Posted in Art, Poetry


But when we sit together, close,’ said Bernard, ‘we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory. –Woolf, The Waves

to be

wrapped in tree
not easily mapped
a canopy of arm
towering beneath
a search for light

leaping waterfall
bridge this ancient path
stand still among
the breathing rock
Great Spirit found
to be

fading into our center

Posted in Art, Poetry

freedom boxed in

I confess I am confused.
Boxed in between white space.

I am simple. To simply love a way of life.
I do not believe love is dying
politics killing freedom to embrace faith, family, neighbor, country
our ability to speak against the powerful.
Love wrangled by fear and fear rising.

Freedom is vital.
Responsibility to know truth keeps us safe.
Love, my last sword in this battle.

Men are driven by two principal impulses, either by love or by fear.

– Niccolò Machiavelli: The Discourses