A Vision

This wayward world of ours

is not finished changing yet if we aren’t.

A deadened view of right and wrong numbs our

vision of many others and our own humanity. Most of all

that the world offers to us has been decided on by the very few.

I wonder what we could make if we started over with those of us who

have not fear nor wager on the outcome? If we could be freed

from the burden of biased history and so could take our

time to remake the world a peaceful, better place?

To strive with united loving hearts, this

time for all the human race.

Dad's Horse

The very first thing I recall my father making for me with his hands was a horse.
Mind you it was a just a saw horse made of old two by four lumber with
reins of rope and stirrups made from two pastry blenders turned
upside down; a mop got the tails job. Oh I loved it so because
it was a surprise from him. I don't quite remember what
the head looked like but I suppose it had one.
The reins had to lead somewhere. How
many kids have wanted a pony but
never got one I couldn't say. I
did though, and never even
asked for it! How great
a thing is that? I'm
not sure what
happened to
that horse
but I will
always
 have
 my
dad.



Fathers Day 2013

Kisses

   a lick from my dog
is given with affection
   and the hope of crumbs

Statues

  herons in the lake
standing atop shortened legs
  -patient fishermen

Dogwood Blooms

   pink snow has fallen
covering the dogwood tree
  - my path will be next

Summer Night

   cawing crows in flight
chased after the fading sun
  -now sleep in tall firs

Sentinel's

  crows up on the roof
constantly complain about
  all who pass below

Soft Drops

  as I sweep the path
a cherry blossom petal
  falls on another

Unseen

  forgotten roses
growing with no attention
  -their fragrance finds me

Rider of the Wind

   full of cheerful song
a finch on a swaying reed
   enjoying the ride

For Jana

   the plowing farmer
at evening up on the hill
  seems to push his horse

Cedar

     fragrant cedar wood
 sweet and oily from the axe
    -dusty spice aflame

Moon Walks

  yellow harvest moon
walks across the quiet pond
  in search of winter

Your Return

  late in the afternoon
footsteps tell me you are home
  -sounds like me smiling

Crab Dip

     a very short swim
in a pot of bubbling brine
     -the crabs are blushing

Noon in Bozeman

  eating lunch today
white sleet sprinkled on us
  -then melts in the sun

Dry Lightning

  lightning cracks the sky
a thunderless muted night
  -the silent artist