Excerpt for The Unfolding by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

Writings by Sha’Ra On WindWalker

(in collaboration with Sha'Tara EarthStar)

Copyright (©) 2017 Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Published by: Cocoons to Butterflies Publishing

Chilliwack, B.C. Canada

Cover pictures: Top, Marius Kraemer

Bottom, James Robertson

All pictures found on FreeImages.com

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Trail Of Vermillion Blood



Essence Of Love

Falling In Love

Fisherman's Friend



Look Upon...

The Majority Is Always Wrong


Dear Miss Liberty

My Quest


Of Tragedies And Horrors

Overweight And Hungry

Plodding The Mindless Maze

Poisoned Earth

Precocious Passion Passed (A Lament)

Primordial Passion





Return To Paradise


Rich Text

Roads That Go Nowhere

Roots Of Love: Passion

Sacred Dance



Shadow Beings

Soldiers Or Murderers

South Side Innocence




Summer Skies

Surprised By Joy

The After Life

The Big Bang Theory

The Dispossessed

The End of Humanity

The Eternal Dream

The Fools Tax

The Forgotten Ones

The Future Of The Hunt

The Ghost

The Healing Room Of The Heart

The Village Idiot Box

The Immune System

The Last Train Out

The Military

Early Morning

Empty Hands

Fields Of Dreams

To Change The World

The Unfolding

To The End Of The Universe

To Vote Or Not To...

Tv Ads



The Woman In The Park



Angel Anger

A Life Is Freed

Before the Owl Calls my Name


These books contain a form of free verse poetry, opinions based on observation, and some humour and imagination, engaging the heart as well as the mind. A critical look at many current issues intriguing and plaguing man. Spirituality, interaction with nature and environment, social changes, dwindling resources. Well worn issues now, indeed. But the poetry and other works in these books gives this subject a different perspective. I daresay that here we can find a "higher" vantage point from which to look at ourselves within the cosmos.

Who knows but some of the ideas in the books may get you inspired to do that thing you always wanted to do, even if this comes in a very small way, to make your corner of this world a better place to be in. Who knows but you may realize your little corner is a really nice place to be in after all.

It's all about life, if at times expressing life "outside the box" as the saying goes.

A Trail Of Vermillion Blood

There's a trail of vermillion blood

freshly painted in the sand - and

for a brief moment the wind holds -

still, silent, perhaps in awed recognition

of a billionth blood-bathed sacrifice

by some nobody of no consequence

needed by the map-makers

to draw a thin red line of destiny

in the desert map of man's desire.

Anyone can follow the map now:

follow the red lines of history: roads

have grown, following man's desires

long after the leaves fell from spectral trees

under sand where nothing grows

since the beginning of time.

The very first red road you recall,

they named Abel: it led to the land of Nod.

It was there they built forges for tools

and cities made of taller buildings

for lives trapped by shorter years.

There are so many red lines now,

criss-crossing each other, confusion in time,

not by the substance used:

the blood is as real as ever, of course,

but by its corrupting weight:

the map sags, bowed to ripping.

Have you ever bent down and listened,

ear to the surface of the painted desert,

there, in infamy, heard the death-rattle

of man's billionth child sacrifice?

Another thin red line worms its way

a hundred ways from the back country

to where they continue to build the ever-taller city,

firing the forges churning out weapons

programmed to seek and destroy the sacred;

to blacken the skies and hide the stars:

the stars must be hidden - their light

too often troubles man's dreams

with imaginings of possible change: that's

a no-no. The culprit (there is always one)

will be punished. (Of course, is there another way?)

It isn't man's fault, any of this you see,

for he was told long, long ago

that maps were essential to life

and the most important highways

to be drawn in bold red lines - for thus the Lord

would find his way when he returned.

Thus would he know of man's faithfulness

and payback time it would be

for those who failed to draw out and pour

the stranger's blood upon the holy sand.


let us prey,

for the Lord draweth nigh.

Would we have Him find us idle?

Bring the blasphemer, the holy sacrifice!


Alone, of necessity,

for who could understand


the mind of the seeker?

Only the seeker.

The park is still green

and the wind rustles the leaves

in the afternoon.

Gulls still circle the pond

where goldfish stagnate

and friends still sit on benches

gossiping, wondering,

shaking their heads

at all this foolishness.

Alone, of choice

for without letting go;

without turning from the old

the new cannot materialize.

The quester knows this:

deliberately she turns her back

on all she has received,

all she has accomplished,

all she has gained,

all she thought she was

(or could ever be).


the end of a passage

the beginning of a new.

No one follows you

for the eye of the needle

is the passage of one --

one way only --

would strangle the unprepared.

No return fare: no return.

Detachment: preparation;

Loneliness: freedom.

Death: resurrection.

There are no short-cuts --

the sun must set.


Walking as in a dream,

restless of thought,

I think of compassion:

what does it mean to be compassionate?

I saw these words

in my mind:

“Would you know compassion?

It creates the unease of sorrow;

opens old wounds;

creates total confusion.

It turns the world you know

completely upside-down.

It demands a change of mind

about most things,

especially those cherished.

On the flip side

it brings a lasting healing

that is felt within.

It gives meaning to the word "Peace"

and at the end of the road

cleansed of old addictions,

freed of old attachments,

no longer wallowing

in the suppressed ugliness of the world,

it will show you the path of joy;

yes, even more:

it will show you the Golden Path.”

Essence Of Love


What is it we call “evil”?

That which some call “wrong”

but which is enjoyed by others?

That which some abhor

but others find necessary?

God is Love, some say,

yet a law of God demands death:

death by stoning no less

for a woman who gave birth

out of wedlock

and abandoned to her fate

by the man she loved!

To some, this is barbaric;

to some, this is a necessity;

to some, this is vindication.

How should we see this?

Horrible? Normal? Honourable?

It depends on one’s point of view.

How can we know what’s right;

what’s wrong?

Simple: through a sense of empathy;

we feel what we inflict on others:

within months; perhaps within days,

gratuitous violence would disappear.

Something to ponder.

Falling In Love

They say it's Oh! so nice to fall in love

with one who melts your heart;

who makes you feel desired

and wanted in every way.

Yes, maybe it is, Oh! so nice

if he or she is free

from previous engagements!

How often I have seen this thing:

Yes, they fall and one significant other

is forgotten in their moment of passion

as lust rises like a tide; ebbs just as surely

leaving its strange but familiar stench

in some no-wo-man's land.

Now comes the time for reckoning:

the lies flow easier every passing day

until that other notices the change

and asks: and always the same answer:

“Why would you think such a thing?”

But as the lies become smoother,

the conviction is equally less.

They always know; always find out

and the denied pain hits as a slap in the face.

That is the way of things.

Humans sell each other

to each other: for sex; for a song;

they lie together; lie to one another

for a promise neither can keep

but by an untrue self: time we grew up;

stop making silly promises to break.

We meet, we love, we do the thing

and when we return home it's still OK.

For it is understood

that is the way of things:

True love will not be bound

or put in bonds, even if called “marriage.”

Fisherman's Friend

It was a day of sun

along the great river

and many there were

tirelessly angling

along the rocky shores

Ever seen a human angler?

Easy: watch someone

contort his body

into various angles!

As I walked

I was accosted

by a tired angler

(who was also a retired

professor of angles)

He asked:

want to become

a fisherman's friend?

and extended his hand

but I'm wise

way beyond my eyes

and sometimes even my ears;

declined his subtle offer

and said to him -

“Ah, not so fast:

I won't let you

or anyone

suck me to nothing

but a lingering taste

of menthol and eucalyptus!”

Having survived

the deadly encounter,

I write this to you today:

beware those who stand

rod and reel in hand

on a river's shore

and offer to become

your guardian angler!


Filling dreams without time,

love's eternal presence

out of a world gone mad

I watched you and learned

(I think you were pleased).

I followed you into a stream:

you bent down to touch the fish

with healing hands

and where your hands moved

the water sparkled, diamond-like

as in edenic days, so long gone;

from your breath spring burst forth

a magic moment in shades of green!

You beckoned tenderly to me:

eagerly, expectantly, I followed you

to the river's edge and together

we danced on swirling waters!

I thought to laugh then, with abandon:

in the joy of this sacred moment,

happy, unencumbered, forever young

tiptoeing on eddies, with only you

and the world I knew faded

it seemed forever

...but when I came closer

and saw your gentle, knowing face:

tears filled your eyes.


A clear cut on a mountain side:

there are those who oppose

as there are those who agree:

protagonists in man’s number one game.

It’s all about fame and all about gain;

It’s all about blame and all about shame!

The cause would be better served

if we thought of those who lose their homes.

What about the precious life in the mountains,

birds, squirrels, insects, trees, plants, streams:

what happens when there are no trees?

No home for so-called wildlife,

and no roots to hold the soil?

If an apartment building was being torn down

to create work; to boost the economy,

what of the ones who called that their home?

Who’s possessions are destroyed?

Now they’re homeless: where’s the real gain?

Is that not the same as cutting down a forest?

Perhaps we shouldn’t stop the cutting of a forest

by blocking logging roads, or spiking logs,

nor by giving in to anger or rage,

but perhaps there is another way:

the way of peace, of love and compassion,

the way of empathy for all of life.

Thus can we show there’s a better way

to live.

Look Upon...

Is your heart troubled

by ancient thoughts, angry, confused, dark?

Is your heart cold

to the pain that surrounds you, discordant, disconnected,

as if not of your own heart?

Do you still look upon your world

as something other than yourself, separate?

Does your mind

desire to strike out in anger, in violence, in me-eaness

giving back hurt for hurt?

A long time ago, you learned that way

man's old way,

claiming, taking, fashioning, raping, never creating:

the way of endless death...

It seems right, when no other is known

but now, you're at the crossroads:

your love for me brought you here

and now, you must understand, choose:

accept -- or reject.

Look into my eyes

if your heart is troubled, unable to decide:


I show you the very first way

as the worlds were made from what seems not,

from love, and nothing else

for we had nothing else to work with then

and we still refuse to work with anything else:

Look into my eyes

and absorb my wisdom, my love, my life

join me in my cosmic dance: come

cry with me, laugh with me, die with me

and live

child made for joy!

The Majority Is Always Wrong

There is a madness in the land: the Voting Day...

and you've heard the standard lines used

to shame you into making a fool of yourself

along with the rest:

Exercise your right to vote - they say solemnly -

or lose your freedom of speech!

If you don't vote, you can't bitch - they say solemnly -

and this, my favorite solemn pronouncement:

It's because of people who don't vote

that idiots run the government!

Well, that's like saying:

it's because of people who don't drive

we have traffic jams, accidents and air pollution.

Yes, well, no wonder I think,

equally solemnly,

the majority is always wrong!

What does it mean to 'vote'?

To exercise one's freedom of choice?

It means to be there when needed.

It means to care.

It means I desire to make the world into a better place.

To not do this from fear, greed or competition,

but rather out of love and compassion -

Always a personal choice,

never an institutionalized process;

never an enforced concept.

I vote every day, do you?


Beautiful features

as sculptured from clay

are her legacy to me.

If one could still see

deep into her shining eyes

he would see a sunrise

over a virgin paradise!

He would see her run

impetuous and free-

a wild mare with flowing mane

chasing after the wind

along an endless shore.

Memories they may be,

but the beautiful eyes

sparkling with fire

reflected in water;

the sensual body

yearning to be loved

the gentle voice

laughing in the waves

are my reality.

Though she has become

but memories,

these remain strong, vibrant,

and will never vanish...

And neither will the love

she left imprinted

in the heart of eternity.

Dear Miss Liberty

(Thoughts du jour)

Mourn, mourn!

For the thousands

fleeing from their homes

when the bombs dropped

and death rained from torrid skies;

Mourn, mourn!

For those pulverized in the streets

mixing blood and sand,

steel and plastic –

fusing burning human flesh and glass

in depleted uranium.


Becoming one

with all that is: what a simple feat

that children, dogs, mice and blades of grass

can accomplish with ease

when war falls

from the oppressor's lips

and its fire spews from heaven –

did you not hear the monster pray

before he gave the word?


Mind dead, heart blind

the power-butchers kill the innocent

claiming it their divine right,

no, more: their sacred duty.

It's a matter of interpretation

(not to be confused

with questions of morality

or basic human decency):


Did not a Master once say

the kingdom of heaven

belongs to little children?

There you have it: kill them now

while they remain children

and give them back to God –

kills two birds with one smart bomb:

gets them out of the way

so they don't grow up to be terrorists

against the invader –

sorry, against the Chosen Ones.


If this seems an oxymoron –

what's your take on it?

Where were you

when prayers aimed at heaven

rained back down as cluster bombs?


“Now, Miss Liberty,

How do you wish to pay for those bombs?

American Express?

Of course: thank you.

A pleasure doing business!”


My Quest

I have a vision of a perfect Woman,

I have yet to encounter;

every morning I stand

at the edge of the thundering sea

calling out her name,

yet it seems nothing ever comes of this:

she never comes into existence,

and the sea's waters blend with my tears:

what will it take for her to hear my call?

Should I give up this foolish quest?

Is it the impossible dream?

Is this my fate -

to always dream, never receive?

Fate is like faith: what people rely upon

when the unknown and the future threaten;

when feeling helpless; unsure of their way --

so they say, “That is my fate.”

or they say, “It is God's will.”

No - never will fate determine my life,

I would be my own proof

that if I keep searching for something

burning with desire; fired with passion,

such will come to pass; must come to pass.

And I will turn around and see

what my dream has helped me create.

The key to it all?

Never surrender to the too easy ways,

for what have they to boast of?


She swam nude in a jade pool

fed by a waterfall,

free from society's judgment

of such candid natural display

as she swam to me.

I felt strangely exhilarated

standing there, watching her

with just the sun

and warm breeze on my skin,

forgetful of everything

but the moment of anticipation.

She gently touched me

as if she were blind -

and loving hands

filled my body with ecstasy.

Of Tragedies And Horrors

(And other things making up the good life)

Today (I heard the news) I really must wonder:

are humans utterly devoid of compassion?

Incapable of living in a world without war

and other collective madness?

Without the oppression and killing of innocents -

Of people, wildlife, the environment at every turn?

Without violent dictatorships

disguising themselves as democracies

or worse, business corporations whose only goal

is to make money at any cost - the drive of raw greed?

Humans seem incapable of living in such a world.

For without fascist governments pumping them full of fear;

without the news media reporting and exploiting

every misdeed, every crime, every tragedy and horror

- as just another part of normal life -

people would become unhappy, lose interest in their world

and the good life wouldn't seem so good

if there was no spice of violence, no tragedies to gawk at

no one worse off than another.

My conclusion has to be that tragedies -

particularly if they happen somewhere else

provide great entertainment;

are wonderful sources of gossip

without which, for most, life is boringly unbearable.

Now, were I a psychologist

and I had to give a report on such a group,

I would call it psychotic.

Overweight And Hungry

Is it not ironic

that in this country

so many spend money --

lots of money!

to look like a third world person,

while so many there

struggle desperately every day

to stem their gnawing hunger?

Somehow the Jenny Craig's

Weight Watcher's,

and the 30lbs, 30days, $30Magic!

have so many believing

dieting's the only cure

to losing sticky fat

or most importantly

having too much money!

Either way you always lose

something in the end here

and need to come back

again and again.

A friend of mine

of practical

if slightly bent mind,

had this great idea:

open up weight loss clinics

in Haiti and Somalia.

You see? he said innocently,

it'll cost a lot less to operate,

and the effect,

instantaneous, if not permanent!

I wonder if his business

is booming yet?

Plodding The Mindless Maze

Plodding the mindless maze,

herds of bleary-eyed sheeple shuffle;

jostle and crowd 'neath ancient towers

moldy and cracked, ready to crumble

with the touch of a child's hand.

Joining jeers, cheering multitudes

applaud their own laugh-track --

commercial-driven stupids

too ignorant even to qualify as fools --

somehow enduring unaware

parading their emptiness of mind

briefly upon the plastic stage

in the worst-ever bad-acted sitcom.

But what does it matter to them?

They know just enough to realize

no one is watching their antics

no one cares when they tumble off

tired, drunk, diseased, depressed,

their inflatable life pin-pricked:

it's all the reality earth can offer.

The worst show ever, that it is,

but it's on every available channel

and it's prime time all the time.

Poisoned Earth

Ever wonder

what poisoned the earth?

Ever thought that maybe

somehow, something


happened to her?

In the beginning

was peace and happiness

In the beginning...

but what do we know

of that?

A man had a brother

became jealous

killed him:

slowly the earth

absorbed the brother's blood

by a million tiny veins:

that blood

spread throughout

the earth:

a deadly poison:

Whatever man sows,

that he shall also reap:

He killed his brother--

gave his blood

to the earth

sowing death into the soil

with jealousy

A poisoned blood entered

a virgin earth

raping her

through murder:

How could her children

not be murderers?

They have never understood

their past, their guilt

They do not believe

they cannot hear

the cries

they cannot feel

the pain

nurtured by a poisoned earth


between Heaven and Hades:

what can they know of life?

of death?

Precocious Passion Passed

(A Lament)

A colorless autumn field;

dried grass moving in the wind

waiting for the fire;

all that remains

of love once sown here.

We called this place our heaven:

a song-filled haven

where we hid

our sinful pleasures.

In the passion of Summer

it surely was,

but now smoke rises

as a different fire burns.

I watch

a hungry fire consume that past

until nothing remains

but blackened, barren ground

exposed to rain and wind.

I cry in silence,

knowing my tears can never bring back

summer’s sweetness

nor be enough to saturate the soil

and yet the floodgates open

and tears flow like rain

upon a thirsty soil.

Primordial Passion

Tara and I met one day

on the golden shore

of an uncharted island:

it could have been on earth.

I sailed in from the sky

on silent silver wings;

Tara emerged to greet me

from the tossing blue sea:

I stepped away

from my silver suit

and lay upon the singing sands.

Tara unveiled her body

from the seaweed cover

mermaids often hide in:

We gave ourselves a day

such as would make

the Devil himself, blush!

It matters not

for to us that day

it was what is called love:

she wanted the child.


To welcome me today:

a cold, empty, gray shore

and even colder waves

crawling hungrily over the sand...

A smog-filtered sun rising

hesitantly above denuded trees

casting uncertain light

through dissipating shadows of night.

Tears fill my eyes.


Why must I think of those thousands

condemned to death today

because so few understand

the rhythm of life;

so few accept the call of compassion

that would change everything?

That could even stop death?

That would stop the spread of war?

And I really wonder:

Do we need military forces and weaponry

To protect our way of life?

By what law do we deny others

the right to their own way of life?

How great can such a law be,

when children die of hunger

and the homeless fall in the streets?

What if we took all that we spend

defending or protecting ourselves

to alleviate poverty; to feed the hungry:

whom would we have to fear then?

Ah, but so impossible, isn't it.

I feel a fathomless sorrow

for wasted lives and pointless deaths

as greed spreads hungrily over this world,

dragging death in its wake:

if we refuse to see, who then

shall teach us of empathy and compassion?


To profit from others’ failures

one need only reject life's simplicity

and elevate the complex

to godly status!

How easy it is then to maintain power

over the ignorant and the simple

at no cost to oneself!

Rulers rule

for a better life, they say;

preachers preach

to keep us from hell, they say;

doctors poke and frown

over our physical no-no’s

for the sake of health, they say;

judges pronounce

over our law-breaking...

for law and order, they say:

what hypocrisy, I say.

Every one of these

takes the lion’s share of the collective wealth;

treats himself to demigod status;

exploits, oppresses, frightens

the innocent, the weak, the ignorant

making front page news

with their victims in tow.

These human spiders

weave an endless web

of fear and treachery;

a web we must all intersect

at some point in time.


Eagerly awaited, she arrives;

her sun shines through mist

rising gently from a hidden lake.

Her breath buoys our wings,

lifting us high into the skies;

her rain nourishes our lands

and heals our thirsting souls -

she is the Spring Maiden!

Her love surrounds us

whether high on rocky hills

or down in silent green valleys:

she awakens all our senses

to the beauty and joy

she sheds without measure

over this fair land:

we know her season -

behold the Spring Maiden!

She walks the path of the rainbow

arching across rolling clouds

bringing back the sun;

drying away tears of sadness

whispering happiness and hope

in birds' songs and breezes

brought from the open sea:

it's the season of the Spring Maiden!


A man sets forth on his journey

as newly fallen snow drifts eerily around

spreading in waves over a rugged land

unmarked by trail or track.

In slanted radiance, the pale noonday sun

breaks through graying skies,

splashing through white winter's silence

and for a brief moment

he senses a breath of spring from afar,

a memory of green leaves touches him.

As he ponders his choices and direction,

squinting in the landscape's brightness,

the wind whispers in the hood of his parka;

a voice which penetrates to his soul:

"Your life is much like stepping forth

through these drifting snows.

Tread carefully on their unsigned paths

lest ye lose yourself in this labyrinth

or lest some less experienced ones

seek to follow in your bold steps,

for as you know the shelter of the trees leaves a trail:

anyone fool enough to may well follow

your first steps etched on the edge of the forest.

These may sadly come to grief, or meet with death.

Remember that not even in this great wilderness

is a man an island unto himself... You

are still your brother's keeper out here

alone on these wind-swept ridges."

Return To Paradise

Sex, a commodity, a means of support,

instant gratification of lustful passion,

yes, instant... and instantly lost:

must it always be that way?

What have humans failed to recognize

when indulging in sexual pleasure?

An ageless Woman says wisely,

I wouldn't have sex with you if you asked -

sex fulfils neither you nor me.

Are you willing to let down your defenses?

Can you share all the love you have known,

all the love you know, or could know -

with me in one moment of passion?

Do you want to transform one moment

into an eternity of knowing?

Would you know me? A yes is enough.

Love waits for no one.


From the dried skeleton

of a hardwood tree

he lovingly carves

a life-like sculpture.

In humble thankfulness

for this natural bounty

he plants a new seed:

his own gift to the land,

a simple exchange of life.

Such reverence for life

presages man's re-discovery

of unity in a living world,

re-kindles human hope

soaring beyond thought

of mere survival.

Rich Text

They say I’m a budding poet -

OK, I admit

Some buds take a bit longer

To open and bloom -

But just because

I’m only at the beginning,

Don’t think I’m stupid:

For example,

I figured out the simplicity

Of getting extra bucks

for my wonderful words:

From now on,

I’m saving all my work

In rich text format -

No calling me “cheap” now.

Roads That Go Nowhere

Pavement stretches for miles

in endless series of criss-crossing puzzles

that used to lead where man touched

all of life with his Midas hands,

dipped in wishes of oil and steel...

covering, choking, filling

a once vibrant soil springing

with delicate plants, healing herbs,

mighty trees and wildlife roaming free.

Rusting carcasses of dead dreams

now inhabit an inhospitable, forsaken world

invaded, cornered, strangled, choked

by the poisons of progress

as defined by man's leadership

and slavish obedience to lifeless rules.

Ages have passed, and now behold!

True tranquillity, untainted beauty

blending in majestic harmony

are found again upon the earth,

scarred land, polluted air, decimated wildlife,

healed, cleansed, free once more.

Scents of wild flowers and newly formed leaves

travel the breezes throughout the earth,

announcing peace and wholesomeness

to all that cares to listen.

But of man who closed his heart to life's pain,

no one is left to hear the news

of earth's joyful renewal.

Roots Of Love: Passion

Summer's sudden passing

retains a lingering breeze:

leaves fall to rest gently upon dormant soil;

electric blue skies display new symbols:

v-shapes in white wings pointing south.

I wonder: has this season's flow

of spring and summer love perished?

Or flown south also in migration?

Will it return with the sun of spring

when the land re-awakens another season?

Or is it that in every spring breeze

there is a birth of new love in passion

driven to grow and mature

then blend once more within earth's soil

before the advent of winter's harsh storms?

Deep within I seek the answer:

I look without fear, anger or regret

in each moment of darkness faced,

in each fear overcome,

in every footstep walked on barren ground,

in every sound of mocking laughter -

And what do I see now?

The times I allowed passion

to grow powerfully within my heart,

strengthening my desire to know,

to understand and to love;

sending these down as roots

deep within the collective unconscious.

That is what keeps my love

alive, renewed, vibrant

through each change of season.

For once I sought love for its own sake

but now love is what I am…

Sacred Dance

Arousal from the caress of gentle hands:

soft skin becoming firm;

two beings sharing energy

in a surging flow of love

from one body to another,

a sacred dance of the heart,

a moment of pleasure,

a spark of joy released.

When love-making reaches

the point of orgasmic bliss;

when with tears and knowing

they bond together,

body to soul, soul to body,

lying on soft green moss,

reveling in their earthly energy,

their unbound power:

is this not one of the highest ways

two could ever honour





in short, Life?



as of rain on pavement

bouncing over cold, bare feet:


as of death on pavement

blood from a small rabbit

crushed by a wheel,

Big Wheel






as of a girl child on pavement

holding out flowers

to passer-by's

flowers fading

flowers dying



as the child:


as of a line of grey limos

headlights on




death to

appointed graveyard assignment.


as of spirit

observing a dying creation:


as of paradise paved

killing fields turned to profit


under bulldozer and hammer






deep, deep

reaching to hell

and heaven


raising angry fists

kneeling in the dirt

hands raised, opened

to ward the blows


as of tears

streaking hollowed cheeks

crying in pain:


as of a brother

turned away to die.


Crises in life,

cause winter-like seasons of pain:

barren, lifeless, hopeless

seem those endless days,

yet winter can be a warm blanket

for those whose roots

find their way through the stones

and run deep within the earth.

Winters come and winters go,

each one creating new strength

in some non-anticipated way,

each one full of healing balm.

Difficult seasons revive faith;

sharpen spiritual awareness,

toughen the will,

harden the muscles.

How much are they

like gnarled roots anchored deep

within a changing earth!

Shadow Beings


shadow beings,

shadow systems

controlling worlds

through the power of fear,

casting dark clouds:

distrust, anger, hate

all resulting in violence,

needless suffering


Earth is such a place,

make no mistake!

But how many know this?

Admit it?

And who

holds the master key

that opens the door

of this prison of pain?

There is no moving

(here or there)

looking for a better place,

or the making of such a place,

for everyone holds the key

if they would use it.

It consists of gently illuminating

the 'space'

enclosed in the shadow.

The door mechanism

is on a “light” sensor.

Soldiers Or Murderers

A question haunts my mind:

Why is it OK for a soldier

to kill people

but not OK for a civilian

to do the same thing?

Civilian killers are called murderers

but why?

Because they kill the wrong people?

Soldiers are called heroes,

Is that because they kill the right people?

An interesting distinction –

completely lost on me.

Who determines who is the wrong victim

of murder;

who is the right one?

It wouldn’t be (perish the thought)

our wonderful, moral, trustworthy

politicians now, would it?

Well, yes, that is who!

The very same liars and robbers

we elect time after time,

knowing that each time

the taxes will go up

and benefits come down;

the poor will become poorer

and the rich become the super rich.

Murder is murder however you slice it!

South Side Innocence

South side

of an alley parched

under a smoke-hazed sun

at zenith hanging,

watching two naked children

playing beside a burning ribbon

of freshly paved street.

A mound of chalky dust,

a few stones and bits of wood

and assorted broken sticks

comprise stage and props -

childhood imagination easily

provides the dialogue

for this impromptu drama.

"Observe a thing, change a thing."

I observe this scene

and would be more

that just another spectator

but what

will I change here?

The scene? The script?


But I will stand watch,

a guardian beyond Time

and woe to the Evil

that would lurk in this place

thinking to destroy

this fleeting innocence.


I feel totally stranded

at the edge of some flat world;

a world I am less and less inclined

or able to understand.

Some say the world is just fine,

it has been that way -

it will continue to be that way -

but I look out my window

and see a different story.

I heard someone say,

"the majority of humanity

is compassionate

and loves their fellow man,"

Yes? If that is so

why all the endless violence?

And why do most

torture and destroy nature?

I think the people of Earth

are hopelessly delusional

about the state of their world.

I think the aerodynamics

of their social system

are totally wrong.

I believe the social Titanic

is about to be breached and sink

upon the ever-returning icebergs

of global social apathy.



the tearing apart

of soul and body;

killer of joy;

destroyer of beauty;

maker of enemies;

spoiler of the good.


that lack of perspective

in unbalanced minds;

that heartbeat

of man's social systems:

ego's creative centre


that built-in energy thief

who's flow of energy

gives feelings of power

to self-pity, despair

and dreams of violent



the high cost of living

in death of a body

and destruction of a planet!

The path of doom

of a collective unconscious

devoid of enlightenment:


that irresistible pull;

that momentous desire

to choke the living shit

out of some asshole

who desperately needs it!

When the stress of life

consumes me

I just burn up.”


What is “stupidity”?

indulging outrageous activities,

extreme sports, playing chicken,

acting the fool to be noticed?

That's just sheer ignorance.

Stupidity is the everyday stuff

people do, without reason

beyond feelings and programming.

Stupidity is spending one's money


bingo, cards, lottery tickets,

not realizing with each loss

it takes millions of losers

to create one winner - but the real winners

are the owners and controllers

who set up the game.

Stupidity is spending one's time

being insulted by commercials

on a TV or a radio

watching and listening just the same,

sensing the con

but accepting it - as necessary.

Stupidity is supporting idiots

posturing as professionals

in whatever passes for sport;

watching, paying, wasting time

and being dummied-up

with each game won or lost.

Einstein, it is claimed, once said:

“Two things are infinite:

the universe...

and stupidity -

And I'm not sure about the former.”

Let's hear it for stupidity

for without it, I'm sure

the human race could never function...


Summer Skies

wavelets lapping

sand shifting

shadows creeping

leaves blowing

swallows gliding


blue sky dotted white

clouds and gulls

suspended animation

in summer breeze

simply joyfully happy


body lying nude

in soft warm sand

soul rising

on currents of love

past sapphire skies

to unseen starry depths

where fall prepares

her return flight

taking my canoe

I add another time

along the river's moody bank

look for blackberries

and beaver trails

catch a deer staring

back -eye to eye


there is no harm

in this gentle world


warding off evil

A great blue standing

head and leg

tucked in


by the pond

in the center of the island

pulling up eagerly

jumping out


into the water

with a splash

priceless free delights

of nature loved


needed -we are lovers

under the skies

of summer.

Surprised By Joy

What if I saw the woman I love

walking down the street

hand in hand with another man,

on a misty magical morning,

when the wind of Spring lingers?

What if I held no jealousy, no anger

but only happiness

to see her filled with love?

Is such a feeling even possible?

I should experience pain and anger,

I should feel abused by her, shouldn't I?

Yes, if I do not love her, I certainly will.

If all she is to me is an object of pleasure;

if all she is, is a feel-good thing.

But my dilemma is: I truly love her.

If you love someone, what can you do

but accept and allow what pleases them?

What other way is there

for love to know itself?

What if we tore down the walls

we place around the ones we love

keeping them from wandering away;

from loving whomever they choose?

What if in our vision, in our minds,

we truly granted them their freedom?

Accepted however they lived their life, their love?

Would we not see our world differently?

Would we not perhaps

be surprised by joy?

The After Life

Seems to me a good idea to think of the future;

not what I'll do come retirement,

but that great and inevitable future:

the afterlife, as it is often called.

If life has taught me anything at all

it would be “as below, so above”.

A perfect world cannot exist anywhere

until such time I create it myself!

How does one think about an after life?

There are guidelines on how to enter heaven,

but what if heaven is not the chosen destination?

What if one thinks beyond that closed concept?

If I want a world where peace reigns,

should I not be creating such a place already?

Would not the same hold true

for all the rest of the good things

I envision having sway in my afterlife?

If I want an afterlife of love and bliss,

let me be love and let me live in bliss today.

If I want an afterlife of justice and compassion,

let me practice justice and be compassionate...

everyday I have left to live.

The Big Bang Theory

I had a dream

about the big bang theory:

"Before there were suns, planets, life;

a bubble of energy, a mind,

that which we called God;

reached stasis - exploded - shattered

into myriad particles:

the cosmos was born -

a world of echoes and reflections."

When I awoke from this dream

EarthStar explained:

"You are now but particles

of that once great Mind,

that 'God' whose image

you carry in dreams of home

and wistful thoughts

encompassing all your worship.

But all your forms:

universes, planets, humans, worms,

re-create God in their own image:

and over time a whole new God,

more evolved than the last one

emerges from your new creations."

That explains why the 'God' that was

does not respond to your queries:

It explains why, ultimately, it is you

who must solve your problems

within the concepts

resulting from your creation.

If there is now a living God

it is but a baby -

and who would ask a baby

to care for its parents?

The Dispossessed

Standing on an old street corner


a poignant awakening

to hate and despair

the day

Autumn suddenly slides into winter;

the day

torn leaves and whipped rain

slash at grey concrete walls

(so many storeys high)

and water dripping endlessly

through rotten eave-troughs

runs down your naked body

under ragged, dirty summer clothes.

But just down the block

a commercial poster

jets you to Hawaii in style.

The End of Humanity

An old man sat beside me

as I was waiting for the bus,

turned and said:

“Is something troubling you?”

Yes I reply, I am wondering

why people don’t seen to care

about the fate of their world?


I think, somewhat sadly,

(says the old man:)

“It’s like this with humans:

they’re sitting in a big SUV

heading straight for a brick wall,

doing a hundred miles an hour,

and all these people can think about;

all they want to argue about,

is where is the best place to sit.”

(quote from David Suzuki)

“I thought when I was younger

(continues the old man)

I could make a difference

on this crazy world

but as I get older

I am finding out there is no hope,

people are just too stuck

in old ways that no longer work,

old ways that really

never did work.”

The Eternal Dream

How much of that substance known as "me"

already has passed outside the borders

of time and space; has forced its way

past the fears, the taboos, the ridicule

of a dying world, moving unawares?

In the night, the dead of night,

the inky blackness of a normal night, I,

the earth-bound, unknowing, ignorant

sleep the sleep of the fluttering moth

when the light is suddenly extinguished.

But now the miracle of the night begins:

the dance of the spirit, the world of magic,

the fantasy of guided dreams unfurls:

"Actors, pay attention, take your places,

sun, moon and stars, focus your lights!"

Always obedient, the universe as one

bows to the will of the gods in the clouds,

provides misty stairways for them to descend

to every place where action is decreed:

it's time to learn, it's time to play.

I meet my friends again, creators, actors,

with me in the endless drama of life opening

like vernal flowers in greening meadows,

their voices, the eternal Spring song of love:

we acknowledge each other, and play our parts.

Then, as suddenly as it came, the dream ends,

the magic wand is waved, the stage rolled up,

the last echo of our laughter caught

in the song of a finch outside my window:

"Are we just ships that pass in the night?"

I, the restless wanderer, wide awake now

ponder that endless question, seek the answer: wait!

Could it be that one night, after I learn my part,

I too will disappear with the waving of the wand,

becoming part of the eternal dream, once more?

The Fools Tax

It’s hard to imagine anyone

volunteering to pay an unnecessary tax,

yet every day millions are collected

by government agencies

in monies no one ever had to pay.

It’s a fools tax – and how does it work?

By the simple application of greed.

It’s called “The lottery.”

The carrot on the stick – the longer the stick,

the bigger they make the carrot

and the trick works I daresay

even beyond the wildest dreams

of those who invented this insane game.

Oh sure, sooner or later one of the tax payers

gets a windfall: millions of dollars;

a small percentage of what was collected –

and the press and media play it for all it’s worth—

sorry, way beyond what it’s worth –

and all the losers remember is how much

so and so “won” in the draw.

Wouldn’t it be simpler and easier

to just ignore this insanity?

Keep one’s money, give a few dollars

to some legitimate need or a homeless person

and just enjoy the “feel good” from that?

No one likes to be a loser, no one

and yet what is a lottery?

A game for losers and of losers – guaranteed.

The Forgotten Ones

We react with horror and sadness

as innocent people die of terrorist attack

in the back yard of a "world power"

but do not feel the much greater horror

of systematic oppression of smaller nations

at the hands of the bully - and I ask "why?"

Economic policies starve entire countries

and children die from lack of food and water;

lands are raped of resources, impoverished

while their leaders are well fed and healthy

because they do the bully's bidding;

the people wander naked, sick, hungry...

and we who live in the bully's back yard

do not feel, and cannot feel, and I ask "why?"

In third and fourth world countries,

most don't live beyond thirty,

because the fat of the land is taken

to the land of the free and the home of the brave;

and I ask about those who die in natural disasters:

I don't even bother asking where God's love is,

but where is our natural compassion

and our sense of outrage in all of this?

Is it all reserved for ourselves and our friends

and our sacred beliefs about the rightness of our cause?

Where is the collective compassion

for these thousands who die daily around the world?

Who die, we so well know, of preventable causes?

Where is that five minutes of silence in memory

of those who ensure we keep our abundance?

From the dust of the earth their voices, not silent yet,

cry to us to remember their sacrifice...

but we want to silence their cries for justice;

we want them to remain the forgotten ones -

otherwise, how could we justify our indignation?

We've always had someone to pay for our extravagance

are we to give up our favored status in God's eyes?

The Future Of The Hunt

I'm standing among tall fir-trees,

where deer and other wildlife

once roamed free,

and it makes me wonder:

when the last of the so-called wildlife

has gone the way of the dodo bird,

what will the hunter hunt next?

Will he turn his sights on the poor?

On the outcasts of society?

Will he find some 'enemy'

B one who cannot fight back of course -

to hunt down and kill for fun and sport?

Perhaps he will be given prisoners;

unwanted types now in jails

to hunt down in faked jail breaks?

Will we finally come down to

'The Most Dangerous Game' -

the legitimate hunting of humans

strictly for sport? Not a new idea, is it.

The Romans perfected it in their arenas.

Whatever happens in the not distant future

there will be those who will justify

the hunter's 'needs' - if only because

a license to hunt humans

brings in extra revenue -

And the bottom line is,

has always been,

the game must go on,

to the bitter end.

The Ghost

Always pulling to the dark side, always;

the black clouds fit our mould so well,

shaping our evanescent, misty lives!

The phone rings: another old friend

depressed, lonely, lost, afraid

in fevered mind drugs no longer numb.

"Hi! I know, it's been a long time--

do you remember who this is?"

"Sorry, no, I don't. You must have

dialed a wrong number by mistake."

"It's me, Phil: don't you remember?

The demonstrations, the peace marches?

Phil, it's Phil!" Desperate, slurred words,

incoherent speech, childlike hope.

So sad, I feel, even if I don't connect:

I pretend long enough, just enough

for the past to reclaim its portion

of memory no longer used or wanted:

the long forgotten, undesired past;

its ghosts abandoned, forgotten so long.

"It's Phil! It's Phil!" cries the ghost

like the stab of a knife in my heart.

"Yes, I remember now... Phil. I remember

and I won't forget again, I promise."

If only I can make the black clouds

part just long enough tomorrow

to admit a shaft of light from the sun

and make the ghost come alive again!

We're having coffee together tomorrow,

the ghost and I, until another day

when another ghost, not so old or tired,

disembodied, free, may join us:

His youngest sister has cancer.

The Healing Room Of The Heart

Is there such a thing as a healing room?

Is it found in a special building?

A special room? A great power place?

Does not all healing proceed

from one's love center in the heart?

A heart weighed down, crippled

from dis-ease of the body;

from fear, lack of trust in its own power;

from false belief, or disbelief;

from a sense of lack --

either of money, or love or other wherewithal,

is but a "healing room" closed to those who seek.

Must they then turn helpless to the parasites

who suck out the remaining life from the dying

in their surgical cubicles?

The Village Idiot Box

O Cable TV - God of this New Age,

Art thou here to teach me?

Art thou here to amuse me?

Methinks thou art here

mayhap but to rot mine poor brains.

Thou bringest forth the daily news,

nay, the hourly news, forsooth!

The minutely news to boot!

Dost thou care I should be informed

of dire happenings in yonder distant lands?

Seekest thou not rather to confuse

and maketh me worry

this, that or t'other shouldst befall

that I may rush to the nearest mall

and load my reluctant ass

with baskets of sundry wares

I'd never thought of buying

but for these new cares?

O Cable TV, thou son of darkness,

wherefrom cometh thou

to despoil my soul of light?

To rob mine brain of comely thoughts?

O, who shalt deliver me

from such a loathsome monster?

Who shalt come hither

and lead me once more

into the calm reading of a simple book?

The Immune System

We speak of our “immune system”

and speculate on our fate:

why do we incur diseases?

why do we age - why do we die -

or should I say, why do our bodies die?

Maybe there is no such thing

as “immunity” against death

because life is energy patterns

and somehow we put too much store

in some, ignore others,

or don't even know what an energy field is.

If we entertain the thought that life is energy

we can reason thus:

beneficial energies give and maintain life,

predatory energies destroy life

for selfish reasons, always selfish reasons.

That man is a predator - the most dangerous -

is not in question anymore.

That he destroys life without thought or qualm

thinking that “might makes right,”

is not in question.

By his passage, life is destroyed.

But not just the life of his victims,

his own need must be included in the pattern.

The field of life generated in the womb

dissipates with the passage of time,

or the intensity of his destruction

and he dies, brutalized by his own brutality,

never realizing how it all comes about -

never knowing that it is he, only he

who causes his own demise.

The Last Train Out

I've asked for a great gift:

understanding, you know,

why things are the way they are

and how relationships work,

and where does the universe come from?

I need to know, it's that simple,

and human wisdom leaves such gaps,

so I've been asking, a long time now

and it seems I'm still waiting,

in the global queue, so to speak!

I know the answers exist, within or without,

they're not really veiled or tricky,

but will I fully understand this time?

Or have to experience another turn

of this earthly Ferris wheel?

Time is like a hound on my trail

and I'd very much like this to be

the last train out!

The Military

The military, as depicted by

its glossy ads:

as a great profession to get into,

of perks, bonuses, promotions and perhaps

a diploma or two for later use

Ah, the good life beckons.

Can a license to commit mass murder

be called a noble profession?

why give soldiers medals

and call them heroes

after killing innocent people

in some foreign land?

After blasting the earth

and destroying the environment?

Heroes, indeed! Who did they kill for?

The multinational corporation's profits;

for money, for numbers... for nothing

and when they return home

will they find that life here

has substantially improved?

Heroes? No.

At best: fools; at worst: psychopaths.

Early Morning

Early morning by the river,

the sun rises;

it's warmth touches my face,

like a kiss... I think of Tara,

how I long to be with her,

to touch her soft skin;

caress her hair.

I know she is miles from here,

not sure where,

and the pain of knowing that

cuts like a knife through my heart.

Do I wish she didn't wander?

Do I want her for myself alone?

A gust of wind touches my face

as the tip of her finger.

I know she is here with me,

that her shared love is true

and I must remember

she is free to ride any wild wind

of her choosing or making;

free to indulge her fancy.

I can never claim her as mine,

and like her, I am free to love another

but that is difficult

for Tara seems to be the only woman

who wants me just the way I am.

Although it burns

not seeing her luscious form,

or exploring her divine body,

it gives me a certain joy

knowing a man somewhere

may be having the best sex of his life.

I will see her again when she returns

and she will awaken my passion

as only she can.

Empty Hands

Time slips inexorably

from my empty hands;

life ebbs away;

understanding flees.

Life propels me forth;

I move as blind,

my future hidden

in clouds of doubt.

How will I ever know

if I have found

the river of life

dissipating slowly

in the sea of dreams,

If I cannot dispel

this darkness?

"Life, why don't you stand still

and give me time to think?"

Fields Of Dreams

As dandelion seed-heads

blowing seeds over the land,

creative thoughts

scatter to change the world.

Freely across the surface of the earth

they spread in whispering breezes

of changing times.

Wherever fertile soil is found

they spring,

create new worlds

filled with hope within new hearts.

Of the thought creators,

These are the ones

who long to walk

their fields of dreams.

To Change The World

Can one person change the world?

Can one simple idea?

There are those on this world

who bring about such change,

who live simplicity in joy:

quiet, steady as the stars

in the night sky - points of light

shining bright, not unto themselves;

There are those whose heart

is vast and open as the ocean;

of gentle word and soft mien,

a haven for those who hurt.

There are those whose mind

is like a mountain ringed with clouds:

whose thoughts are noble and wise;

who have the spirit of an eagle;

who remain graceful and free

in the face of adversity

You will not find them in the temples

nor in the high places of power;

their faces do not grace the TV screen,

or fill pages in magazines.

Lucky are you to recognize one,

wise are you to emulate one.

And how do you find such a one?

Just look deep within.

The Unfolding

Do not kill me

for I am not made

of such substance you dream of...

Do not kill me

for my life does not reside

where you think it does...

Do not kill me

for if you believe you had

I would only be

another burden,

another load,

another you!

Freed for a moment,

my spirit would slip

inside your mind:

it would then have

to serve us both.

Think about the conflicts

resulting of such a union:

wouldn't it be better to wait

for the unfolding of time?

To The End Of The Universe

There is a bus

going to the end of the Universe,

I hear they're holding a conference there

on some small planet.

The agenda is about violence,

how to stop the killings, the wars

and the corruption in high places

that ignites and condones

violence in all its forms.

I hear they are seeking representatives

from all the worlds

still mired in violence;

first hand input

from perpetrator and victim -

of course, Earth is invited.

They wish to make it known

that the best tools against violence

are (as is so often forgotten)

compassion and cooperation.

I'm heading for the bus stop

this morning;

I figure I could be a delegate.

Will I be waiting alone?

To Vote Or Not To...

Vote! vote! vote! vote!!!

the scampering madmen scream

from the TV's confused screen

and I too want to scream:

get out! get out! get out!

thieves, robbers, liars all!

I can't help but ask myself

why should I vote for packs of fools?

Is one set of clowns and crooks

better than another in your book?

Why would I want to play their game?

Do I only exist to give these arses

what's left of credibility

since they have none of their own?

I won't! I won't! I won't! vote!

I have nothing left to give you

thieves and scoundrels all!

Get out of my face and out of my life

and quit pretending you want to give me

something for nothing,

when I already know it is I

who always gives everything

and get nothing back: your endless lies

have reached rock bottom here!

In politics, there's nothing new

under anything at all...

TV Ads

Businesses jockey for ad space

on prime time T.V,

in hope they can con you to buy their brand of junk,

good or bad, true or false: all's fair in that game!

Do they really think humans are that stupid?

Just because they see it on TV,

do they rush out and buy, needed or not?

"Hey honey look what I bought,

advertised last night on TV

on sale at half price!"

"A snow blower? Have you lost you mind,

or did you forget one tiny detail?"

"No, I don't think so, what?"

"Let me refresh that so-called brain of yours,

we've lived in a condo for the last ten years

and the last time we had snow

was in 1965!"

Some are that impulsive and thoughtless

but the economy being what it is

crass consumerism is becoming

more a matter of eyes than arms!

But as long as there's commercial TV

there will be dumb ads to fool the fools

to buy what they don't need

with money they don't have.


Fear not!

behold the seeds of visions

encrusted in night light

wandering wondering.

Hold them aloft

to the light of dawn remembering:

conceive new life.

In infinite particles.

as energy streaming from a blazing sun,

plant them boldly

in the garden of your thoughts,

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