Excerpt for Plenty of Thought 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 by: lightning by Ante Vekic: Global Warming by B S K:

Pensive Homeless, Street Portraiture by Leroy Skalstad

All pictures found on FreeImages.com

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Derelict

Behind The Mask

Civilization Is Like Cement

Fools Rush In...

Marriage And Friendship




Evil In Society

Food For Thought!

Getting A Job


Inquisition 2000

Is Earth A Prison?

Is There A Doctor?


Leave It To The Universe?

Life Support System

Life's Dream

Life’s Path

Managing Wildlife

Saving Humanity

The Sasquatch

Smoke That Banishes Sleep

Stop And Think!

Summer Wind

Slowly Passes Old Time (In Eternal Night)

Silent Scream


The Image Maker

Plenty Of Thought

Measure Of Injustice

Mental Illness

No Two The Same

Old Train


On Society’s Fringe

On The Edge Of Time

Possessed By Desire


Searching For The Key


The Measure Of A Man

The Sun's Touch

The Watcher’s Tale

There And Back

The Hitch Hiker

Train Of Progress

The Crossing Dream


True Love

Thoughts On The Rodeo

Tug Boats

Unfettered As The Wind


There Were Violets

Touching Your Heart

Time And Consequences


Vision Of A Woman

Voice Of The Soul


When Money Talks It Usually Lies

Why We Fight

"Write In Grey Paint"

Flight Of Stares

No To Needless Pain

Walking On Water



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 Derelict

A derelict of cheap booze

and much unkind time

haunts the sidewalk

at the local liquor store.

He sits by his walker in the sun;

huddles under the canopy when it rains,

hoping someone will drop some coins

in his crumpled old hat –

perhaps enough for a beer or two.

Inevitably, I’ll walk past him,

say hi; hand him a dollar or two.

I like to see his wrinkled face light up

at the sound of a friendly voice.

Funny, isn’t it, how we assume

the ones we see as down and out

are there but to take the handout?

But the simple exchange of love

at that not so loving place,

fills my heart every time we meet.

Go figure!

I do not know his name.

Behind The Mask

This world of man, a giant mask.

Frailties, foibles, fears, fantasies, failures,

All hide behind the frightful chameleonic mask,

So ancient, so comfortable, so safe, so faceless.

We feel its presence, its security, its certainty,

We call it tradition, the will of God, fate,

We also call it patriotism, manifest destiny, normalcy,

Like the Conservatives or the Social Credit party:

We're so sure of everything, hiding behind the mask,

We can use it to ignite wars and kill at will;

Somehow it's all so proper when the faceless hollow voice

Inside the mask repeats the slogan: "Necessary!"

As one out of time here, I wonder how many others,

Finding the mask doesn't fit, refuse to wear it too?

Sometimes I fear I may be recognized, walking around

Naked like that, my mind unshackled, my thoughts

Un-muzzled, un-fettered, free to roam -I reflect:

Will they see I'm not wearing their sacred mask

And make an example of me, a sacrificial offering

To discourage others from walking around without purpose?

To save their doctrines, beliefs, theories and plans

From being exposed to the light of truth?

Yet who else but a free soul or an innocent mind

Can freely say, the emperor has no clothes...?

Civilization Is Like Cement

There's an art to mixing cement

so it will set properly,

not too fast, not too slow, not too runny or dry

and there's a time frame

in which to do the pouring

and the finishing that must follow.

It would seem that civilizations

pose the same problem as does cement:

If they are to be finished properly

they have to be thoroughly mixed;

poured in retaining forms

then worked and reworked

until a smooth surface is achieved.

Using that as an analogy

one must wonder at the state of mind

of the contractors who poured

Earth's various civilizations.

Simply put: they've all been a total mess;

No intelligent buyer would spend a dime on it.

Yet here we are, daily convincing ourselves

there's nothing wrong with society,

with the way it's all been set up.

We know this civilized cement

was poured in layers over time:

one layer covering another

all over the property as the builders came;

as they found the materials handy.

I'd say they'd have been better off

to jackhammer the works

and start afresh -

Fools Rush In...

"Fools rush in...

(I did)

to find life's ultimate

meaning -- end

pushed past all

warning signs:

"Do Not Enter Here"

...where angels fear to tread"

I stumbled in:

In awe,

in consternation,

in absolute dread,

I saw a blinding light;

heard a heart-rending cry

and now

in my exposed ignorance

all that remains

of earthly comforts


silent tears in the wind.

Marriage And Friendship

I have a friend, a person I know well:

two marriages she went through,

both ending in divorce.

I asked her why;

why invest so much of one's life

in another's and then, just end it?

It's life, just life, she told me:

a great, misunderstood mystery.

Marriage is only a convenience

something many are forced into

for the illusion of support;

the illusion of sharing

in child rearing and financing:

it's what one might call business

though it may begin as pleasure,

it's certain that for most

the pleasure does not endure.

Every relationship we have

should move us to friendship:

I mean every relationship,

for friendship is truly forever.

If your marriage prevents friendship,

end it: begin the great adventure

and become friends.

I divorced my partners

because they were so wonderful

I wanted them as friends

and so they are to me today.

Oh, one thing more: I needed my own space

and that is never possible within marriage.

Marriage is a convenience

friendship is forever


Many are those who seek to find

a way out of their daily grind;

a means to get away, even for a day

to break free from daily reality

and enjoy the fruits of their labours

with vacations bought on the internet...

But what of those caught in the grind

the poor, the oppressed, the harassed

who cannot change their situation;

cannot escape the reality of their times;

cannot move at will across the lands?

Sadly, it is those places the tourists seek

for here service can be had for cheap;

the poor will sell you their wares

for a fraction of their costs at home

and some will even barter away

the dignity and health of their children

for that proverbial crust of bread.

But do tourists care for such injustice?

Not if they are tourists, they don't.

they'll complain if the service is poor

or the price of beer is up from last year

and look for another port, another city

to find their fun in the sun

come next Summer.


When adversity hits,

and we are put to the test,

what are the thoughts in our mind?

Are we still the same as before?

Whom we thought ourselves to be?

Adversity is deeply revelational.

It forces one to plunge within;

examine those things forgotten,

hidden by good times and fast living.

What comes up now? Fear? Anger? Self-pity?

But a moment ago we were so buoyant,

happy, self-assured, complacent, arrogant even:

“Would never happen to me” we thought,

when a beggar approached - tossing him a few coins,

then joining our friends for drinks and laughs at the pub.

Adversity comes in many guises - not necessarily

a sudden turn of fortune and money gone!

A lover leaves a note on the bed;

an accident leaves us permanently crippled;

cancer strikes and each treatment

leaves us weaker than before

and the only sure end in sight is death.

How do we take these changes?

usually, not so well, not so well at all,

for there is much learning to do now.

But if we had prepared for such?

“If... if... if” we had expected such

and lived a life of detachment and love,

reaching out to others all the time:

adversity would not appear so harsh

but as a means to sharpen our passion.


Hey! People talk, people talk, yeah,

has the whole world gone insane?

My appearance into earth life

brought resentment,

and earned me much discrimination:

seems I've yet to touch the falling rain.

I've had my share of man's abuse,

but never mind, I'm not accepting this:

that I'd be discriminated against

just because I appear to be different -

different than what?

Can they not see all I really want

is to be allowed my place?

Rage crashes through my mind,

its wind erodes the fabric of my soul,

yet while my entire being bleeds,

“I” - the silent “I” struggles endlessly

to bar hatred from the door.

Seems to me the search for equality

must be as ancient as the hills;

and seems to me it has never been found.

But do I give up on a technicality,

a mere statistical point?


I do not believe the universe

came into being simply

to grind out statistics.

We can do better.

I can do better.

Evil In Society

Are there people on this world

who take pleasure from inflicting pain?

Need one ask?

Two men pound each other’s flesh

in an arena

to the cheers of thousands

and money flows!

There are those who rejoice

at the thought of war;

bullies who beat up on the weak;

endless movies where the gun

is bigger than the gunman!

How does society in general

respond? Well, it’s alright

for adults to brutalize each other

but (says current wisdom)

children should not do so

in a school yard or on the street:

- it is not nice -

Why not, may I be so bold to ask?

Is it because no way has been found

to squeeze a buck or two

from this particular form of brutality?

The point of my asking?

Does “society” have a mind?

Does it have empathy?

Does it feel the pain it condones?





Obviously not.

Obviously another rhetorical question.

Food For Thought!

A tawny, scrawny ghost

silently lopes into a sleeping town

in an early, misty dawn.

Tired, hungry, searching

for a long-overdue meal.

A cat, well fed, well groomed,

with nothing else to do,

stalks a scratching sparrow

unaware of lurking danger

expertly concealed in slanting shadows.

The coyote takes the opportunity,

lunges... bites sharply – hungrily.

Indignant feline shrieks, to no avail,

echo along deserted streets:

predator and prey repeat nature's cycle.

The difference here today

is the lack of balance in the act:

The coyote doesn't have

a level playing field, you see,

for he’s made another enemy.

Artfully, he dances and dodges bullets

sprayed savagely in an empty alley;

miraculously he saves his bony hide,

his meal still dangling in his mouth.

Isn't this much ado about nothing?

Unlike the cat who only kills for pleasure,

the coyote was in need of sustenance:

Now I’m sure, being quite intelligent,

it would have settled for take-out...

if freely, kindly offered,

but it was kitty meat Tuesday again.

Getting A Job

The Government says;

"the people we serve are a resource"

I guess this means,

we are like stocks and bonds:

when we no longer bring in money,

we are cashed-in

to die in some darkened alley.

The Government says,

getting a job is good;

leads to a sense of accomplishment,

provides economic security,

in a fulfilling and independent life:

Yeah, but isn't it more this way:

that fat-cat politicians need taxpayers,

to keep up appearances

and pay back political promises?

The more money a government rakes in,

the fatter the individual "elected official"

can legally get.

Who ever heard of a government

going on a tax diet?


Today I walked among

a spreading field of stones

quite near the fast flowing river

under a cloudy sky.

Dark green trees lined

a far-off bank and above

snow-capped sentinels watched silently;

a gray sheened rippled surface

reflected fast-changing skies

or danced to moody breezes

searching wisps of colour.

Stones crunched and rolled

under my footsteps

and my eyes sought meaning

in such glorious abundance!

Ah, what messages flowed

through my overloaded brain!

Unable to make sense

of all that information,

I called upon my subconscious

to take over and absorb

all the wisdom gathered there

helter-skelter, or so it seemed

until I heard the sound of creation

the cosmic Aum...

I bent down and gathered

a few of these planetary treasures:

just like taking books out

of a well-stocked library.

Marsha and I have already begun

reading through our gleanings.

Inquisition 2000

We who wish to die,

become the victims

of technology's inquisition;

our emaciated bodies,

profits for the System;

our pain,

payment for moral prudes


comfortably in false beliefs.

We become the tortured

chained without hope

to 'death prevention' machines,

kept in endless suffering:

and what is our crime?

Medical insurance and

the last of a few meager savings.

So I say: Inquisitors of technology;

physicians for profit;

let our pain-racked minds

finally rest in peace.

As the saying goes: set our spirits free;

let us return to life;

let us find our new beginning!

Is Earth A Prison?

A stranger's footsteps

lead me down an unfamiliar way:

I realize things now

I never knew I knew!

The question arises:

Is earth a prison?

It seems we are:

we cannot leave at will

but must wait for death.

Surprising how such a thought

makes many people laugh

when I share this belief

and I wonder,

when are earth humans

going to change?

I hear the stranger's voice:

“As long as humans

enjoy their stay in their cell;

as long as they fail to realize

they live within a trap,

in binding, blinding rules

and endless limitations,

they will never try to go

beyond that point.”

For the wheel of karma turns

not in judgment or punishment

but in mindless repetitive turns.

His voice fades into the darkness

but I know what my quest is now:

to discover light travel

so I can freely leave this place,

and that, without any regret

when I know my time has come.

Is There A Doctor?

The doctor reasons thus:

"The sun is shining bright;

I have no patience for my patients:

the ones in the waiting room are too sick,

and if I examine them all

I'll certainly miss my three o'clock golf game,

and that would be a crying shame!"

So the doctor walked boldly

into the waiting room and announced:

"You will all have to get well

without my help today - or die:

either way I'm going golfing."

When he had gone, they realized

it was the Doctor who was sick, not them,

so their so called illnesses

quite naturally left their bodies

to inhabit the Doctor's.

(Oh, and they all lived happily ever after!)

Now the Doctor was forced, you see

to seek help from a Doctor's Doctor

but (you guessed it!)

That Doctor too had gone golfing,

leaving the other one

to die impatiently in his waiting room.

Is there a happy ending? Of course:

a doctor's funeral (after a good round of golf)

is always an appropriate affair!


A law for this, a law against that:

is there anything that isn't wrapped up in some law?

Today's concern, and what a concern that is-

is about the legalization of pot -

there's those that want it de-criminalized

and those that claim it's another addictive drug

and there's those like me who couldn't care less -

I mean, I can't even inhale a puff of the legal poison!

What good would it do to legalize pot?

What good does it do to legalize or criminalize

anything at all?

As long as humans need laws to live by

its obvious they haven't grown up much

and insist on acting like a bunch of children.

Do we need laws at all?

That's the question we should be asking:

because those who make the laws

are the greatest criminals of all

and live by breaking most of them

one way or another - why should we trust them

to tell us how we should live our lives?

Go ahead, smoke your pot;

drink your booze; inhale that cigarette smoke...

rape, kill, lie, cheat, steal, brag, threaten...

Who are you hurting in the end?

And if a law stops you, what good is that?

You'll just wait for another opportunity

for you will never learn your lesson

if laws keep holding you back,

slapping you on the hand when you are bad.

Leave It To The Universe?

Just leave it to the Universe,

your dreams will come true!

Hey, it's easy come and easy go:

and why should anybody care?

Are these advocates of mental turpitude

afraid to take the bull by the horns?

Afraid to make something less than perfect?

Afraid of judgment, or too lazy to try?

They sit around waiting for the Universe

To create something beautiful for them...

Dreams come true for me

I created, I shaped, I worked them,

pushed them out of my mind --

the gifts I gave myself and the world

were not accidents or happenstance;

the will of some unknown entity

hiding out there beyond the stars,

sometimes benevolent, sometimes malevolent;

sometimes solvent, sometimes not!

(and I've seen many an individual

who claimed his 'god' would provide,

die sad and sick and broke...

and what does that say of their faith?)

If, as they say, it is meant to be

I know very well, it is up to me

I see no one else waiting to take my place

At the proverbial wheel.

Life Support System

We have sheltered ourselves

from the driving rain,

hiding from nature's cleansing tears;

we traded her reality,

lost touch, were blinded,

got all wrapped up in smog,

in the unreality of our

man-made environment

stuffing our cravings

to lonely misery and endless torture

for those lives we ruined

with our selfish ways.

Our senseless destruction

of a paradise world

blanks out visions of nature

that once filled our hearts:

they shall remain shrouded now

until we realize our mayhem

is killing our beautiful,

our only planet:

isn't it time to park this vehicle

we have been joyriding so recklessly?

We are out of control

a short time and all will bleed

the life support system

is taxed beyond the max.

Life's Dream

Night shadows dissipate

in dawn's enchanted songs;

of nature's carefree ways.

Gently she arouses

dormant passions,

intense emotions.

A brilliant light bursts

in my mind's eye:

I see beyond the tunnel

along a path long abandoned.

Now offered freely to my feet,

I choose to follow

this path of life,

this statement of love.

In her garden of flowers;

amidst fragrances unnamed;

my soulmate, my true love

rises to greet me

and remembrance sweeps over me

as her embrace consumes

infinite love's desire.

If I were to be asked,

“What is life about?”

I would respond simply by reading

this poem.

Life’s Path

In the footsteps of the Cosmic breeze,

a soul has blossomed on flowers of rain

who now walks upon ridges of spirit cliffs:

he’s the one who knows, the watcher.

But below, where life’s path is still an arduous choice,

another cries for freedom but finds it not.

Here life calls for unceasing shifts in seasonal changes;

youth’s strength fails with Spring’s passing,

followed by sweaty toil in broiling Summer’s heat.

Comes Autumn’s cool but brief relief

only to be followed by more vagaries

and the uncertain hardships of Winter’s ice and snow

when finally one’s body is laid low.

One can go through these manifold changes,

finding satisfaction in accomplishments and survival,

yet remain quite blind to the greater flow of life

that could be found within an awakened human heart.

A life of pleasure, of angst, of passion, of success:

what does that prove, if all around

injustice and sorrow still rule under the passing sun

and under a moonless darkness, death

brings forth the blackest night?

Yes, death must come, a thief in the night

to steal away all that was accomplished in time -

others will buy the musty manuscripts

on which some great life was scribed or scribbled -

but who so lived will have no choice

but to return upon the wheel to try again, try again!

Each time hoping to find that magic key

that unlocks the door to freedom from

the very last spasm of fate’s desire.

Managing Wildlife

We manage wildlife

as if it were a crop;

as if animals had no feelings

and no preference of habitat

or special needs involving

unknown symbiotic relationships.

Experts with a few years of study

will assert they know

what took nature

ten million years to produce:

our tax dollars at work!

I have one more complaint:

as long as a single hunter

is given a license to kill

not out of need

but for sport,

read: sadistic pleasure,

nature will continue to disappear

beyond the reach

of even the most sophisticated plans:

the ghostly howl of the wolf

will remain a distant memory.

It's simply ignorant to believe

nature's only purpose is to serve

man's selfish, often insane, desires.

It is equally ignorant not to see

the killing of wildlife

leads to the killing of all life.

Saving Humanity

While sitting on a park bench

overlooking a grey restless sea

bringing its tide against the rocks

a wrinkled old fellow walked up

he sat next to me

and carefully propped his cane

where he could take it up again.

He looked at me with piercing blue eyes;

I couldn't tell if he was amused

or terribly sad about something he knew.

He stared at the waves for some time.

Of a sudden, he turned and said,

let me present you with a hypothesis:

Say you could save the lives of a million people

simply by going over to that mother there

and killing the baby she is holding:

would you do it? Could you do it?

I was shocked at the thought he presented,

and I blurted out: “Of course not!

Do you think I am some kind of monster?”

He looked deep into my eyes and said:

“Oh, but you must be a greater monster

that even you could ever imagine

for each day on your planet

over thirty thousand innocent children die

of totally preventable famine and related causes.

Do you not care about those?

When you fill your plate, when you buy gas;

when you vote or go to church: do you not see them?

Do you think because you are not putting bloody hands

around their tiny throats,

you are not a perpetrator of this horror?

If you are not the one responsible,

can you tell me who is? I'd like to talk to that one.”

Then he got up and walked away.

The Sasquatch

Some bold folks

(And some eager for notoriety)

claim to have seen evidence

of our local invisible friend:

the elusive ghostly Sasquatch

presumed to roam the mountains

of the Pacific North West.

There are those who say

it's just a hoax upon the gullible

conjured up by media-crazy people

dressing up in gorilla suits

and plywood sandals.

Be that as it may, and possible

but many are those who only believe

when they see mules fly in the sunset

and even then,

they'll say it's a trick of the light

a movement of clouds in the wind...

Question is: what harm can come

from believing in the Sasquatch,

or his kin, the Yeti? For that matter

Or the much abused Nessie of Loch Ness?

Is it possible as has been claimed

these gentle creatures reveal themselves

but to those whose hearts are purer,

filled with innocence and burning desire

simply to understand?

Smoke That Banishes Sleep

(Note on the title: “I am the smoke that banishes sleep in the night”

is a line from Frank Herbert’s “Dune” novels.

In Fremen talk it means, “I am the bringer of bad news – you must listen to me”)

With the exactitude

of finely tuned clockwork

grey harbingers of night

fill nooks and crannies

streets and alleys

river beds and green valleys

As heavy smoke

that banishes sleep

in the dead of night

darkness follows

haloed in street lamps

garish signage

ever searching headlights

Late night beckons

where nothing ever sleeps

fitful slumbers at best found

awaiting the nightmare

left pending at dawn

Where it all began

is where it all begins again

Stop And Think!

Is it really so wrong

that one of nature's mammals

kills a human being?

Let's stop and think

if only for a moment:

we feel the need to control

to protect our space;

we freely kill wildlife infringing

upon our claim to the world

so if we infringe upon their space

why can't they in turn

defend their own territory,

their home, if they feel threatened?

We claim to believe in justice

so it seems a simple thing to understand:

we are all a part of nature,

nature is a part of us

so if we wantonly, unjustly destroy,

inexorable laws of our physical order

state that over time

we must destroy ourselves:

physicists call it entropy,

others, recycling.

"I wonder: are we so big and mighty,

or just small, selfish fragments

tossed from the cosmos?”

Summer Wind

Summer wind,


summer breeze

on a blue day

a white

fluffy day

gentle breeze

playing a song

I love to hear:

a song

of waves

on oceans I've

never seen;

of exotic trees

of places I'll

never know;

of sweet-scented pines

in deep-set canyons

where mighty rivers

thunder white;

of snow melts

in the high sierras;

of birds soaring,

of geese and eagles,

of the albatross:

I eagerly hold out

my spirit's hand

to receive your gift

and I learn

about a world

where all is




where all is


a world that was...

(but so long ago,

how can I know?)

a world that will be


For I learned this

in my wanderings

summer wind:

that your lovely gift

your touching song

is incomplete

without a measure




you are strong

you are true

full of riddles

of parables

of stories

you can bring

two lovers

standing on a seashore

closer together

you can herd

the clouds

as sheep

placing the rainfall

where you will


you cannot answer

my question

the question


I appreciate your gift

summer wind


let me add it

to my hope

that you and I

may be complete


Slowly Passes Old Time (In Eternal Night)

"Yes" I replied somewhat hesitant

to the question (no one had asked) --

it seemed proper to answer the silence:

questions unanswered get lonely.

"No" I replied a bit louder this time

to the same question (still not asked)

and listened for something stirring,

hidden perhaps before the next plane.

The moon silently slips behind a pall of smoke

and nothing walks beyond the ashes of the day.

A haunted wind hunts in darkened fields

chasing forth the too common smell of death.

"You answered wrong" (rasps the fetid wind)

scything through broken, shattered stalks--

it wasn't a "yes" or a "no" question:

only those once alive here asked these.

Will the soft-hued moon ever appear again?

Will a radiant dawn light this empty valley?

Will a blazing sun drench the mountains?

Slowly passes Old Time in eternal night.

Silent Scream

Across my void

a silent scream pierces

someone's heart:

is it mine?

How should I know

having been born

O! So many times in time

for who is 'me'?

I do not know, I just remain

the Primal Scream

the Silence that shatters

the glass of time.

What is it?



Fulness or emptiness?

How can I know

when all I can do is Scream

and no one hears...

except me.




coming together;


joining of spirits as



experience of inner





the heart,

touching every

living thing!


not evil

nor sinful,

but simple, natural




The Image Maker

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

so it has been said.

But what is the source of beauty?

Nature is the maker of images

but not the creator of beauty

for beauty lies in the realm of perception.

It was man who, upon experience of ecstasy

thought beauty into existence.

It was man who said: thou art lovely my love

and thus elevated the mundane

into the realm of the sublime.

It was man who trapped himself

into thoughts higher than himself

and found he could not live

according to the visions he gave himself

from a world he could not comprehend

but could only sense.

Thus man cursed himself to die

burning from within with fire,

with a desire and a passion unquenchable

for in his human nature

as received from his own creator

he could never hope to fulfill

the thoughts he created of himself.

Thus it is now man's gift to re-create himself

from his passion and his desires,

with his awakened sense of beauty,

into a new beingness, a new creation -

no longer dependent upon another for life

but utterly upon himself - alone:

Man, having reached his Omega point

empowers himself to become the Alpha.

Plenty Of Thought

Today I heard of much

(and of too much)

and talk ran wild with speculation

on abundance and plenty

and when is it too much?

What is too much?

Few every think they have too much,

much more likely are they

to seek more and more...

and as it piles up

they call it abundance...

But abundance is not material!

it is a state of mind only.

One who is never satisfied

will never know abundance.

And what of too much?

How does one know could one know

what constitutes too much?

Now that's a simple question:

consider the one who has the least

living upon your world:

anyone possessing more

indeed, has too much.

And how does one get out

from under the curse of too much

in relation to another?

That too is a simple question:

Share. Share all good things.

Share until the cows come home...

and share the cows also.

Measure Of Injustice

In the cool dawn of the rain forest

I walk by the sea along a sinewy trail

winding through cedar and arbutus;

the morning sun comes up

over the horizon's curvature;

waves clap their delight

in rocky crevices deep below

as gulls cry upon the wind.

My mind wanders and I think:

will the people of Earth

ever learn the real nature

of what they call 'money'?

Will they come to understand

before it destroys them

and their so pretty planet?

As if the very stones spoke

I hear this thought in my head:

“As long as there is a system

that creates poor and rich

there will always be a currency,

some kind of measure,

by which levels of injustice

may be factored with profitability.

Such is always a necessity

in any unjust society.”

Mental Illness

In my travels

I came across this statement:

“The foundation of all mental illness

is avoidance of legitimate suffering.”

A staggering thought!

Put in perspective, one must ask

What is 'legitimate suffering'?

Is any suffering ever legitimate?

Or have we been programmed

to accept it as such?

If suffering was legitimate

no one would seek to avoid it -

that's simple logic.

That people would avoid suffering

indicates it is not 'legitimate'

but some un-natural imposition.

Of course, now come the therapies:

the drugs, the counselling sessions,

not to mention complaints and blame.

When the suffering continues

despite these efforts to eradicate it

then yes, likely it turns into psychoses -

mental illness.

No Two The Same

No two snow flakes

no two rain drops

no two grains of sand

no two thoughts, even!

no two ever the same

in the Universal expanse

perhaps even beyond

no two anything the same!

The forces of creation

do not clone life

but are ever moved

to create the original.

Do not be surprised

do not be shocked

at surrounding disparity:

it is nature's way!

Old Train

That old train -

it's still running through my mind

polluting my thoughts

weakening my passion:

I want it to break down;

to go off the track somewhere;

somewhere far, far away from me!

I want to walk freely in my mind

and not be dragged along the old ways,

however well-worn, however acceptable.

I'm tired of beliefs that go nowhere;

of teachings that chase their tails;

of life purchased with death.

I want to see the real beauty surrounding me -

but that old train keeps clattering on

and me, still in the same old seat

watching the same old scenery go by.

An old man comes down the aisle

and he sits beside me, smiling to himself:

he is not looking at the scenery -

in fact, he seems not to be on the train

for his eyes are clear and far-seeing.

He leans over and says to me:

“Wish all you want

but until you let go

the train won't stop

for you are not in control.”

He lifted his arm and the train stopped -

I chose to jump off with him

and I found myself quite alone

in a quite alien land.

But at least the damned train

has stopped rattling in my head

and I'm free to go my own way.


Marriage - definition:

a religion / state

sanctioned social relationship,

artificially constructed;

packaged and sold:

a bill of goods.

Who has ever truly found this

to fulfill the in love-ness

of the first meeting?

Ever consider this?

We accept, accept, accept,

never asking who benefits?

We marry, we pay taxes, we vote:

must do the 'right' thing after all.

But what about the obvious?

Rampant divorce,

family breakups and breakdowns,

as fast as the 'I do' passes the lips!

Sign of new freedom or disaster?

I say: let it be!

No sense flogging a dead horse:

it won't run any faster.

Have the party

let her wear the pretty white dress

don't make any promises

no one has ever really kept!

On Society’s Fringe

For unpopular beliefs

one often must hide

on society’s fringe.

A traitor to the System

is his label:

judgment and condemnation

follow swiftly

to assure permanent downfall:

conservative minds

of variegated hues rejoice:

another scapegoat

– a godsend –

to hide pop failures behind!

Unlike preachers, politicians

and paymasters of the day

he shall have no entitlement

to society’s largesse.

No vestment of silken holiness;

no fat retirement bonus;

no well-filled trough


No front-page mention:

His name to be expunged

from our sacred history!

On The Edge Of Time

Outside of time and space

a vision waits:

the spirit's next trek

beyond the known, the (questionable)

comfort zone of Earth home.

As the albatross

flying high above the storms

the spirit wanders, searches

for another world, another life

another experience

to which nature

has mapped the way.

Spirit awakens, encourages

the seeker on his quest,

enriching body and mind.

He learns to practice wisdom

with deep understanding of life

as energy in motion,

not something to be judged.

In his quest,

the knower remembers;

in remembering,

the knower knows again.

Possessed By Desire

They pronounced “Failure”

and stamped it in their records:

it was to be my legacy.

I never would qualify

to compete in their rat race:

they made sure I understood

that I was “Different!”

Time passed and I played the game

by their rules:

I had been assigned

a proper Place in the Order of the Land!

I remained what they made me

until I realized

it's their negative judgment

feeding in vicious circles

that trap those who are “different”

inside the maze of “Failure.”

I learned to defy the odds,

to forge on, run with the moon,

embrace both light and darkness

and while society slept in smug assurance,

I confronted the ghosts of fear;

and set my own spirit free.

I discovered I possessed the desire

which neither weakness

nor society's glib forecast of failure

can ever hope to stop.

I moved through rock slides of doubt,

blizzards of confusion, floods of setbacks

proving to myself, if not to the world


is a subjective subject!


Aliens (so-called by humans)

do possess a sense of humor--

or perhaps, a sense of propriety

and neighborly concern:

I know

for as I traveled

in pure consciousness

outside earth's outer atmosphere

I saw this sign up there

translated in several languages,

not of earth, of course, but

understandable to all and

this is what it said:

ADVICE! from Galactic Headquarters

to all space travelers entering this zone:

the blue one is planet earth, ancient

galactic insane asylum.

Its occupants are still very dangerous,


Its quarantine has not been lifted yet.

If you value your sanity, or your life,

don't go down there!

Think of your wives and children,

for God's sake!

(an out-of-mind experience

as related by the Laughing Poet)

Searching For The Key

Millennia and the search goes on

for the key to healing:

a key we believe exists

but that remains hidden.

Perhaps as it is with the body,

so must it be with the planet

with the solar system,

with the universe!

Perhaps when that is realized

we can begin speaking

about healing.

How effective is it

to heal someone today

only to have death

claim them tomorrow?

Perhaps healing begins

with an understanding of death:

what is the cause of death?

Do we know?

We know death is not a disease;

nor is it a combination of such;

it can be accidental, slow or sudden;

it can be desired and chosen.

Death is termination

of bodily functions.

But why?

By what law does death rule?

Perhaps we need to ask

do planets die?

Do suns die?

Do galaxies and universes die

as the human body dies?

For if they do,

no healing shall we ever find

on this world alone:

healing must happen

on a cosmic level.

Is that the Key?


A breath of autumn lingers

among quieted evergreens

opening upon an alpine meadow.

Flowers of gold and purple

still bloom here

as the sun rises in the morning sky:

I stand in one enchanted moment

here perhaps for the last time...

I remember walks like this,

when the Spring Maiden walked barefoot

in the melting snows;

we shared our love in this place

we created with our passions,

worlds fit for children

but the hot winds of summer,

swept her away on their thermals

and I chose to stay

with the children of our love.

The crest of a rocky ledge

shimmers in the heat of the day:

a woman of long black hair

and purposeful demeanor

walks deliberately towards me.

The instant binds us, our arms embrace:

from a different place and another time,

we turn a new page, a new chapter

unfolds endless possibilities.

The September Lady returns

to warm my nights once more!

The Measure Of A Man

A man walks above the forest,

over lush alpine meadows

when his instinct tells him

he's being watched.

He looks up to see a cougar

crouching on an outcropping

eyeing him.

Frightened, he freezes,

studying the movements

of this powerful predator:

would the animal pounce?

As he readies himself

to fight for his life

he hears the cougar's thoughts

float gently through

his subconscious mind,

reassuring him:

“Do not fear:

walk with understanding

and everything for you

will blend in perfect harmony;

I am only your companion!”

How many times

have we not heard that same voice

of reason and understanding

call to us

from nature's heart?

How often have we heard

and heeded the voice of spirit

calling to the soul

or in ignorant fear,

run from the voice or

destroy its source?

The Sun's Touch

Dew-covered alpine flowers

gently open to receive the sun's energy,

making their colours more vibrant,

strengthening their grasp upon life

though but for a season.

But humans have come to fear

their planet''s sun;

they hide their skins in clothes

on sun-drenched beaches,

and if skin must be exposed,

quickly they baste with toxic lotions

costly sun-screens to complement

the necessary umbrella.

What to make of this?

Where does the fear originate?

In boardrooms of course.

What feeds this fear to the world?

ad agencies, naturally.

What gives it impetus?

Thousands of years of training,

of brain washing,

of belief systems liberally ladled

with great helpings of such as

bogey men and vengeful gods

eager to punish those who think

they can run naked and free.

Skin cancer: a curse - a cause?

The result of deliberate tampering

with the environment

for control and long-term profit?

Who cares about victims?

The science to kill exists, it makes money,

- therefore it must be used!

Protected skin becomes weak;

a body untouched by sun, wind or rain

becomes a stranger on the land.

Once we walked with the great elements -

fire, air, water and earth... once

we worshipped that which gives life:

no more - hope dies where faith lies

in such artificial ways:

a child knows that much.

The Watcher’s Tale

A cartoon world drives past

Va-Room, Boom-Boom

Thrummmm... rummmmm!

Mindless and braindead

the little “they” drive on by,

pointlessly heedless; heedlessly pointless.

Illegal noise? Well, yes,

Unenforceable? Well, yes, also.

Someone’s making

bikeloads, truckloads of

Holy Mullah, hey?

Justification fully legalized: greed.

(then there’s the sex thing,

compensation for little weanies,

and other misdemeanours),

Complaints? Well, yes, lots.

Election issue?

Ah, now we’re talking.


put their BIG HEADS together,

(do not confuse with little heads).

THEIR IT devised a program.

Drones swooped unseen

along the boomevard homing

in on decibels: 90+ and

scalpel-sharp discs removed heads,

did anyone notice?

Predictably no.

Who needs a head in the 21st Century

but for drinking beer, smoking pot,

ogling porn, selectively swearing?

The hand has the middle finger.

For the rest, we have technology



God bless Americanada!

There And Back

I feel I'm on the verge

of getting out of prison;

out of my comfort zone.

A long journey beckons,

far away from this place.


I don't know

I don't really care:

Like the man said

I'll be back!

(Coming back:)

I don't really know

if that's the good news

I've been living for:

but when I come back

it is my hope

I'll remember this:

to live a fuller version

of what is called "life"

and leave worry and stress

well enough alone!

I know this much,

and I'm taking it with me:

that life's meant to be lived

not endured, not cheated

definitely not survived!

The Hitch Hiker

I can quite imagine her,

standing on the road side, defiantly

smiling, slim arm stretched out, thumb up,

lips pursed as if saying: “Hey, it's my life!

If you don't like it, get out of my way!”

scorn for common sense darting

from flashing black eyes,

flowing hair blown back thickly

as trucks rumble past.

Defiant, she would have been

yet as vulnerable to evil

as she was beautiful, daring, unwise.

I drove into the city early this morning,

the road as empty as the desert.

No startling youthful mirage

appeared standing on the highway,

only the sun, sand and burning asphalt

linked ones thoughts with the horizon...

At breakfast, I scanned the morning papers

for any news of one little fool.

I heard some talk in the truck stop:

some who saw her yesterday

(who could forget the sight?)

admitted they had been afraid

of complications if they stopped,

so they knew no more than I.

No news is good news, they say:

guess I'll book a room at Motel 6

park my rig, rent a car and tonight

I'll go look about the streets

for a raven-haired rebel in mini-skirt

plying her trade along the boulevards.

Maybe one more time lucky... or not

I'll find her there again.

Train Of Progress

By spilled blood oiled;

by captive dreams driven;

by stacks of green pulp fed,

the mad train of progress,

carrying its privileged passengers

at warp speed to nowhere,

charges madly along its finite ochre track

laid down by worker-slaves moonlighting.

A rumbling shakes the earth;

black smoke belches in the evening sky;

a mournful whistle blows:

for all must see, all must hear

the passage of that awful train

of progress...

A patient earth

has endured many long years

since the tracks were first laid

and the train set in motion

to encircle the planet in a vise-like grip:

but lo! Where have they gone,

those hallowed times

of progress?

Only a skeleton crew remains

in desperation seeking

to keep the mad machine rolling.

Many passengers have had to dis-embark

as their stacks of green pulp became ashes;

the flow of innocent blood is fast drying up,

and many a captive has broken free

of the baleful hypnotic eye.

Denied its lies, its blood, its green pulp

the train is slowing down

as a refreshing wind blows gently

over the earth's healing wounds

sowing peace and harmony

in its wake

but sitting sadly on a rusting track

the morbid still bemoan the passing

of that killer train

of progress!

The Crossing Dream

A branch falls on the forest floor,

released by a passing storm...

at dawn, the WindWalker

walks softly, barefoot, through the trees,


noticing the gift left

from tree and storm,

he carefully bends it into a circle.

With delicate hands,

he pulls out the silvery thread

gleaned from the bark of trees

and weaves a spider's web,

a dream catcher.

He performs a graceful elemental dance

accompanied by richly flowing chants,

and ancient rituals

while holding the web to the rising sun,

to capture her dream.

Using the gentle breath

of deep concentration,

he enters the manifestation trance.

As love vibrates

the sparkling, living dream catcher,

the transformation completes

and she opens her eyes

to her new life.


What is Life

but a series of transitions,

all interconnected?

Imagine a couple

blissfully paddling a canoe

on the edge of a quiet lake.

Suddenly, the canoe

is pulled down a hidden stream

and bouncing through white water:

Disaster seems certain for those two

but not so fast:

skilled at life,

they know a trick or two!

Down the raging stream,

screaming in white water,

laughing at the dangers.

See? They've been here before!

What for some

is certain disaster

is for others

but an easy transition.

No magic,

no 'luck,'

no protection

from some God or angel or guide:

Just skill and common sense.

These are changing times;

old things getting cranky:

time to practice

transitional skills.

True Love

True love likely will never be found

in a roadside bar

or within the complicated maze

of dating games,

or by spending your last dollar

on the date line.

True love stands tall

in a lush green forest

touched gently by the rising sun

on a clear summer day.

True love is light rain falling

on open valleys and rolling hills

touching all of life softly

with each silver drop.

True love arches across the sky,

a multicoloured rainbow

bringing tears to the eyes

and a flutter to the heart.

True love, like great sex,

does not come in a bottle:

avoid false promises

of everlasting love lurking

within the covers of a magazine:

take a walk in the sunshine

take another in the rain,

then try it in the snow

or a wind storm might do it:

love who you are...

the rest just happens!

Thoughts On The Rodeo

Winter's almost over:

time once again for the rodeo

where man rides bucking broncos,

or powerful, angry bulls

to prove to himself he reigns supreme

over dumb show animals.

This may seem strange to you,

but as I walked past the pens

where the horse and the bull were being held

I overheard their conversation:

"Well, Sam, (that was horse talking to bull:)

what do you think of that first rider?"

"I don't know if I should let him stay

or make a real fool of him yet!

What about you?"

"My rider's a hack! I'm going to fix him:

he likes to use spurs, and that hurts."

"What're you going to do, Cliff?"

"Buck him off right away, then give him

the old double back kick, right where it'll

hurt the most and the longest!"

"Where'd you learn those mean tricks, Cliff?"

"Where'd you think? From them, of course!

I'm only doing what they do to each other."

"As animals, don't you think we should be above that?"

"Why? They don't deserve any better. I hate them!"

"Hate is pretty strong stuff, Cliff. I'd leave it

to the humans, if I were you.

Life's too short to indulge in that sickness!"

...and at that point

I slunked away like a whipped dog:

no more rodeo for me...

Tug Boats

Tirelessly, endlessly,

day in, day out

they chug their way

up, then down

the course of the river

seeking payloads:

--huge booms of logs--

to haul into

the gaping maws of giant mills

never satisfied, never filled:

a ceaseless labour

to what end?

The men who labour on the tugs

--so strong and friendly--

so ready to give help when needed:

what are they thinking of

travelling thus

as Atlas burdened

forever it would seem

back and forth

back and forth?

I could guess their thoughts

but I would rather not

(so let me tell you what I think:)

these dead logs herded

down the mighty river

were a forest once

where countless things

did live

--happy and free since time began--

the things that live there

live no more

(whatever we may prefer to believe:

look at the sky!)

in giant booms

their coffins float

to hungry mills:

The men who fall the forest

–what can they do?

they watch the things die

and run away

from their homes

as they

hack, buck, choke,

pile, load, dump,

box, float, drag--

and obediently deliver

into gaping maws

of insatiable mills


ever more, ever more.

They are helpless now

for they believed

and for their due, received

the mark of the beast

by which, to live

one must destroy

to profit another:

a heartless, spiritless

inhuman creature

whose veins twisted, bloated

run with black ink,

whose blood is the green

of envy and jealousy:

the World Trade Merchant

seeking profit at any cost:

servant of a Dark Lord

who aims to make of us all

slaves and destroyers.

Now I ask you this

if you care at all--

Is it too late

to find another way?

too late to repent, to change

to rescind

an ignorantly-made allegiance

to a power gone mad?

Can we return

to simple love-energy?


have we crossed

the very last boundary

the very last hope

by our own

insatiable lust?

Unfettered As The Wind

To the giant cathedrals

in the ancient, timeless forest

I took her.

Her frail body wracked

by pains she no longer could bear,

I laid gently among the roots

of an ageless fir whose top was lost

in the morning mist...

Though she no longer spoke in words,

I listened for her goodbye, her final wisdom

and as her breath ceased to flow

it was through her eyes

that she expressed her desire

that I, in love, allow her

to take death's gentle hand.

Impossible it is to speak

of the void filling my heart in this moment

as a mist from a nearby waterfall

mixes its tears with mine:

together we cry our loss.

After the vigil, I leave her earth body

gently covered with silt, soil and wet green mosses

knowing that in earth's long awaited Spring

she will give birth to sweet scented new life...

thus do I take comfort in my pain.

Now, her spirit freed, she paints the sky

glorious shades of cosmic colours,

Her laughter, the song of her life

instills renewed joy within my heart.

As darkness falls, I turn my eyes to the stars

and a sudden gust of wind touches my skin.

It is her spirit leaving earth,

unfettered as the wind,

off to places we knew in times long past:

I resume my journey

and no regrets for having known her.


Many are we, too many,

cowed by rules and taboos;

living in fear, resenting, abhorring,

coercing children from exploring

sexuality’s natural state.

Many are we, too many,

lost in webs of deceit and mockery,

while our sexuality is crushed,

bought and sold as just another commodity

in earth’s cancerous marketplace.

Many are we, too many,

who curse a divine gift;

who see it as obscene, pornographic,

or a precursor to violence

unless encased in an institution

Many are we, too many

who so misuse our sexuality;

thinking it is but for personal pleasure;

for procreation or for profit,

yet still call it making love.

There Were Violets

There were violets, I remember,

violets in the fields;

I remember well, violets.

They’re beautiful

I remember thinking.

It was easy, I was a child:

An innocent may walk

even past the gates of hell

and they cannot prevail.

The violets, I remember,

waved in unison

in a warm afternoon breeze,

smiling at me under the sun.

I wore a straw hat

mother made me wear.

Careful to keep it on, always

mother said,

I did not have to ask why.

I sat down among the violets.

They said something odd,

or so I thought

because I did not understand.

What does that mean,


we feed upon the flesh

of dead men?

Touching Your Heart

Flowers open

welcoming the morning sun;

birds chatter happily;

you come towards me,

across a golden meadow,

welcoming me into your arms.

I lose myself in your kisses.

I lay you gently upon the meadow,

in awe of your divine body;

slowly I enter your secret place

and you scream with joy,

with the moment's passion

as my love touches your heart.

We spend a day

in the garden of the gods,

talking low, laughing,

running with the wind:

until the setting of the sun.

We cuddle by crackling embers,

where the dawn will find us

ready for more love.

Time And Consequences

No matter which rule I try to bend

you are Time and no one's friend

and does that make you my enemy?

For if it does, and you go my way

step by step on this endless journey

woe is me, most certainly

for I must love you, that I must

but how in you can I put my trust?

Long ago, 'tis said, the Master taught

if you would live meaningfully,

then learn to love your enemy.

I see you smiling at my confusion

I quite understand your derision

for omnipresent you believe you are

and even were I to find my star

and there think from you to hide

'twould not be so, you would abide

Correct me on this, if I'm wrong

if for a greater freedom I long

that time becomes for me the 'All'

that whatever I find, small or tall

I accept the joy, I accept the sorrow

though it be in happiness or in woe

I drop the very last of pretenses

taking life with her consequences.


Truth is like love:

very hard to nail it down to something specific.

But this is worth considering if “truth” is something valid.

Think of it as information: where does it comes from?

If I am not the author of my information,

then how do I know it is truth? I never will.

And that's the problem with such concepts.

Those who go “without” to find their truth

will always continue to go without

for such truth must be bought, it is never free.

But there is more to this.

What happens when a thousand people

read "truth" from the same book?

They cease to function individually;

they become as “clones”

not of one mind, but of no mind,

for the information is not theirs,

it continues to belong to the “author” -

the one who sells it - the promoter.

That one is empowered for a moment,

if only financially,

but the rest of his readers, sycophants

are totally dis-empowered in the process.

Proof of this is found in any church, temple, mosque

or other place of "worship" on this world.

Are these people better than others?

Are they more enlightened? More loving?

More understanding? More intelligent?

More compassionate?


Vision Of A Woman

Through the coming storm

I feel, I see, a mighty vision

of a beautiful, powerful woman:

unlike any I've ever known,

her wisdom, her love, she shares

with any one who dares.

In my visions I feel this love,

as powerful as a prairie storm;

as mighty as a flooding river;

as gentle as a Summer breeze

over flowered meadows;

as shape-shifting as waves

shaping a sandy shore;

as pure as crystal waters

from a mountain spring;

as soft as a bed of green moss;

I can feel her now

as I walk out behind the storm:

in the freshness of the air;

arriving with the emerging sun

to greet my heart, to share a day

in the great harmony.

She will go, I know,

to gift a hungry world waiting;

with the power to create change

within the vagaries of life

and I let her go,

without any sense of loss

for she abides in my heart.

Voice Of The Soul

A wind, I thought of doom, blew

through spectral trees in a deep wood:

fear gripped me as a vise

and I was wondering if what I’d heard

was true: there really is something evil

haunting these ancient woods.

A flash of lightning, a slim figure dashes

between swaying branches

then a crash: I start to run,

but the next flash of light

throws the figure's shadow in front me;

I trip and tumble down a steep embankment

to land on a bed of rounded stones among ivy:

I’m dead, I thought

whatever is chasing me will surely find me now

as I lie here, paralyzed with pain and fear.

Why did I come here on such a stormy night?

Was I bewitched in a dream?

Did some unknown evil force entice me here

to destroy me?

I heard the snap of twigs breaking above:

I thought surely it has found me

and now will claim my life!

I took a few deep breaths

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