It's not that big...my home I mean,
but it's as sweet as honey could call.
When children's noise goes loud that brings
such calmness, love and peace to my soul.

No matter where our surroundings are
My heart and love will always be
Abiding in a country strange or far
Or where my parents love taught me.

No region, state is large enough
to hold the love of my small land.
Compassion and cacophony
I love my mad cap home

1. Rula
2. Ian
3. Wesley Snow

I dreamt that I was lost at the sea
with no one there to comfort me
the sound of waves spoke to me
"Unaided you will never be."

and then I felt a gentle nudge
a curious dolphin swam to my side
I stroke his head and he asked me
"My human friend, do you want a ride?"

I rode his back and laughed aloud
as high he leapt in the air
before diving into the water,
gently washing away my despair

This stroll I’ve taken time and times before.
Each moment was as pleasant as the last.
I’ve seen the trees and harkened to Stan’s lore
while trodding grass as green as days long past.
For green and lush they were spite all the pain
and now I can recall the loveliness.
The fear is still remembered, but as gain;
those lessons learned that helped me to address
the joys and how to keep them close to me.
And so I walk again with my old friend
to gaze at flowers red and blue he sees.

Ensconsed inside my cubicle
beneath the false florescent light
eyes strained from flickering monitor
I glance at the clock's hands
then stare

The sweep hand at last passes twelve
as the short one lands on five.
I rise and stretch then join
the exodus
from sterility

Elevator to the parking level
somebody farts
an unwelcome sharing
from one uncaring

A curtain yields to the light inflation of air
Then, earnestly as an ushering hand
Shoos the stillness of this room
Leaving a fledgling light for you

I always wished to live where angels are,
on shores perhaps… but oceans often rage
and put down everything including dreams,
I'd rather pick a safer place to dwell.

So maybe higher places, 'way and far
where mountains touch the clouds, the moon is full,
but then the eyesight jars the skyscrapers,
and sure that's not where angels often are.

A cool summer rain is a blessing,
a panacea.
A wild winter wind is a cursing,
a cursing of God.
A warm autumn gale is relieving
from mad summer heat.
Spring has a special breeze sent from that God-
a cool summer rain.

Bright brittle light allows no lies
on my country's ancient hard worn lands
where indifferent spirits stay uncaring hands
from us who swarm it like so many flies.
Unlike the misty intimacy of Eire
for the numinous is ever present there.

But come the night over southern skies
the brittle bright light disappears in hued sands
sublime opens high over this outstretched land
as ethereal webs unfold a thousand eyes.
Unlike in the misty intimacy of Eire
the numinous shares the spacious outback's prayer.

I close my eyes and hear it beckon me
recumbent countryside of being’s realm
a voice that whispers, come, be city free
with such desire, my heart is overwhelmed

to leave the dank and dirty urban street
its people tired, too busy much to care
to find a place with friendly souls to meet
and taste and feel and smell the rural air

see animated murals as they form
feel ever-changing landscapes, as they push
intensely fragrant pure ambrosial storm
from multispectral flowers of the bush

In a rocker near the sliding door
he stares outside this winter's day
not saying what he's looking for.
Look closely, his eyes are far away.

For they are focused in the past
and forests where he used to roam
or streams on which he used to cast
far from this retirement home

The rocking went on, forth and back
as the sun set and rose again
while in his heart he kept a track
of spaces he'd escaped his pain.