Sounds I have not heard


Sounds I have not heard
In stillness my ears fill
With all the sounds I have not heard.
The tree falling,
The waterfall crashing,
The whale singing,
A silence so profound
I cannot hope to quiet it.
Perhaps this is why in stillness
I must shift and pace –
So that I may not hear
All that I have yet to hear.
I take the sound waves passing through me
And translate them to keyboard clicks,
Stovetop fans, and loud swallowing.
Anything to contribute
To the cacophonous silence around me.




Sometimes I wake up and wonder:
Is that the gentle shimmy of tectonic plates,
Or the powerful flow of
blood from my chest to my feet?
I lay there on my hard futon,
Trying to identify the source of the movement
Some groggy, eyes-shut-waking mornings
I cannot tell if it’s the Richter
Or just my heart moving fluids.
And in the moment of settling, I think
The Earth and I may have something in common;
The need to readjust a little bit,
Give a small shimmy, expand the veins,
So we can go back to sleep.

I found your Moon for you


I found your moon for you.
The one you promised me was full.
Around the top of the bamboo hill
Through purple clouds it came in view.

A great round thing that cooled the sky
Just like you said, though you were gone.
And I, atop that hill alone,
Watched your moon go drifting by.

Another Ditty Made up While Driving


Another Ditty Made up While Driving

(Sung as an upbeat gospel style/ soul song, after being stuck behind a man who seemed very confused by the act of driving)

I keep on driving/ On down that road
I keep on going/ On down that road
You take to turning/ ‘Cause we both know
You don’t know where/ you want to go

The road is dusty/ The road is long
So I keep singing/ My driving song
Over bridges and mountains/ On to the sea
On the road eternal/ is where I’ll be

I keep on driving/ on down that road
I keep on going/ On down that road
We take to turning/ cause we both know
The road will take us/ where we need to go

The road it brings me/ just what I need.
The road is sets my/ poor spirit free
The good Lord gave me/ the winding road
His spirit leads me/ where I need to go.

I keep on driving/ On down that road
I keep on going/ On down that road
I don’t mind turning/ for I do know
The road will take me/ where I want to go.

Yes, the road will take me/ where I want to go

Train Travel


It’s nice to travel on a train.
It helps to see the breadth of the land,
Witness the gradual shifts from slum cities
To barren fields just sparking with new green,
From flat expanses that let you see the whole horizon
To mountains that barely let you see around the bend
And only offer the sky as an outlet.
A train allows you to unfold the earth in front of you.
Planes give you the glorious earthly perspective,
But a train stretches you from sea to shining sea
That you might see all the hamlets and cow towns
The forgotten mines, the many VFW buildings,
And mix husks of cars, graffiti, and playgrounds
With hawks, antelopes, and thunderstorms.
A train gently rattles you through invisible prejudices,
Makes plain that there is no such thing as red or blue
When the fields roll on to the bright and crashing ocean.
It’s nice to travel on a train.



I think I might be running.
In fact, I know I’m running.
Far and wide I’m running,
But not away from you.

It’s just the world is calling.
The forest floor is calling.
The mountaintop is calling.
They’re promising a view.

So off I’ll go a’wandering.
From here I’ll go a’wandering.
To there I’ll go a’wandering.
How much I hope to see.

And when I come returning,
With bruises blue returning,
Brimmed with tales returning,
Please try to forgive me.





This chair is making me shrink.
In my calves, in my thighs I can feel it.
I’m growing a hair’s breadth shorter.
It’s a death to do nothing but sit.

This chair is making me tight.
In my back, in my arms I can sense it
My bones are forgetting their rhythms
I’ll be turning to mud in a bit.

This chair is making me dull.
In my fingers and toes I can name it
My blood oozes on in frustration.
I chomp an invisible bit.

This chair is making me blank.
In my eyes and my mind I do fear it.
I hear the sun calling my name
Under each monotonous clock tick.

This chair is making me shrink.
I better break the chair into pieces
Better run through the wild grass fields
Better tackle the nephews and nieces.

I know that we’re all slowly dying
Of the inevitable fate I’m aware
But I’ll not go out without trying
To get out of this god-cursed chair!

But alas it’s my job to just sit here.
Stagnant, with nothing to do.
So I’ll write up a quick ode to freedom
In the hopes it will inspire you!