a while.


I stood there
in the lobby
eyes bloodshot

worn out




is it over?
am I safe?

outside -
the sweet

and a tree
parked cars

a laughing beach
no one ever colored
with time,
makes birds
and blue

outside -
the soul
the body

the way
mothers do

the way
fathers do

with a story
or a warm

outside -

the vast vast



Anvils and Archangels

and a soft wind
and white buffalo

invade my life
like marauders

stealing my
anvils and chains -

replace them
with butterfly wings
and winged Archangels

The place where soul
meets flesh is a
tricky place -

a shaman's open hand
to a rising sun

the only
true sign
of contact

The Moment I Gave Up Trying

It was a Sunday,
I think

There were just too many
loose ends chanting me
down, accosting me
like beggars

encircling me

I felt like a clown
in one of those
Fellini movies -

out of place

a somewhat
surreal presence
in my own life

There I sat,
head in hand

as if looking
out over a

"That's it!
I Give Up!"

A funny five
words, don't
you think?

Not much on
their own

Like the gesture
a demolitionist
uses to cue
the explosives

The bottom
floors were
first to go...

the daily
the way my hair

then, the
bigger things -

sense of place,
purpose, direction,

sense of self

Yep, that's the one...

"sense of self"

everything got
real quiet after that.


the distant
flapping of wings

Sliding Into Home

There's a stone
in my pocket

and a storm
on my lips

great field voices
of cane and wheat

songs from the
Southern people
inside me

equinox and
solstice folk
deep inside
the Earth

Deep inside
my bones

growling for
that summer wind

an air to
ride the
back of

sliding into home.

Saturday, January 14, 2006


careful breeze

wrinkled pelt

moonlit vagabond

lucky tree

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Another Reminder

The next time you pick up your car keys
or turn off a light switch
you'll remember this poem.

How do I know?

Because many years ago,
when you were still very young
you caught a glimpse of this moment
staring at a computer screen
reading these words.

One of the many reminders you set up for yourself,
like so many bread crumbs marking the path home

And the reminder is this:

If you've forgotten to look with awe and wonder at
the world around you

If you've forgotten that you are eternally innocent,
no matter how long the list of bad things
you think you've done

Then bookmark this poem and come back tomorrow
and I'll remind you again.

In the mean time,
try to have some fun.

You're taking things WAY too seriously.