The Mirror

It was a wake up call I did not expect,

Jolted I and looked into the tiny mirror,

Held for emergency “make-up” checks in my go-to bag.


This time, it was not the just the 30 second glance,

Reviewing the areas for smudges, or eye liner errors,

But an examination of eyes, not their surrounds.


Those deep dark brown pools, seemed to draw me in,

Not a validating stare,

But deep recollection and searching, into a place unexplored.


There, after what seemed hours,

Another face, or rather eyes, appeared … staring back,

Also brown,

but male, not mine,

shivers ran down my spine, undiscovered facts

revealed themselves.


Who was this inner personality I didn’t recognize in myself?

Then, he spoke, without words,

And I knew it was Him.


And now I am safe.


Traveling denotes transition,

Moving between places,

The steps in between,

For our desired destination.


But travel misleads.


Travel is each moment connected; a journey defined.

With all the stops and the souls along the way.

Good and bad, sad and wonderful, hard and easy; the ultimate elixir for the soul.

A nourishment and discouragement sandwich, which somehow, I swallow and survive.


When I am reminded, by one who matters, it becomes a milestone,

A place where I pause and listen,

See the way forward,

And, perhaps, change direction; if called for.


In the meantime, I can come to love the traveling,

And begin to understand why others make it a way of life.

The Closeness









The open wound of love

Bleeding grace




Unfathomably deep





Seducing me






All fly and dive


And without


In an uncontrollable flight


Called life

Tasting History

Tasty, tasty a mind shouted to me,

As I saw myself in history once more.

Do I want to be there in this simpler time?

Where noticing emotions and feelings seemed deeper.


Could it be the accents, or language.

Where adjectives and thought seemed to go into a response,

Versus the language of twitter or less,

Where conciseness is exchanged for precision,

And conclusions and analysis are passed over for opinions.


Perhaps it is just the longing for a unpretentious time,

One when I feel I was born into; but was not.


Methinks I should ponder.

Be Gentle With Me

Be gentle with me, for I am tender;

Tender from an open heart,

Which I bared to you without limit.

Be gentle with me.


Be gentle with me, for I am hurting;

The hurt of my recent loss,

And a smiling face I may not see till eternity.

Be gentle with me.


Be gentle with me, for I am weak;

From years of hiding feelings and facts,

The world, or I was not ready for sharing.

Be gentle with me.


Be gentle with me, for I love you;

In ways deeds or words cannot express,

Yet, it radiates without pause, towards you.

Be gentle with me.

For I AM love itself, albeit sometimes disguised in the armor of my own making.