Tag Archives: Love




I sometimes think about it, but not too hard

Like, shouldn’t there be a different word
for doing what we love or hate, for money

Like how I got to drive big trucks at eighteen
that I dreamed about at eight
and they paid me

Like playing cowboy and riding the range
where the deer and the antelope play
and getting paid

Building buildings bigger than Lego
and getting paid

Maybe work is about being serious
but I seriously question that too

I mean, what can be more joyous and serious
than a child adding one last block to his tower
or me, as I write this poem, and look up
to see it is 1:25 in the morning


(or computers byte)

You keep popping up in my memory

On old disks I find love notes
still as loving as when they were entered

Faxes, letters, poems, thoughts
full of beauty full of trust

Valentine’s poems, three of them
overflowing with sensual exaltation
wisdom exchanged, depths plumbed,
promises made

Fresh and clean and bright
as the day they were written
lines that would go on forever
lines that still do go on forever

I don’t know how to tell the little ones
and zeros that we’re now apart
it might break their heart



In Bethlehem
a refugee with sadness but no hate decreed
another generation is what we need

And a school where
the children of the refugees of holocausts and
refugees of refugees can learn together
learn to look inward first

This is a most beautiful and special place
with such regard for dignity and respect
so successful in their message of love
so filled with fairness to each side

That Arafat’s Palestinians burn their busses
and Israelis torture teachers and riddle walls

While Caterpillars sent from across the sea
creep closer each day in their wonderful
mindless mechanical way
with levelling intent

To be met with Gandhi smiles
and your help, if you give it


Hope Flowers School – Bethlehem



The kitchen has always been the center
of the universe of any farm or ranch

She feeds their sleepy forms in morning
clothes them for the cold or warm
and prays them safe from harm

Looks out her window to the East
where barn shadows and rolling hills
greet them as they start their day

Men in firm direction to their work
children scattering to play

The South across the lake to catch
the water’s mood foretelling wind or calm

sees in morning
mirages of cut banks rising
like mountains along the Eastern shore

Or more directly to the South
forms of her old neighbour’s homes
rising and shimmering
like memories of her youth

Seasons spiral out and in from this center
crocus and buttercups in the greening grass
cactus flowers and the joy of newborn calves

The growing season of the grain
and golden glory of a well stooked field

The shortening of days into winter
and the ever present stars
joined by the dance
of Northern

Within each season she has watched
the play of seasons of each day
men return from roundup
children from their play

While she waits always at the center
to warm and love and feed

and safely tuck away



Oh we would circle
rattling tin wheeled trucks and trikes
and drive her crying to her bed

Gather soot enough from here and there
to keep her forever scrubbing
at our souls and skins

And worry her near to death
while she stayed up to worry us alive
from many a snow and beer filled drive

I know she does it to this day
and I’m afraid anything else I’d say
would all be mush and love
and angels watching from above
and yet still, I think I will