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Sunday, November 11, 2018 (2 comments)     

Honor to the men and women in the orange vests who build and resurface our roads We see them out there, all summer and fall, the men and women who build and resurface roads. This poem is a tribute to them.

Thursday, November 8, 2018 (4 comments)     

Will you help me? This is a poem about starting wherever we need to start, from a place that needs attention and love, a place that isn't happy or comfortable that we lost touch with somehow, that we have to rediscover and let back into our hearts.

Wednesday, September 12, 2018 (1 comments)     

The first argument One interpretation of how the trouble started is, originally, we were meant to have a much larger brain. The one we have is too small. That accounts for why we are so violent and riddled with neuroses.

Friday, June 8, 2018     

The Bloody Gun When it comes to the war-like nature of the human race, change is slow, so slow maybe none of us reading this poem will live to see any change at all, but, on a good day, believing it will come is enough.

Monday, April 23, 2018     

The coming world that should be Now is the time for world renewal, while stepping back to let the old world die however it needs to, as it is already doing in a million ways.

Sunday, April 15, 2018     

The reunion Happy poems are rare. They can't be manufactured by the poet just make the poet happy.

Thursday, April 5, 2018 (2 comments)     

My soul said, "Get up." Making promises to our souls in the dead of winter is a good way to side with life.

Saturday, March 31, 2018 (2 comments)     

It hurts to be an American. Literally (pt,2) Part 2: It hurts to be an American. Literally. But it hurts some more than others.

Monday, March 26, 2018 (3 comments)     

Onion and Woo plan an outing Throwing red paint at the entrance to the White House seems like a really good use of time. In this poem Woo questions whether red is the best color.

Monday, March 19, 2018 (11 comments)     

The United States makes me sick When people immigrate to this country they are generally healthier than they are after they have lived here for a while.

Thursday, February 22, 2018     

AR-15 (A poem) Words fail after the shooting at Marjory Stonemason Douglas High School. Just as with Sandy Hook and Orlando, first shock, then deep sorrow, then outrage then deep consternation. America, America, how much more blood will you shed of your children?

Sunday, February 18, 2018 (1 comments)     

Heads-up to the NRA, our youth are heading for Washington Washington, the great miasmal swamp, is about to meet the beautiful river of change.

Thursday, February 15, 2018 (2 comments)     

Ostrich's lament Ostrich, the largest bird on earth, is caricatured as hiding its head in the sand rather than face reality. It is easy to identify with that coping mechanism, but there is much more to the ostrich that is worth considering.

Tuesday, January 30, 2018     

Imagine this world This poem is sort of a koan. It makes convoluted sense, but the point is to get us to go into a maze of imagining, to get lost and find our way through by trusting that the world the poet is asking us to imagine is simply a world of people that can imagine a world with elephants.

Wednesday, January 17, 2018     

Sleepwalker If someone commits murder when they are sleepwalking, are they guilty? If someone starts a nuclear war when they are aren't in their right mind, are they responsible? With so many zombies running the country we better give these questions serious thought.

Thursday, January 11, 2018 (6 comments)     

"Tilly", a poem by James Joyce This poem is a poem for our times even though Joyce published it in 1927. The red clay road is just that, but as we step into lucidity the red of the clay becomes the blood of life itself.

Saturday, January 6, 2018 (3 comments)     

Parallel reality -- a poem It is hubris to assume that there is only this reality that seems to be going badly, even as the forces of change gather and organize. That would be to forget that there are profound depths of consciousness that sustain us in spite of ourselves.

Wednesday, January 3, 2018 (5 comments)     

New Year, new eyes, new skin -- A poem Poem for the new year about survival, adaptation and rebirth.

Monday, December 18, 2017 (3 comments)     

Finding myself twice as old as my son -- a poem There are perks to having an old soul. On a good day it is possible to tap in to the patience of a stone or tree, and to recognize the things that really matter, like yogurt and love.

Thursday, November 30, 2017 (3 comments)     

Sad Truth, a poem There are many ways to account for Trump's rise to power in these Benighted States of America. One of the more unsettling is that Trump is an archetype.

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