Poetry from my heart

Because of Him

Gratitude for the smallest of things

Becomes gratitude for the eternal.

Because the eternal exists in even the smallest,

A baby’s laugh, a milkweed bloom, a crystal blue winter sky.

An autumn leaf, falls softly in silence,

Releasing its life with gratitude in a celebration of color.

It is the small things in my life that cover me in warmth and

Feed the fire of my gratitude with love.

I am thankful for sunrises and sunsets,

The defining moments of each day’s beginning and end.

I am grateful for my children and grandchildren –

All manifestations of God.

The life light in a newborn’s eye,

Holds the spirit of heaven and the knowledge of Krishna’s grace.

And when I am in danger of forgetting these things, I sit and go deep inside myself,

Inside to that point where I am connected directly to him and he brings me back to grace.

It is my gratefulness that fuels my passions for the loves in my life, from acorns to hummingbirds

Grasshoppers to lightning storms,

Soft kisses at midnight,

And sweet love in the morning.

I am grateful to exist in a flood of grace and love.

Grace that is endless and effortless, and love that is all encompassing.

My heart is full and soft and my smiles are because of him.

Hari Om



Summer Heat (re-post from 2015)

Come my love and take my hand, lead me

Through the simmering summer heat

To the dark softness of the

Shaded forest.

Ferns erupt from the

Moss covered earth

And the fragrance of dark soil

Pervades and surrounds my senses

As you surround my heart.

Take me through the woods

Through time and space

to a softer place.

A place to share love, trust and life.

Lay me down among the arms of the stream

Where it welcomes our hearted bodies

With its cool, smooth water.

You lie with me and kiss the water from my eyes

As it runs in rivulets over my shoulders and across my body.

Your hands are warm on my body

Warm on my water-cooled skin.

We become one from two and

Blend into the flow of the stream,

As inseparable as the individual drops

Are from the ripples our bodies make in the water.

Our union of joy becomes as integral a part of nature as the blue sky above

And the gold speckled stream bottom beneath us.

Nakedness of bodies becomes

Nakedness of souls, nothing hidden, nothing false.

Our hands stay linked together as our passion

Warms the air around us.

Steam rises from our skin as the sun’s rays

Dry our water sprinkled bodies.

The contrast of light and dark plays out between us

And mimics the light of the sky and dark of the shaded forest around us.

Both are beautiful in their simplicity and

Are the complement of one another.

Our passion is unending and all-inclusive

Perfect in its symmetry and balance.

Man and woman,  two sides of the same equation

A world in balance – perfect.




Nature’s balance (re-post from 2015)

Purple thunder, speaking sky.

The sound sneaks in to doubting ears.

But soon, unable to be ignored, it rolls in

Splitting the sky,

Singing to my heart

And watering the earth.

As the storm approaches, the lights go out.

The air is still and filled with anticipation.

Birds become silent and

Trees grow heavy.

The rain follows the clouds

And the wind rocks the trees to the sound of the sky.

Heavy air crushes the field and

Rain pummels the garden.

Plants, grass and trees shake in the torrent and rivers run along

The roadside washing away the day’s dust.

The very earth trembles with the power of the storm

As lightening spells its name in the sky.

The black clouds race across the heavens and

Carry the storm on their backs.

But all too soon for me, the western horizon brightens, the

Energy is spent, the storm subdued.

Sunrays break through the darkness and

The earth sparkles and shines in its fresh – washed brilliance.

The storm has run its course,

Released its tension and fulfilled its purpose.

The birds resume their song, the brook runs full,

The garden is watered and the earth refreshed.

The thunder returns to silence and

Nature’s balance is restored.



Never Did


Its treasures lie in plain sight and

The knowing is revealed but the truth of it all remains hidden – by choice, but not mine.

The knowing says I must take a first step but can’t look behind as

It is a step that  leaves no footprint and gives no clue.

But I remember as I have been here before,

Always alone, always.

This time I have learned that one step doesn’t always lead to another,

Another place, another time, another other.

But I don’t care anymore and therein lies the difference.

My steps have ceased to be random, with random direction or, as before, with no direction at all.

As it turns out, it really didn’t matter to either  of us,

Never did.

Haiku 7-24-17 (for Susan, Happy Birthday!)

Early morning rain

Birds sing with joy at daybreak

Life goes on in love

To Be Remembered


Even this has passed,

But all too soon.

It has left yet

Is not forgotten.

It remains in touches

Scents and feelings,

In bright white smiles

Hiding the truth.

Soft kisses smother the sadness for

What could have been.

And so it has become only a tool

To be used, a means to an end.


Now it is nothing more than a silence to be heard, and

A touch to be remembered.




The magic of the night.

The brilliance of its darkness, the darkness of its light.

My soul is deep in the arms of midnight

Too deep to see,

To blind to know, with cries

Too silent to be heard.

I am astounded by the simplicity of the night,

But shocked by its truth.

So much time has passed with too little thought.

Now it is gone,

Forever to remain  – unnoticed.

Summer Sunday Evenings

There comes a soft sadness with

Summer Sunday evenings.


A time of day that remains empty unless full,

Lonely unless shared.


One week’s ending is

Another’s beginning.


Just as his absence is just another ending

And his staying away just another beginning.


My lonely heart aches and

Forgotten tears fall in silence as


My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner,

Their silence speaking volumes.


No one else cares,

No one else remembers, and still,


The soft summer sadness of Sunday afternoon silence

Continues without end.

The One That Became The Last.


The sky is happy to hold you,

While the earth still mourns your leaving.


Time does not heal,

Emptiness lingers here.


The scent of the grass,

The wild flowers’ blooming procession marks the time but knows no past or future.


This place is the eternal now

As it was when you and I walked here together.


At sunset the sadness dampens the grass and holds still the heartbeat of remembrance.

Yet in spite of time and sorrow, this place remains unchanged.


It holds its breath, its heart waits

And sighs and wonders why.


Why can the sky hold you so close while the earth and my heart long for your footsteps,

The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the light of your smile.


And when the sun sets and the horizon grows dark

And takes you away from me, again,

Do you remember the first time?

The one that  became the last?

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