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There’s Something About

There’s something about the rain

that brings people together

huddling under thin awnings

gathering into lobbies

looking out

planning a quick escape.


There’s something about the rain

that refreshes souls and people

reminding us of summer days

running through sprinklers

humbling us

by drenching our hair and clothes.


There’s something about the sun

that warms broken and lonely hearts

demanding we get outside

basking in the light

remembering that a new day dawns.


There something about the sun

that recalls resurrection

transforming us into new creations

asking us to believe in hope and love


After the Rain

After the rain,

the early morning earth

sighs in relief.


Relief –

of having endured

the storm

the thirst

the lack

the absence

the waiting

the wondering,


Wondering –

how long it will be

until the next





The taste

of the cool, clear


On Taking a Different Path

I took a different path today,

not my regular route,

not my regular rut.


Trying to gain new perspective

because even those who examine

and reflect and remember –


Miss things

calling them mundane

instead of miraculous.


The connection

to the world

in a box.


Sun shining

devoid of the shadow

of eclipse.


Birds chiping

on tree branches

creating oxygen


to breathe

to live

to dream.

I will sit with you…

I will sit with you

in the fear and uncertainty

of what the future holds.


I will sit with-

the anger

the bitterness

the humiliation

the fatigue –

I will sit with you as

you see the journey through.


I will sit with you

as the light of Truth

blinds you

and heals you

and makes you Whole.


And once Whole,

I’ll offer you a hand up

to stand up

to speak out

to go on

watching and waiting

for others

sitting alone

eyes covered

knees drawn

to sit beside.

Fear Not

Fear creeps in

unwanted, unexpected

choking out reason

with the cyclone of

what if?


Fear overcomes you

creating a caged animal

clawing, fighting

with the dire need

to survive.


Fear transforms us

diving us over a great abyss

into camps of

us vs. them

staring each other down.



one chorus of

this little light of mine

sung in a homeless shelter

one ray of sunshine

after cloudy dark days



fear dissipates.

The fog is lifted

we can see

each other.


Compassion creeps in

unexpected, unwanted

choking out reason

with the cyclone of

what if?


What if

I helped you

and you helped me?


What if

I listened to you

and you listened to me?


What if

we together

overcome fear

with compassion

eating and sitting

side by side?

Hope (II)

Hope is a strong anchor

mired in dreams and visions

holding fast against the wind.


Hope is a strong anchor

settled securely and soundly

in truth.


Hope is a strong anchor

nestled deep within

preparing for-


the unknown

the what’s next

the what is to come.


Hope is a flimsy thread

when grasped too tightly



Hope is a flimsy thread

waving in the wind

just out of reach.


Hope is a flimsy thread

whispering from afar

of possibility-

a new chance

a new start

a new year.



The Screen Between: Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

He didn’t know

there would be

a screen between

when he said,

“I have a dream.”

A screen between

that would intervene

And make us forget

the humanity we try to hide

because of our pride

sitting on the other side

of the screen between.

It’s easy to type

words we wouldn’t say

if we were looking into a face

instead of a glowing space.

There are still fingers

and hands

and hearts

typing those words

that appear

on the screen between.

And eyes that read

and ears that hear

those typed words –

Two people connecting

although not seeing one another

because of the screen between.

“I have a dream,”

his words ring true

for me and you

living in a world

with a screen between.

May we see

and hear

and remember

and dare to dream

even with the screen between.

Solo Soul

Sometimes my solo soul

(that part of a whole

silently shimmering beneath

the pool of reflection)

demands a turn

asking me to escape

to portals of pretend-

planes of possibility.


Sneaking peaks

(not stealing them)

of sights and sounds

of universes

revolving around

similar streets

similar needs:

groceries, gas, haircuts.


And the smells

and the sticks

and the whispering wind

all speaking,

screaming aloud

“Solo soul,

(part of a whole

silently shimmering beneath

a pool of introspection)

come be reminded

of the dust you are

of the dust you were

of the panting breath expired.”


Sometimes it’s all so clear

of what is here

and who we are

of how to be a seer.