Advent Calls

In the depths of the heart

a voice whispers

awaken, O Man, awaken

the first light is lit

the world awaits

the maidens have trimmed their wicks

and still you slumber

awaken to the worlds needs

awaken to the song of humanity

the cries of the innocent

that haunt our souls

the angel speaks softly

in a voice of thunder

Wake, O Man, Wake.

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Where Does Poetry Come From?

Where does poetry come from?

Is it birthed in tragedy,

when a heart is broken

and fear darkens a life?

Is it created, when love is found

in that first kiss under the oak tree?

Does poetry only belong to the young

who see colors dance along the mind.

Or, does poetry come from a life full of mystery

where even the smallest grain of sand

is seen as an invitation into stillness.

I am old now seeking to find my poets heart

in the quiet moments of the day.

I listen for that young voice

crying out in my dreams and imagination

seeking words and images

long lost in the whirlwinds of the past.

Your Story

Your story has sunk into my skin

dived through epidural layers

soaking through the membranes

to become a part of the greater story

the one we have shared all these years

your story has rooted itself

with roots that entwine the deepest parts

of my very being

feeding off the well of love

your story does not exhaust or deplete

it gives as much as it takes

it feeds until it becomes one with mine

and we live together

our souls singing in sweet harmony

I Need to Stop

I think I need to stop,

just stop.

Not slowdown,

not take it easy

no, just stop

just don’t move

and feel the earth

under my feet

feel the air

on my face,

listen

as the trees rustle

and the birds sing.

Just stop

because

it’s the only way

to feel,

hear,

smell

and know

that I’m connected

to this earth,

to nature’s movements,

connected to the stars

in the heavens

as they reflect

Divine love

in the dust we share.

To My Grandchildren who start another School Year

To my Grandchildren who start another school year.

Each of you are embarking on a new path,

one you have never trod before.

You will learn, be challenged and grow.

There will be hard days,

there will be easy days,

but each day is an opportunity.

Be aware, look at your fellow classmates,

look at the ones who shrink away,

who are quiet and shy, they need you.

Listen to what they say,

not just listen but hear them.

Allow your own hearts to grow,

not just in compassion but also in love for those who struggle.

Your own road will be tough enough,

the storms you encounter will be real

you will need others to help pull you through.

I am an old man,

I have walked my own path and weathered my own storms,

I am not here to tell you what to do,

for that will not dissuade you,

but I am here to listen.

Each of you is a gift,

a unique,

one of a kind,

full of life and love,

filled with light and joy.

Let that light shine even in the darkest days,

let not those who have no joy pull you down,

but rather allow your light to guide them

lifting up their broken hearts.

The world needs you,

I need you,

you are my lights,

my dearest grandchildren,

whose gift of laughter and joy lifts up my heart.

Poem on Love (lust)

I want to write

the perfect poem

about love,

that kind of love

full of lust

the kind

we don’t talk about

as lovers lay naked

in the midday

tongues meeting

the soft flesh,

slight flicker

that arouses

breath quickens

with each thrust

hips arching

seeking to satisfy

releasing

pent up desires,

that kind of love

where two are one

and everything else

doesn’t matter

except to feel

one another

intimately

and then die

in each other’s arms

in the madness

called love.