Seen and Heard


I see you, girl with the anxious eyes.

I notice all your secret sighs;

You cannot hide yourself; I see

The pain you hide from all but Me.

I hear you, girl with the silent words.

You think your prayers rise up unheard;

Your laughter masks your heart’s true song;

I sing it out from dusk to dawn.

I know you, girl with the secret soul.

I feel your longing to be whole;

Designed for beauty from the start,

I know your every cell by heart.

I love you, girl who feels no love,

Whose spirit cries she’s not enough;

So, since on earth you were not free,

I brought you home to live with Me.

In memory of Kristy

Thoughts Are Clouds

summer sky

Thoughts are clouds on canvas sky –

Some go idly drifting by,

Moved by whim or circumstance,

Shaped as concepts meet by chance.

Others draw conclusions there,

Intention giving studied air –

Captured by the artist’s mind,

Reflection paints each view refined.

Lest your work of art be marred

By thunder-heads, be on your guard;

Better than the stormy strokes

Are lovely thoughts that hope evokes.

Here Lies the Doubly Dead

Here lies the doubly dead;

O, how the mighty are fallen!



drowned for good measure,

Rasputin’s fellow,

a liturgy to terror.

Shaved from the Tree of Life

with bested blade,

your clutch at green

becomes a sickly parody,

a humorless and desperate joke.

Denial let you cling to life-support

while the summer sun poured down,

but here you lie,

destined to wear

the bottom of a boot.

Dreaming of Home


Solitary confinement

has drawn invisible barriers

that hurt to break.


She travels light

and only in her dreams

will her seed rise up

to bless her.


Hers are the cries

of the gulls on the shore,

mourning her losses,

dreaming of


Dungeon Living

Image courtesy of El Bueno, El Feo y El Malo

Dungeon living breeds dungeon minds,

Dungeon eyes with dungeon blinds;

Dark is the tunnel where hopelessness winds,

Swallowing Light on its way.

Lift up your eyes, O dungeon mate,

Do not accept your dungeon fate;

A dungeon well-lit’s but a doorway-in-wait,

Leading you back to the Day.


Even the dark places can lead us in their dark meanderings to where the Light resides…


She doesn’t know how much longer she can last.

Neglected, forsaken, abandoned, rejected,

Trampled upon,

Hers is a lonely trek up impossible cliffs

And across deserts of broken glass

Where her feet are bruised and torn

And her heart leaches ice.

How many times can one get up after being

Kicked in the teeth?

Married to calamity,

Joined at the hip to lightning strikes,

She wonders when she signed a pact with grief…

She would scratch her name off the dotted lines with her fingernails if she could

But she knows she couldn’t spare the energy it would take.

Giving up is the siren call she has been able to ignore.

Until now…

The call comes, a delicious offering,

A temptation that the towel thrower can’t decline.

It clamors in her breast,

Chews on her resolve,

And spits out her mettle.

“Mommy? I’m hungry!”

The sirens melt into the mist.

Slowly she stands up,

on feet of clay,

and leaves a trail of dust on her way to the kitchen…