Victory 


Laying in bed

Staring up at the ceiling.

Muscles ache, 

Oh what a feeling,

Reflecting on days 

And weeks gone careening.

Yet now at last a time for reflecting

On victories won,

Battle’s done, oh the aching

It’s no wonder…

Take the time

Lay in bed, reflect and recover. 

Though the battle is won,

There’s a war on the horizon

And if I thought I ached now,

Don’t be fooled, 

‘Tis just started…

Head up, shoulders back,

Stand tall and march on.

After all, war is won

A single battle at a time.

The Following

​Getting attention is easy

Maintaining it, not as breezy.

Sweet words, like honey

Draw bears and bees 

From far and wide;

Though with humans money

Would as easily suffice.

The vibrant crowds 

Disperse posthaste

Unless they’re given

A small foretaste

Of what’s to come, 

Intrigue is sprung, they stay.

And so new following’s begun.

A gift, a tree, or just a home

​Winter’s here, layer of snow

Brings with it the Christmas glow.

Gifts bought and wrapped under the tree.

Feelings of warmth and love abound.

Too easily forgot are those without

The joy of tree, or gifts, or home.

Spending these holidays alone and cold

On streets with no forgiving mold.

Count blessings many 

If you have but one

A tree, a gift, or just a home…

Vertigo

World is spinning,

Yet standing still. It’s just beginning.

Colors collide, out of control…

No chance to take a look at the whole.

Thoughts run wild

Possibilities abound, mind’s so beguiled.

Sweet vertigo

vertigo

This is

This is the sound of a single drop falling into a vast ocean

This is the warmth of a single star as it glows in the distance

This is the smell of a single rose growing atop a pile of compost

This is the taste of the teaspoon of honey in a cup of vinegar

This is the sight of a solitary leaf as ire dances to the ground

This is cherishing the precious little moments, so easily overlooked.

Being.

Being human means…
Existing, but not living
Working hard, but not playing
Rigid civilization, no changing
‘Almost’…almost there, almost enough, almost done, almost, but never quite…

Being wild means…
Living, not merely existing
Playing hard, knowing work will be done
Changing, morphing, adapting, surviving
‘Done’…satisfied knowing that chasing ‘almosts’ is a sure way to misery…

What I Would Give

What I would give 

To trade the train for a plane

To soar high above the clouds

Away from prying eyes and noisy cars 

Lulled to sleep by gentle turbulence

Ever a reminder of where we aren’t. 

What I would give 

To trade the train for a plane. 

Visit exotic lands both hot and cold 

Lay on crisp white beaches, 

Roll down snow hills joyfully screeching.

What I would give

To trade the train for a plane

To explore oceans deep and forests thick. 

To take me places only in my dreams. 

What I would give…