Twilight whippoorwill…Whistle on, sweet deepenerOf dark loneliness
Your pain is a school unto itself–– and your joy a lovely temple.
Oh, mightiest wind,wilt thou cease thy breathing inand hold thy exhales?
Where humanitysowed faith, hope, and unity, joy’s garden blossomed.
But for their cries,The herons would be lostAmidst the morning snow.
This autumn-why am I growing old?bird disappearing among clouds.
Come windless invaderI am a carnival ofStars, a poem of blood.
Hope drowned in shadowsemerges fiercely splendid––boldly angelic.
We are successful the moment we start toward a laudable goal
What a strange thing!to be alivebeneath cherry blossoms.
A finger beckons.My choice is to turn away.It is a mistake.
Feet sandaled with dreams tread paths of vision leading to wisdom’s sharp peaks.
Summer grasses,All that remainsOf soldiers’ dreams
Absence of problems does not lead to happiness. Dealing with them does.
Here is a greedy man who keeps to himselfThe beautiful pears ripe in his garden.
Each person you meetis an aspect of yourself,clamoring for love.
Because,” said a boy.”Because why?” asked a young girl.”Because I love you.
Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.
Anyone can talk, but to listen is a gift, we should all exchange
Winter solitude-in a world of one colourthe sound of the wind.
You were almost like a haiku: said so little, but meant so much.
It is easy to believe we are each waves and forget we are also the ocean.
If I had the knackI’d sing likeCherry flakes falling
Change happens for youthe moment you want somethingmore than you fear it.
before the gate –my walking stick’s made a riverof melting snow
The blue of daylightfades and chills as the sun sinksbeneath clouds of fire.
Even when muddy your wings sparkle bright wonders that heal broken worlds.
Many solemn nights Blond moon, we stand and marvel…Sleeping our noons away
Ceaseless.Almost too much for this small frame.You make me part of the sky.
All Heaven and EarthFlowered white obliterate…Snow…unceasing snow
Hi! My little hutIs newly-thatched I see…Blue morning-glories
Compliments land assoft and gentle on my earsas a butterfly.
Why so scrawny, cat?Starving for fat fish or mice…Or backyard love?