Longest Journey

I wander in the depth of my soul – searching for the human toll – I seek – I search – far from within – to find - from where I must begin – Seeking deeper – inward on – the longest journey – from where I belong – never knowing – what I’ve lost – until - I began to count the cost – I seek and search – in hopes to find – a spirit in which – long did I bind – long ago – so not to feel – when I close my eyes  at night – my life played – on movie reel –visions unfold – only seen by me – on hidden screen – and this is where my spirit – still does dwell

The Searcher

The searcher – waits – when time stands still
The searcher – abides – by another’s will
The searcher seeks – in silence – dream
To find - to hold – eluding schemes
Wandering – in and out – through days
Intertwining dream and reality – the same
Tempting fate – so - she dare not wait
Give the searcher – an awaited concrete
The searcher – nomadic in deeds unseen
Like a poet – he holds to fading imaginings
Seeking – searching – holding dreams tight
In silence – he dreams – of another’s mans plight
Never wavering – in his constant – examination
Of the heart of man – and his quest of life

Yellow Daffodil

In a little wooded house, up atop hill, amongst the quail and yellow daffodil, I dream of a love pure, not tainted from the land. These hands which have toiled under sun,  making way regardless, all that has been done. A love of pure delight that turns all into one, as dawn rises from the east to the west of the setting sun.

Broken lost through time, from my heart I do speak the dreamer in my soul and of love which I do seek.

Through heat storm thundered rain, the smells of fresh renew, falling on top of holed tin roof, as the water does seep through. There is a storm, which rages inward and outward for all to see, a broken heart not known but only to me. As the rain, falls tapping on the holed tin, I look out on the wildness of all that has been done. Through harshness winds that have blow, rivers running wild, through a land of hollowed out sorrow as time pasted long before and with future not yet unlocked because my heart not dare to dream.

Here atop this hill, sitting in my wooded house, gazing through her cracked and weathered panes, I glimpse a mother quail, tending her clutch among the yellow daffodil. The smells of fresh fallen rain still linger in the air. The presents of renewal for all that dare to take, has been poured out on the land which mans toil cannot make.

It is from the heavens of our land, of the south winds that did blow, comes in a love divine, I dare and will take hold. For under brightened sun the grass does gleam with dew, the soft winds fill the air of fallen rains renew. It makes one dare to dream of future dawns not past. A sun that raises, atop a hill which no man dare try grasp.

Here within the yellow daffodil, my mind will wonder far, with visions of a weathered time that may rage onward still but with life brought by storm filled skies, rises dawns morning light and within this, my heart will take flight. Seeking out a dream of loves pure delight. Yellow daffodil are grasped as quail tend their clutch with smells of fresh spilled rain of renewal I dare touch.

We are

It’s a big world – vast – deep – wide
From one side to another
We are
Standing – sitting – walking – running
Standing for something
Standing for nothing
Sitting waiting
Sitting wondering
Walking in and out of each day
Running faster with each day that passes
Running from somewhere
Running to nothing running
All in the hopes of
Finding – seeking – searching – escaping – wishing – dreaming
Out these lofty ideals of this vast world of which it
Hides- holds- tucks away for the searchers
Finding – seeking – searching – escaping – wishing – dreaming
Deep inside
Standing hoping – sitting wishing – walking dreaming
Running – running – running
We are

The Dump

I work for a dumping ground. Not the kind, where on any given day, you will find people rummaging thru old and unwanted commodity or maybe searching out that forgotten antique, searching for any thing of value. I wish it were.
I work for a human dumping ground. Unwanted humanity, indeed, are these. Homes, they have not, family unwilling and willing forgotten and friends in uncertainty. These, used disabled, mentally ill, lost, war struck (some born this way, some made this way and some chose this way) all of them scattered, stranded and left for not, on a six block island in the middle of our vast sprawling AZ County. People, Organizations, Agencies, Cities, Towns, Counties, AZ State and yes even other States, dump here.
No one comes to find their value. No one comes to seek their lost or their sick. Not one comes seeking their wisdom, hope or resolve.

Some, they chose to stay; they have been here far too long.
Some, they have to stay; for without value, where else do they belong.
Some are so frail and worn; they have no choice but to stay.

All these, I take home to my sleep each night, the dumped, the ill, the broken, the damaged in soul, those who no one wants to claim as their own.

So, I rummage thru unwanted souls each day. Each day looking for the value that I will find as great, such things as wisdom, kindness, joy and faith. Even more hope, peace, love, knowledge, perseverance, honor, loyalty, and grace. Blocks of treasures, as far as the eyes can see, with value beyond my greatest too compare!

So, at night when I lay down with unwanted humanity at my side, I ask, are we born to not value, are we made to not value or have we chosen not too value (THE SOULS OF HUMNAITY)?

This is a poem I wrote while working at the homeless campus in down town Phoenix.