I hold on to my run Like the sun, to the treetops. “You first,” I say. “You first,” says sun. Home. I look up. I’ve won. Inspired by (and picture courtesy):


I wonder if the wonder I express at all my wondering Is all the reason needed to explain away my blundering.

The Windy Season

Above a fog of reason, Beneath a cloud of rhyme, You’ll find the windy season Of poetry sublime. Anytime.

Till We Meet Again

Inspired by this picture, which made the rounds on Twitter a couple days ago. No mother should see her child die. No father should bury his child. But death is no guest to deny Or turn away unreconciled. There lives a prophetic example Of how such a grief may be borne Through tears in quantities ample That help mend a heart that is torn. Yes, weep for the memories cherished And weep for the times that you miss, Remember, to honor the perished, The warmth of each hug and each kiss. We grieve at the sad separation; Though every ocean is spanned, The journey may need preparation, But know what awaits us is grand. So let every teardrop flow In waters of hope come together To carry us where we must go Through every gambit of weather. And there be united again To never feel burdened by breath, No grief and no worry of when For time is the last pick of death. We pray that our children live long, To bury us while they are strong.

Recalling an old poem

In the last forty-eight hours, three instances of death have me thinking about this post from many years before. On Cancer, Guns, and Hit ‘n Runs The rough similarity of these three unrelated individuals to the three characters in my poem is uncanny to say the least. Reality bites.