Posted in Uncategorized, underground


Gliding under years of progress,
clanking starting ever more
Catching hold of winter’s sadness
Letting go within the fold.

The Shepard takes your hand and guides you there,
the spirit lifts you up and lights your fire,
and think in the least and the father will provide.

Take these words from me
For I need some supplication,
Forgiveness for what I’ve done.
Nothing bad just lost the love of my life.

And there are moments in the shower or kitchen, this morning in particular,
When she comes to me in passing
As if she’s no ghost of memory at all
Just simply going to the bathroom in the morning.
There’s nothing wrong with that
She’s finding herself too.
Taking time for the things that need the most in life.
Yourself. Selfish as it may seem,
If we don’t take care of ourselves
How are we to take care of others?

The train takes over or at least interrupts.
81st street. Next stop will be yours.
And god leads me to total subconscious
Taking me and making me feel you so far away.

Like ships between different currents
Wading deeper as we go
Hold me under I’ll tear asunder
The sail when it’s time to go.

And as we settle I view us passing
With the little dog upstairs
Just come from the park on our day off
In comes tourists and I’m underground again.

And do I tread, gliding.
Gliding into air. Air and space
A museum we’ve never been to together.
What are you up to now?

I wrote to you from the other side,
Did you receive my letter?
It was sent express over the wire
I’m sure it got lost in translation.

I’m off to get work.
And think of you.

There aren’t rocks to throw.
There are only rocks with which to build.


Theatre Maker. Teaching Artist. Student of Life. Poet from way back.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s