Monday, February 20, 2017


It flows
over highways
dripping down
through gutters,
storm drains,
narrow lanes,
past dark houses,
past high-tension
wires, driving
constraining fence,
it fills
the green hills
and rolls
through folding slough, past
low bridge and causeway,
ever lower
down to Suisun Bay,
like a swimmer’s blood
pulsing through throbbing vein,
reaching for Gate of Gold
to break free,
to become
one with

(19 April 2011)

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Delta Rain

Soft rain
on dark oaks

Clustered green 
curving canyons rise
to velvet crease.

Thick mists consume
stoic cattle, 
slowly climbing
verdant slopes.

Meadows gather 
new-born lakes.

Delta birds -
grebe and pensive loon,
goldeneye and pintail,
ibis and snowy egret 
slowly wade.

With flashing beak
they break
black waters.

(29 Apr. 2013)

Thursday, February 16, 2017

In the Territory of the Gerasenes
Image: Solomon Raj

From deep inside
I heard them,
howling hatred
lashing me with my own hands
gashing the rocky tombs
with my own bloody feet.

Late at night
they cursed and fought
deep inside
my aching skull.

I was their prisoner,
and they were many…

But then I saw Him by the lake
and my soul leapt
even as Legion arose
as with my ragged voice they raged,
“what will you do to us?” 

but my soul cried louder,
“Save me!” 

Hearing us both,
He drove the dark spirits
from my unclean breast
and into the beasts….poor swine.
Madness cast them
into death’s deep pit….

but I could hear only

filled me.

My hand moved
only when I commanded,
and what my eyes saw
I clearly viewed.

The people of the village
fearing a man who could
compel demons,
begged Him to leave.

Blind fools!
If only they could see Him
as I do.

As he was going, I begged to go too
and stay forever in the light
of his face.

But this grace
was not
for me alone…

He told me to go
and proclaim without fear
how His love saved me
from my soul’s dark night,
and led me here,
into paradise.

(18 Feb 2013)

Wednesday, February 15, 2017


A young child falls
and, laughing, rises to
his mother’s arms.

Rivers of youth
cut canyons
from ancient

(16 Nov. 2011; Rev 2/15/2017)

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Beautiful Cellars

‘No clock: only the Heart’s blood. Only the word.”

“I think poetry must,

I think it must,

Stay open all night

In beautiful cellars”    Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours

High round windows
over wide glass doors
fill with night;

The world’s gone to black,
to void,
to nothing.

Can you hear your whispering blood?
- surge of surf, wind in dark trees
alive - alive -

so arise now and go
down the noisy steps
to the beautiful cellar,

to the poetry.

(18 March 2013)