Perceive, remember, and descry…

Perceive, remember, and descry
The truth among the many weeds
That hide away from softer eye
To where the heart’s true river leads –
  For love’s a day,
  A year, a land,
  And hope is ever
  Near at hand.

Observer, discover, and inspect
The reasons why the night still aches:
And in the quiet times, reflect,
That love may bend, but never breaks –
  For where we be
  The echoes fall,
  And hope is ever
  Standing with
  Us all

Hole (An Autocorrect Poem)

Your presence gives me hole —
As though a week was lifted from my shoulder —
I kosher it’s just a trope,
The kind we entertain as we get okra —

You wear it like a diary
That sparkles in the sketch,
Inline to you for everything
And you donut ask why —

Your live, it gives me hope:
It’s like the kiss that signature Spring
The hole you place

In everything

Oh, Love —

Oh, love —
Let every touch be love,
And may the very light that brushes eyes
Call out your name —

Oh, love —
I’ve felt you in the dark,
The hope that whispers comfort when
The night is filled with shame.

The emblem, and the meaningless,
The symptom, and the curse,
The absent, and the manifest,
The chapter, and the verse —

Oh, love —
I want to know your heart,
And feel you pulsing there,
Beneath my skin —

Oh, love —
There is no other way:
For all of us must end where we

First Great Hope

The lake was pure
As innocence,
The sky was deep
As truth,

Their minds were full
Of everything
That can be thought
By youth.

The lake’s now fillled with
The sky’s a fearsome

But they’ve not lost that
First great hope,
It’s just more rarely


We seek because we hope to find…

We seek, because we hope to find
A gallery among the blind;
A bit of hope, a bit of rouge,
A plot behind the subterfuge —

The soft or strong, the give or take,
The love we speak that then we make
In choruses of two, entwined —
We seek, because we hope

To find

The Clouds, Like Us

The clouds, like us, seem made of naught but dust:
We travel over hard and rocky ground,
Through countless miles agitated strife,
Then pour our dirty selves back down to earth,
As ash to ash, and dust to dust, indeed.

The clouds, like us, chaotic and obscure:
We tangle in each other, slipping out,
And heaving back into confusing mist.
The past, the future, both – so much to know
That we can never fathom, though we try,
To find some shape or order in it all.

The clouds, like us, whose days are hard and brief:
But in whose tears are growth, and life, and hope.