Post Birthday Prayer


i want to be good
to lend my last years
to loving balls out
still i can’t help
but sound the alarm
for a madness in the
world political debauchery
made by conservatives
and liberals alike, quite
alike the deceitful power
droning the life out of us

can you hear me over
your desire to be safe
i want to lay down any
weapon i have carried of
being right-eous being
anything really, let me discover
you in all your infinite capacities
to heal and to be holy
i stopped voting, i know
i’m not asking it of you
just can’t make myself,
like when i stopped eating meat

i want to touch and kiss
to give you what you ask
of me not holding out to
keep myself in butter
melt my heart with the joy
that sweeps the world when
i hear your divine voice
calling to me on the wind
in Sam’s words, in the guy
who asks for change gratefuling
my $3.50 because he sees
how full of light the dollars
fill his wings and wash his hands

oh land of the brave and the free
let it be so let us unlock our doors
stop our gun factories reach
out from the stars to drop love
in the Universe made of that
symphony open our eyes wide
our arms our legs our MINDS
turned from the lies we have believed
to the only place we need or want to BE



I Danced With Rigoberta Menchu (Very Long Story Poem)

because today one Guatemalan President was brought to justice.

Short round beautiful

Mayan lover from deep into her roots

She came a living embodiment of the struggle

That claimed me for a time a white woman

U.S. A. hidden, while soldiers with American

Made guns shot at her and killed her family

The indigenous the originals, the rightful

Owners of the earth and some who knew

in Central and South America that Columbus

was a fraud, a thief a robber baron not worthy

of any celebration and so we wore our

woven bracelets in solidarity and wrapped

the multi-colored handwoven scarves around

our heads and necks and went to conferences

and prayed and sent every cent we could muster

for the cause.

We wrote letters to monster presidents

Sold goods made by those loving hands

That ran from bloodshed while they wove

The treads of many cultures targeted for

Being whole for loving land and Spirit

I fought with coins and prayers and listening

Heart, I fought with love and seeing yelling

Protest from small town pews and radical

Heard their stories, pledged to buy so that

They could live a few more days into a

500 Year oppression but she came while

I spoke with Bolivia, El Salvador, Guatemala

And Bangladesh, she came in Spanish her

Second language and I heard her talk her

Way to a Nobel Peace Prize and after the

Small group of us heard her, the indigenous

Musicians played their drums and flutes

And she invited us to dance. Many were

Still too americian even there but I with

My South American upbringing in the arches

Of my feet came right up close to her and felt

The heat of her body and touched her soul in her

Hands as we danced affirming by this abandoned

Joy let loose by the heartbeat of the Universe

We let stars fly from our eyes

As our feet pounded peace and justice into the earth

Leaving nothing but love to bleed out

Of our Soles on Fire for The All One

Making ready for redemption.

Driving Home from Pre-school, Tues. May 14, 2013



I see Tundra pick-ups everywhere

They are prayer wheels reminding

Me that the two young guys who

I turned into never touching

Ever touching are Spirit made of

Nothing but God not because we

Are right or wrong, but same Mother of All.


Passion of our awakening rises

Changes the

Movie projected on this

Collective consciousness screen

Turns into an astonishing revelation

The Christ in a pick-up truck

And a Prius in Los Angeles

Playing tag with the angels.

Mother’s Day Musings


for Sophia

i am a poet “ In” Los Angeles

not  “Of.”   mother’s day paintings

arrive from the ridge lined mountains

of Colorado drawn by Sophia’s ten year old wisdom

she makes me want to find a way to tell her

about joy, how nothing we think we want

ever heals the hole and yet it’s empty pitifulness

drives her toward a oneness that needs no home

in photos her smile seems tired as if living

in paradise is a long and difficult task her

father my bone as she is seems less than

full of joy too, he needs a memory board

implanted in the tender soft spot that made

him such a beautiful baby I’m far from where

i thought to be.. near as the heartbeat, All

kissing the dwelling place of Love i

step into the hole and invite her to dance.



THERE Is One T Away from HERE 

When I felt the call
To memory pain juice
Stopped in for a drink.
at nine one year after we
moved from Maine to Brazil
my parents flew me
six hundred miles to boarding school
and dropped my ass off
among strangers
such a surprising cosmic
slap in the face even after
all the godly beatings at home
this astonishing abandonment
turned me into raging bull
except at night when I became
a weeping willow.