Scrapes and bruises bandaged,
they sit waiting as the water rises.
Underground, the air grows thin;
eyes are clouded but joy resounds.
Eight boys brought to safety, leaving
four more and the coach. Soccer
never taught such faith.

Few things in history
have so united the world, bridging
politics, religion, race and all
the petty differences. We are
as one — waiting, hoping,
bound and bruised, kneeling
in shared prayer.



Li Po and Me

We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.  Li Po circa 760 A.D.


In the moonlight, we sat in silence
together, sipping summer alone
except for shadow selves
that crept beside our every move.

He would not talk to me,
…just said he told his secrets
only to the drunk
or those mad with moonlight.

I sat there musing
as plum blossoms
fell like feathers
through the air.

My shadow,
in unison with me,
raised it’s head
to watch them.

Li Po
kept quaffing wine,
a moon beam tangled
in his gray goatee,

I reached my hand
to touch it;
he told me all his secrets.
I must have been mad.


Evening’s Accord

In the stillness of the mountains
a fading sunset
slips from the horizon

A round moon nods in passing
as it rises to settle at its post
above the peaks

Even the breeze has hushed its sighing
Oak and elm share a branch-tip touch
their shadows dancing in the twilight

A million stars shine in the heavens
in tribute to the sleeping sun
The struggles for this day are done