Poetry

A log cannot jump out of the flame. So, what good can resistance do but grant a few extra moments of intense burning?

Can we be bonded by a faith like this? where our own existence is enough? and our faults seem to vanish in its ocean of magnificence the way a mosquito seems to vanish as it dances across the sun? This here we are is the gateway into a Love so abundant that ripe plums weigh…
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This time let me be open- no bait, no traps, no clever schemes, no hooks or ropes… The moon doesn’t try to lasso the sun, for she knows her ropes will burn. Instead she basks in the light. With open arms I will wait. From and for God Order your copy today

I can hear the river’s call dancing along the bank. It is the very sound of Life as it pours from the heart. This Stream of Silence carries no passengers- no stones, fish, or debris, only water flowing. Yes, I feel inspired, and yet the pen rests on the page in Stillness. How many ways…
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Don’t Worry, this pain you are feeling is nothing more than the excruciating agony of two holes drilled in your back and wings shoved in.   From and for God Order your copy today

An unharvested tree will only produce rot. Even a goddess will sour if trapped in a box. Tonight my back aches from the weight of wings unused.   From and for God Order your copy today

No true poet claims to create beauty; he discovers it the way a tambura player discovers that perfect place on the string to stroke. Deep within your soul there is an antique table where the two Buddhas, Sorrow and Joy, sit to have tea. Their arms rest on the table’s edges as they lean close…
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Taste your sorrows the way a caterpillar sinks his feet in the mud- each of his leg hairs tremble as they lick the wet, savory earth.   From and for God Order your copy today

I am in one of those moods again where I just want to kiss anything that moves. I would even kiss the Sun if he would let me, but instead he has climbed down his own sunbeam and nestled in my heart. Now, when I kiss the plants, the insects, or the Moon, they burn…
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You crack open my head like a coconut, snap off my wrist, and use my finger as a straw to suck out my water. My hand is a spoon to scoop out my meat. I am carved deep and empty. What remains of my shell is in love with you madly.