What do you do when hope grows old—
Like a lively fire turned tired and cold?
What do you do when milestones pass,
And life feels broken, like shattered glass?
Be Good Anyway
Agency
The Wasp Who Learned Too Late
“Now this is living!” says the wasp, with wings outstretched in flight;
The small fig orchard, still and calm, is bathed in soft moonlight.
Against advice, given thrice, he ventured to this place;
“The old fool doesn’t know,” he mocks, in a quickened, defiant pace.
Besides, his friends were talking; and he wants to come and see—
The whispered nighttime mystery, rumored in this old tree.
The Tilt of the Soul
The direction trees fall
Can clearly be seen—
They fall to the side
That they listfully lean.
Timing the Light
Reds and blues and yellows go round
In a dizzying sight and a blurring sound.
It’s a far-off place in a distant land,
And this here juggler is a one-man band.
The Wind and Sun
There is an old tale of the Wind and Sun,
Both wishing to see the other outdone;
And seeing lone wanderer, each decided to try
To remove the coat from the traveling guy.
Across A Divided Sky
Ominous clouds of utter blackness,
Billowing in their ranks,
March across the low horizon
Like artillery, soldiers, tanks.
They move in angry opposition
With malice thru and thru
Against the sky’s content condition
Of golden, gilded blue.
And those who watch the signals
See signs from up on high,
Painted in prophetic vision
Across a divided sky.
The Battlefront
Boom! Boom! The cannons echo; around you lays the gore,
Carnage left by countless battles in this eternal war.
All who have ever lived, have been enlisted in this fight—
The fight of good and evil, the fight of wrong and right.
Both sides call you to join their ranks, but choose most carefully,
For what you choose will chart your course for all eternity.
The Game
Sticks and Bricks
We all know the story of the three little pigs—
Two built houses of straw and twigs;
Not wanting to work in the heat and the sun,
They chose instead to play and have fun.
And they mocked the third pig for his planning and care
When he laid out a structure that was sturdy and square.
For he didn’t fall for the quick, flimsy fix,
But carefully built a house made of bricks.
Potential
The breeze washing over me, from where does it come?
The passing bumblebee, how does it hum?
The chasing birds, how do they fly?
And why is it blue—the heavenly sky?
Once Upon A Rhyme 