We are our choices

no Yang without Yin
we all have that dark within
we must make choices

moment to moment
twixt the two and in the end
we are our choices



I wrote the poem below, long before this journey began in earnest. I knew then, that I wasn’t following full time, my dream.

Pulled in so many directions by an exceptional (modern terminology for lots of problems) child. It was necessary to have the best job with great insurance and live in the best neighborhood with the best schools with special education programs. After that, a husband with cancer…I won’t belabor the point – I’m sure you get it and I’m not the only one that works the 9-5 and then some to provide for family.

Well those days are long gone and I somehow stayed in that rut. No more. It is so time to move on. I planned this once before (the poem below was written in 2007), but somehow I got sidetracked – not this time. I’m exploring the whispers and giving them form, so it is no longer ephemeral. I’m making ‘real’ the change that once ‘rode the night wind.

my future rides the night wind
ruffles curtains, caresses skin
whispers promises at the edge of dream
leaving traces of something almost seen


Critics are people, too

most people hate change20120928-201836.jpg
admit it or not they do
poor jk rowling

critics are people
they expect more harry’s world
so pan the new book

I personally am enjoying the book, A Casual Vacancy by J.K. Rowling.  I’ve just begun, but it’s drawing me in and I’m loathe to turn off the light, but Friday’s a work day.  I’ll review the book soon as I can.

Laying life on the line

she sat pen in hand
journal open before her
her life paced the lines

glory inglory
marching cadence cross the page
bare and unadorned


Time like spare change

time spent like spare change

change so easily replaced

time forever gone

Mabon herald of fall

yellowing leaves cling
to boughs of trees loathe to leave
frost awaits its cue


War is not a Game

unlikely fruit, life’s

juices staining the pale ground

strewn along the strand


sea waves to and fro

washing away evidence

of war’s wanton waste


here and there, a child

sleeps never again to wake

felled grey-faced angels


Vagabond at heart

born a vagabond
did gypsies deliver me
not content with here

seeking what is next
the next one, or place or thing
just around the bend


The wheel is turning

time is in motion
it flows we just navigate
equinox solstice

again and again
the flow of days’ apex reached
on toward darkest night


Winter count

astride a yellow
horse cross yellow fields she rides
neath fall’s yellow leaves

winter’s breath blew
hard and the people hungered
for spring’s promises


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