Sketch of Myself/ Prayer

Sketch of Myself/ Prayer
       Some day’s
        prayer is
         an expression
         leaving me

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Flower Baskets

Flower Baskets

Three potted plants
perched on a white rail.

Someone ‘placed’ them
—arranged them and cared for them.

One day…
when the three plants thought they
were alone

they began a blossoming

The blue basket of flowers
said to the green basket of flowers,

“I could gaze upon you forever.”

The reply was soft, no words
only a gentle wave of buds.

The green basket of flowers turned
to the white basket of green and said,

“Did you hear what the blue basket
of flowers said to me?”

The white basket of flowering greens
did not speak.

Again, the green basket of
flowers repeated its question.

The white basket,
clearing it voice said,

“I looked at you and saw your
beauty and I was envious
so I kept silent.
The blue basket…which truly
bore no flowers saw your
beauty and could not cease
from holding a gaze.

Deep inside the blue basket
there is a beauty

The green & white baskets of
flowers turned to the
blue basket of what was

and spoke in unison,

“We SEE you
and hope we grow
in your ways.”

Sketch of Myself/Behind this wall..

Sketch of Myself/ Behind this wall…
                                                 There are beautiful walls
                                                    draped with windows
                                               allowing the fresh air to roll
                                                       in and sway out

                                       There are ‘entrances’ built within these
                                   walls— sometimes the doors remain opened
                                             everyone enters is welcomed…
                                                  no one is turned away.


Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Your Name

Your Name

The piece of paper
turned…back & forth, up & down
could not hold
the immeasurable span
of feathered drapery.

At first,
hid-den by darkness
the ‘unseen’ broke the night.
The wings flapped in perfect balance.
A metronome
ticked in the silent
beat of creation.

The Universe seemed to stop breathing
or it was I
covering my mouth to conceal
the gasp of magnificence
as my eyes beheld
the night’s stalker.

I froze in time.
Matter and spirit on display
harmonizing a ‘piece’ that
for now was not finished.

A tiny bird woven into
a thicket—
The owl would not receive its prey,
NO, not this time.

For a moment we held
each other’s gaze.
It seemed an eternity
yet, it was only seconds.

Did the night hunter
think I, too, after the same morsel
as it flew into the ‘staged’ forest?

I heard a branch break
in the thick shrub.

for now
the tiny bird.

The pursuer
will return.

Hungry enough
it will be filled.

THEN, I thought of YOU
who no longer bears a name…

You, who calls me
from slumber
casts me in the night sky
and reveals to me what
day cannot portray.

You are the pursuer
and this night
I am carried in your
talons (unharmed).
I hear the chorus
in your outstretched arms.

I am lifted
wishing the stage I am in
could hold a moment longer.

The world plays-on
my breath—
inhale & exhale—
Yah-Weh, Yah-Weh, Yah-Weh.

Your name
without speaking a word

in my very breath.

Sketch of Myself/ Sitting by the Sea

Sketch of MyselfSitting by the Sea

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Sketch of Myself/ There is COLOR

Sketch of Myself
                                    There is COLOR even on cloudy days…”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

A Dark Night of a Soul

A Dark Night of a Soul

The water cool
splashing at the ankles.

The helm held
for the time being.
It is that which the soul grasps.

There are no controls—
no way to steer the vessel.

Direction is irrelevant
all earthly North—lost.

Yet, from this point
the one aboard the living cocoon
sways with the ebb and flow.

In the darkness, one hears the wind.

The moment quickens
water soaking the soul…
hands grip ‘no-thing’
yet there is a sense of holding onto Life.

From THIS center, all life

The winds cease…
wobbling now to maintain balance.

Which easier
to stand as the wind wrestles,
tossing in the unseeing


stopped as if frozen
held in place?

The soul rocks simply to stay afloat.

A light streaks across the black
A roar heard in the not so distant

the sound~~~a hundred hoof beats
stampeding in every hidden corner.

Hurled from the cocoon,
the soul bursts
the remains of the vessel submerged.

The soul—in a shattering
moment…a taste of freedom
elicits a sense of fear and wonder.

Nothing to hold/no longer held
—a gulp of water swallowed unintentionally.

The soul is alive.

Life is holding the soul
and the being realizes it
never had to ‘grasp’…
never had the soul
had to hold on

to any-THING.

The deep sea churns—
the soul drifts
and takes moments to tread water.

A deep breath in
the soul plunges and from the
port of the ‘being’ an
exhale expands as the
surface broken.

The darkness reveals a newness—
SEEING so many others
NOW floating alongside—free.
The soul is not alone.

The stars appear from galaxies
far away~~~
they, too, alive in the dark.

Ahead—the soul makes
out a landscape~~~
shadows of mountains,
arms of swaying branches.

One hand curls over into
the water, the other hand
follows the rhythmic motion.

When the soul reaches the island,
the arrival only marks the
beginning of the journey

the dark night of a soul
sails on and beyond.

The Ground

The Ground

The ground took me—
holding me by surprise.

I crawled upon the soft
mattress of its wet grasses.

My nails dug deep into its
cold dark soils—
muddy, unclean.
I felt alive.

Sparrows twirled
around my head
whispering love chirps.
Bees soaked the pollen
from the dandelions’ dander which
caked to my knees.

Passion rose inside me.
I rolled down a hill
holding onto every slivered blade of grass
laughing so loudly the
trees began clapping their branches.

Enveloped in the earth’s
crust,I was the golden nugget
I was the diamond needing not
to be cut.
Already, I was the ring
at one with the gem.

Darkness came.
I had no idea how or
when dusk slipped by.

Crawling all day,
I allowed myself to bed down.

Closing my eyes, I dreamed the stars
had rained down covering
me with a blanket of galaxies.

When I woke,
I rubbed the crusted
sparkles from my lashes.

Believing my dreams,
I lifted the LIGHT
drawing back the

A smile painted my
face…I knew
from whence
I came.

Sketch of Myself/Can you spare…

Sketch of Myself
                                            “Can you spare a cracker or two”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ The Final Day IN this Guest House

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ The Final Day IN this Guest House
September 18th, 2018

Beneath the shallow
the hearts of men

On the surface,
black tears
stain the rippling

A faint heart beat
can be heard
in the deep

It is not a mystery—
it is the ache of

—War that ends life
—War that destroys
creation’s splendors
—We ‘all’ die
when weaponry is
hurled in a manic way
attempting to destroy life.

The graves
tho not dug—
reminders of a history
never to be erased


a history
we must prepare
NEVER to happen again.
We must
allow a seed inside                                               
ourselves to
die and lie
dormant long enough

to blossom.

When we ourselves
allow this transformation
a relational dance
Most often unnoticed.

Dance now upon the waves…
hold these men of war.

They never saw what was
and even if they did
there was nowhere to run
or hide.

We remember—
how we ‘ALL’ lose in battle…
Both sides.

Open our eyes—
at least wide enough
to recognize
we are the same side
of a circular coin…

one day you may be ‘heads-up’
the next ‘tails-down.’

No matter how many
times you flip the coin
it still is…

One solitary coin.

Treasures lie
in the lives taken needlessly.

the ‘Pearls’ below speak…

“NEVER let this happen again.”
Dedicated to those who lost their lives in Pearl Harbor and to the living, especially our children, who will ALWAYS remember.

Sketch of Myself/ LISTEN

Sketch of Myself/ Listen
                                             “Let the ‘strings’ write the words.”

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s poem “Song of Myself”

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ Day 12

Aloha…A Hawaiian Journal/ Day 12
September 15th, 2018

Class began…

It started before I arrived.

I did not have to go to
admissions to see if there was
room available…

this class was full—
but the depths were limitless.

I melted beneath
the surface
I tried not to make waves
I attempted to discover the flow.

For the longest time
I hovered.
I heard my breath
the snorkel attached to my mask
allowed me to fill my lungs
and release my breath
through an artificial port—

I heard the vibrations
of what came out of me
and especially what filled me.

Rays of sunlight
warmed the living coral bed—
Yellow fish
Black fish
Fish of numerous colors
swam by in perpetual motion.

Each fish ‘sailing’ its uncharted
path and moved as the current
carried them to and fro.

So simple—
fitting in this classroom.

The whistle blew
the class I attended—over.

I have discovered a new art
called, “Diving In.”

It is not frightening once
you trust
and believe in your own flow.

Cast yourself—
don’t allow a hook to keep you