A HUGE muscular tomcat
invaded our space, ate
our sweet Stripes' food,
and looked like he wanted
to tear her apart.
Rushing in to save her
from his assault, I
chased him away and
kicked him
right in the ****
as he fled my wrath.

After my momentary
satisfaction passed,
I regretted having kicked him.
As it turned out, he won.
Stripes had a beautiful litter
of his kittens, and when I
kick him in a recurring dream,
I wake to the pain as
my foot forcefully
strikes the wall.

One gorgeous Spring day
we gathered on my deck,
a few friends and I,
to sing and play
some beautiful music
loved by us all.

My home, on a remote ridge top
of the Sierra mountains,
offered a panoramic view.
Not a single house
could be seen--
only the vast forest
surrounded us.

We accompanied our voices
with two guitars,
a flute, and a
small harp.

As we sang,
the air grew still,
and the tall, fragrant pines
encircling the house
seemed to lean in,
listening.

After awhile we paused,
to savor in silence
the sublime feeling
created by the music.
The harpist stood her harp
on the table.

Just then,
a gentle breeze came up
and the harp began to sing
as the wind's fingers
caressed the strings,
enchanting us all
with a heavenly music
unlike anything
we had ever heard.

Would that my heart
were as that harp,
responsive to
Your lightest touch--
singing endlessly
of love.

The Giver is greater than all of His gifts,
The Giver is greater than all of His gifts.
The Giver is greater than all of His gifts,
so come on,
give the Giver your love!

The sun by day, and the moon by night,
a billion stars twinkling oh, so bright!
They're only messengers of His light,
so come on,
give the Giver your love!

The love of the father and the mother and friends
is part of His love that will never end.
So through them all, pour out your love to Him,
Yeah, come on,
give the Giver your love!

I often wish I could be
more than I am
for you, my dear.
But obviously,
I am what I am.

I want the best
that money
can't buy,
so I asked God
to write for me
a love letter to you
in His clear, steady hand.

I hope you can read
between the lines,
and understand:
I love you
more than He Himself can say,
even in His most excellent,
loving, holy way.

Since my mother died
I have lost both
my clothes
and skin.

Every gust of feeling
blows straight into
my torn paper heart,
makes my bones
rattle.

Friends, your beautiful poems
like huge looming waves
threaten now
to overwhelm,
crush
sink
my tiny boat,
so frail
so fraught
so mortal.

I read
and bail
for all I am worth
beset by the image
of the gypsy moth
airborne
in that last instant
before the fire
consumes it
utterly.

I met June in my December.
Her touch thawed me:
all my flowers bloomed,
birds sang, full-throated,
frozen streams flowed anew,
Bubbling and chuckling.

Into my gated garden
we strolled,
hand in hand
beneath the cherry blossoms,
heads close,
sharing one scented breath.

On the apex
of the arched bridge
over the pond
we kissed, lingering
white blossoms
cascaded on our hair.

Pausing,
we gazed down
at the jeweled carp
gliding beneath the surface,
seeing only one rippled reflection,
not mine.

Whatever this body does,
wherever this mind may roam,
my heart will always sing one song, Lord,
"You alone are my home."

Beloved One, my soul's delight,
my life, my joy, my all,
I'll listen for your silent voice,
and I'll answer to your call.
I'll listen for your silent voice,
and I'll answer to your call.

I make a steady effort
to keep reducing my life.
I've unraveled it's tapestry
into a skein of loose threads.
I'm down to the last one,
it's getting thinner.

I used to have
a wife, a business,
a family, a community,
but that's all gone now:
the marriage was a lie,
the business was killing me,
the community was a cult.

So I cut it all away.
Now all I have left is
a few old friends,
a fistful of poems,
my old guitar,
this big truck I live and work in,
and a couple of kids whom I love.

Not much of a legacy
for a lifetime.
But I take satisfaction in this:
there are no lies in it.

I'm nobody's jailer,
I'm nobody's prisoner.

I make an honest living,
take comfort where I can,
love my kids with all that's in me.

I keep heading down the road,
one step ahead of the reaper.
So far, so good.

Thank you, my friend--
little by little,
waves of time wash the wound:
worn driftwood,
broken shells,
a distant foghorn.  
I follow meandering footprints
disappearing in the sand--  
Suddenly, a glorious sunrise,
bright as her laughter.

Desolation all but slew me.
I feel as insubstantial
as a ghost in the dark
just outside life's window
looking in at the warmth
of a world
that will never again
be mine.  
That you see me
gives me hope--
perhaps I may yet again
know life,
love, even
joy.

Where is Spring?
These barren, bony branches
pluck the sun
from my sky.

I mocked depression--
now
it mocks me:
endless gray skies
pour rain,
rain,
rain.

Go ahead, rain!
Tear the blossoms
from the trees,
bury their color
in the mud,
wash them
away,
away,
away.

I don't care anymore--
My eyes are turning gray.

Death walked in.
He said to her,
"Be still."
And she is.
So still.

Kate Little's "Most used words" woven into a poem.  
The words:
love remember life heart soul day cinquain kiss beautiful night
sweet man angel dream silver tears spirit words pain does gentle
hard true hope

The poem:

My vanished love,
do you not remember
the life we planned?
A vision our hearts and souls
wove together, day by day,
letters sealed with our own
cincquain kiss.

My now distant love,
how beautiful was the night
from the circle of your arms--
sweet 'tis still,
in my "man from an angel"
dream.

The lonely moon
makes a silver necklace
of my tears,
while the night winds,
once bearers of
your love's whispers,
breathe spirit words
into my shattered heart.

This careless pain you gave,
does gentle, yes,
does gentle
in time, into
a hard, true, hope.

i keep winter out
of my heart, remembering
your cherry bud kiss.

spring is coming soon--
manzanita buds aglow,
like little pink hearts.

climbing Mt. Fuji,
i saw only my two feet.
coming down-- the world!

the old Buddhist monk:
gentle as a flower, yet
stronger than thunder.

Perhaps the one who
broke your heart
has the saddest
heart of all:
so lost,
so cold,
and so
afraid
to answer
true love's call.

Reading your poems:
peeling the sweet onion i've
already eaten.

If you'll be the sea cliff, then
I'll be the rollers--
breaking on your heart, oh!
ardent lover.

If you'll be my snow field, then
I'll be your Spring sun--
hot clouds of steam rising
when we are done.

Then I'll be your fog bank, if
you'll be my wetland--
secret caresses from
velvet-soft hands.

If you'll be my seabird, then
I'll be your night breeze--
lift you in ecstasy
over deep seas.

Then I'll be your night sky, all
swimming in moonlight--
lighting your way to my
heart here tonight.

I need to pretend that I'm dying,
and I don't have much time left to live,
'cause if I don't do what I came here for,
I may miss this one chance that I have.

I've seen my friends go in a heartbeat,
their life's purpose still left undone.
Dear God, I don't want that to happen to me!
Help me to sing my own song.

Sometimes I can act like it's nothing,
pretending I never will die.
I want to believe that I'll live here forever--
Why do I insist on this lie?

I know that I've got to keep writing--
it's the gift that my heart longs to give,
and if I have spent my life writing
I won't care so much how long I'll live.

The way that I want to be feeling
when Death comes to take me away
is satisfied that I've finished my work,
that I've said all that I have to say.

I keep getting sidetracked by something--
when I look at it square in the eye
I see it's fear that I'm not good enough
to make a great poem of life.

You know that I want to write deeply
from the spirit of love here inside.
How can I sing when I bury my own
spirit behind fear and pride?

I know that great love and great writing
can flow from You through my heart--
I open it wide, please help me right now
To focus my life and my art.

Some poets
   write poetry--
others
   create it.
  
But you
   breathe love
into poetry.

May real love
   find you--
take you by
   surprise:
hug the pain
   from your heart;
kiss the tears
   from your eyes.

You read it in the magazines, when someone makes it big.
They always thank their families for everything they did.
They say they were encouraged to believe in themselves.
But what about the rest of us, with the families from hell?

Yeah, there's a lot of us, who've got the same dreams
as those kids from the families in the magazines.
Ours was a different world, to say the least--
I saw less of my father than I did the police.

Chorus
But if you hear me singing under the street night
I'll be weaving sweet music from the threads of my nights
When I'm weary and lonely, and my troubles run deep,
I take comfort from my music-- it's a comfort I can keep.

No, we never got the message that we were even OK.
It was more like we were garbage that they couldn't throw away.
Music was survival for my soul, oh it made me feel so good!
You could always find me singing, in my corner of the 'hood.

Chorus
Now if you hear us singing under the street light,
we'll be weaving our harmonies from the threads of our nights.
When you're weary and lonely, and your troubles run deep,
come and listen to the music, turn your bitter into sweet.

So our parents didn't know much about lovin' their kids,
but what they couldn't give us, well the music sure did!
It gave us all something that we could hold on to,
I still believe in music, yeah, it still sees me through.

Chorus
If I hear you singing under the street light
I know you won't mind at all, if I sing along tonight.
'Cause we've both been down that lonesome road,
and we know the same songs
I know that I am welcome in the circle of your song.

Yeah, if you hear us singing under the street light,
come, add your harmony, from the colors of your nights.
In the circle of the music, everyone belongs,
There's a place for you right here, come on in and sing along,
There's a place for everybody in the circle of the song!

We had our share of hard times, and it hurt you
that I never said "I'm sorry" for my part.
I'm the one who drove you from our marriage,
'cause I kept my feelings locked up in my heart.

This hard old heart of mine won't keep on beating,
since you gave up and walked out of that door--
I'm so glad you came today to see me,
They say tomorrow I'll be here no more.

Chorus:
Today is the last day of the rest of my life,
Why didn't I give you the love locked inside?
If I had the chance now, I'd make it all right,
but this is the last day of the rest of my life.

I always thought that I would live forever,
and in the Lord I know that this is true.
But I'll be moving to another mansion--
I won't be here to tell you "I love you."

I'm so sorry that my pride has kept me distant,
It's not even close to what I really want.
Before I go I hope you can forgive me,
and help me ease this broken, failing heart.

Chorus:
Today is the last day of the rest of my life,
Why didn't I give you the love locked inside?
If I had the chance now, I'd make it all right,
but this is the last day of the rest of my life.

I'm comin' home Maggie, fightin' no longer!
They're sendin' me home from that hell of a war.
I've given me best, now I'm done with the fightin'.
There's nothin' can take me away anymore.

It seems like forever that I've been a-travelin',
by air and by boat and by train and by car,
Me heart has been achin' to be here beside ye,
to see ye and kiss ye and hold ye once more.

'Twas once we went laughin' and once we went runnin',
up to the high hills, and down to the shore,
oh do ye remember, we used to go dancin'!
Everyone watched as we burned up the floor!

I'm home again, Maggie, home at last, Maggie!
Wi' only a stump where me leg was before,
I'm home again, Maggie, oh my sweet lassie,
Death's all that can take me-- I'll wander no more.

I was sure I didn't love you--
I was sure I never could,
'cause you're not the kind of woman
that I thought I ever would.

So when you called me "sweetie"
as you left for Rome that day,
I wanted to say, "I'm not,
don't talk to me that way."

"I'm nothing more than just a friend,
that's all I want to be.
Of course I care about you, but
not in the way you mean."

"So don't go getting ideas
in your little weasel head.
I never want to spend the night
in your little weasel bed."

I thought that with you gone away
I'd think of you not at all,
so I was quite surprised one day
when I wondered if you'd call.

And when I started checking the mail
for a post card sent from you,
I really started wondering
what the hell I was going through.

I found that I was missing you
more than I cared to admit,
I found that I was wanting you, too,
more than a little bit.

Tonight you let your black hair down,
push finally came to shove,
and the weasel girl I once disdained
became the woman I love.

Every morning, when I wake up
and I see you sleeping there,
my heart fills up with grateful
for the tender love we share.

When I think of all we've been through,
how our love beats all the odds,
and I feel how much you love me,
I gotta believe in God, 'cause

Who else could have brought me an angel?
Was there anyone in all the world who knew
how to heal my aching heart of lonely?
Who else could have brought me to you?

In the evening, when we lie down
making love so slow and sweet
just caressing you forever
is the place I want to be

Then you fall asleep beside me
breathing gentle in my ear
before I drift off into sleep
I say a little prayer, 'cause

Who else could have brought me an angel?
was there anyone in all the world who knew
how to heal my aching heart of lonely?
Who else could have brought me to you?

Lips busy
kissing--
cannot tell lies

lips busy
kissing--
can't speak
angry words

Lips busy
kissing--
are a fountain
of sweetness

Drink
to your
thirsty hearts'
content,
busy lips!

Blue moon in heaven--
    no love to hold.
Even this warm
    summer night
        has turned cold.

Most things
    called love
       are not--
         roses
          have
           thorns
            for good
                      reason.

Love is never,
    in the end,
as it first appeared.

Even love
      can't give you
yourself.

Brighter
    light--
        darker
            shadow

We were two little children
with the sun on our skin,
playing naked in the water,
innocent of sin.

Acting out our stories,
our games were all in fun,
playing naked in the water
by the seashore in the sun.

We played at being heroes,
villains, crooks and thieves,
Peter Pan and Tinkerbell,
pirates on the seas!

Suddenly I'm longing
to find you once again,
to see if you remember.
Do you remember when?

Our eyes danced together,
how imaginations flew!
I've never been so happy
as when I played with you.

We were two little children
with the sun on our skin,
playing naked in the water,
innocent of sin.

Man plans;

    God
  
         laughs

When forced to use the public loo,
there's something you must always do:
before you sit to do your biz,
make sure there toilet tissue is.