Scarecrow faces
streaming out
of the trains
their eyes hollow
looking out
seeking loved ones
who are ghosts
of what they once knew
before the fires
and the shattered glass
before the barbed wire
and the smoky skies
before the hate
that tried to bury them.


One Day

One day,

I will not be here

but not today.

One day,

I will not feel the rain

or know the wind

but not today.

One day

I will not feel

love or pain

but not today.

One day

I will not hold my lover

in the darkness

but not today.


I will live,


I will love,


I will feel,


I set my heart

to look forward


I hold my lovers hand

as we kiss,


I will live fully,

in the beauty

of God’s world.

Rehab Visit

March winds blow cold,

dirty snowbanks along the road

more ice than snow,

as I walk into the rehab

entering into that shadow world

that place between life and death.

A row of occupied wheelchairs

greets me as I walk the halls

wondering why they are all women,

staring at me as I walk by

some with a yearning look

others showing no emotion

their heads bent down, eyes closed

as if they have already surrendered

looking into the depths of their tomb,

I shudder walking by these living dead

then I walk into his room

the old man who smiles a toothless smile

who still lives into the moment

teaching all that life is to be lived,

that love never truly dies

even as the sun begins to set.

In this little corner the sun shines

and he is grateful for the little he has

as I sit and listen to his stories

praying silently that I have his courage

when I will one day be sitting in his seat

ready to face the dark with dignity and grace.

Post Convention Blues

Life is transitory,

a temporary moment

a slight breath on the wind

that in an instant, is gone.

We sit together

wringing our hands

and gnashing teeth,

speaking of hope

as the darkness settles.

Maybe if we choose

the right words

or pray the right prayer.

Another amendment,

another resolution.

Will we find our answer

in constant debate?

Trust is hard

it’s not in our nature

to give up illusions

we have nurtured.

Faith demands surrender

to all that holds our hearts

in the glamour and glitter

of the false prophets

that sing the siren song.

Crossing the foggy river

trusting the unseen pilot

the tiller out of our hands

searching for that true light.