Excerpt for I Move The Clock Of Time 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 picture: Maxime Perron Caissy

Picture found on FreeImages.com

Space Picture: ESA/Hubble

I hope you enjoy these writings. Feedback is welcome.



A Delightful Vision

From There? Then to Here? Now I Made it to the City

A Song To Love

A Seeker’s Answer

A Thought

Aging And Dying

Enjoyment Of Life

Freedom Of Choice

Gentle Angel

Creating Diseases


Life Within Gaia

Who Shall I Say?


Dream Infinity

Essence Of Woman


Alpine Meadows

Dream To Dream

Eating Passion's Fruit

I Dream Another Tomorrow

How Long

Life Remains Choice

Love Affair

Summer Love

Strange Corners

Heart And Passion

Angel Of Love

'Autumn Musings'

Autumn Sunset

Leaves Dancing

Let There Be Light

Life In Life

I Move The Clock Of Time

I Love You

I Choose My Choice

Love Letters In The Sand

Goddess Of Paradise

Loving Freely

Giving Or Taking?

Hold Back The Tears

Celtic Twilight



Memories That Shine


My Lover

Natural Beauty

Night Fall

Oh, Love!

On Marriage (And Other Foolish Things)

Along The Path (Of The Good Old Days)


Geese, Marsha And I

Freedom From Need

Gentle Waves

The Gift Of Life

Northern Lights

On Healing

Divine Beauty

Expression Of Freedom

Welcome Midnight Old Friend

The Birth Of New Love

Discernment (And Experience)

Elysian Fields

Raging River

Reflecting Walls

You Are Loved!

Sparrow Song

One Last Wish


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 Delightful Vision

She walks an alpine meadow,

dressed in wild flowers;

exuding the fragrance

of mountain soil

blown gently by a southern breeze.

She wears the sun in her hair,

painting stones in gold;

she floats on butterfly wings,

dancing amongst

glowing anemones.

I stand still,

full of wonder and awe

as she approaches:

she does not look at me,

but smiles an impish smile

as her gown of illusion

slips off her shoulders

and floats freely in the wind...

There she stands

in her full glory:

What shall it be?

I feel the pull of her passion,

yet unsure am I

whether to approach, to touch?

Should I... touch her

or will this vision too, vanish

as swiftly as little white clouds

forming over a mountain side?

From There? Then to Here?

Now I Made it to the City


Coal fired train on seeming endless track

knifes through boundless fields of pure white snow;

long wails rise and fall in pitch across an emptiness

accompanied by rhythmic clattering of frozen steel:

black rails, black wheels support a black worm

wreathed in billowing, lingering black smoke

until the breathless silence reclaims its domain

fresh snow covering the lizard's filthy trail.


Can such memories of childhood co?occupy

the same now?mind painfully contemplating

the endless snarling streets of the sleepless city

tumbling into choked and stagnant waters

eating the crumbling flesh of dying mountains?


How the child of then longed to get on that train

and ride to the great port city not yet heard

brawling, wailing, scowling at the end of the land

if only to escape the silent, changeless snows

before life could say, "too late, too late!


Sadly the now?adult shakes a graying head:

what happened to the glowing promises

wailed out of empty ravines each week of passage?

What happened to future fulfillment and happiness

that so surely lay at the end of the line?


What sort of answer can one expect in the mutant noise

from the stinking, moiling, toiling flow of traffic:

a sick beast fighting to claim its dwindling space

upon the grey backs of constricting serpents without lairs

angrily writhing, twisting, criss?crossing -

ever?expanding the boundaries of man's hell?

A Song To Love

To write a song

to love

is difficult

without the notes

without the tools

of songwriters

Yet a song

I have to write

if I'm to write

about my love

for you Marcia

my lover my friend

the rose resting upon my soul

by day by night

you please and you delight

You pleased me on

our very first night

and pleased me since

but to speak of love

is another matter

your love has been

unfaltering and true

a beacon of light

in a stormy sea

you've been steadfast

and sincere

you showed no sign of fear

you took the calm

and took the storms

and came back

to love again

I learned from you

the things of life

that before eluded me

I learned to give and take

and allow for mistakes

I learned to try

to understand

the other points of view

(I'm still learning)

Your love has been

a light to me

your world,

a joy to me

your beauty,

a balm to the eyes

your body

a garden of enchantments

of pleasures

beyond the scope

of mere words:

If ever I were to find

that life ends at death

no paradise to gain

I could say

"So be it"

I've already tasted

heaven in your arms


I wanted you to know.

A Seeker’s Answer

I walk in high mountains;

in troubled thoughts, a seeker lost

upon the snows of time.

In my mind, tomorrow’s storms;

in my eyes, an unshaped, unsure world...

But the wind, my constant companion

of lonely days upon the crags,

shifts and obliterates my old path.

On I must now go, with nothing to see,

but the swirling snows.

I fear to forge ahead

dreading this moving emptiness

in strange, unfamiliar territory.

Could I still turn back, I wonder,

knowing my trail was long lost in drifts...?

A voice in the rising wind

addresses my fear and loneliness:

“To give your life new meaning,

graciously accept all change -

let the rains cleanse your heart of bitterness,

the snows heal your eyes of blindness,

the sun dry those tears of regret

and just let nature guide you gently

upon untrod paths to new adventures.

All of life once was an adventure

man had learned to live to its fullness

‘til he lost his seeking spirit,

his childlike faith and trusting awe;

became time bound, space conscious,

blocked, fenced, cornered, captive,

enslaved and dying

in ever-expanding cities made of pain.”

Eager to escape the common fate,

I looked up and saw a way.

A Thought

Every thought in our mind

goes out into the universe

and thus comes into existence

in one form or another:

we should realize: thoughts create life;

evolution is mind over matter.

If we have the power

to change our mind,

we have the power

to change our world!

Problems are of our own doing,

not our undoing!

Life is ultimately choice,

to live within fear and anger,

or to bask in harmony and joy.

Only these

are the ultimate choices:

we make them daily,

consciously or subconsciously,

and random thoughts

become patches of ice

on what would seem a very clear road!

Aging And Dying

Some tell me they love growing old -

Say what?

What about bad hips, teeth falling out,

bones breaking, hair loss;

sight failure, hearing loss;

is that great?

Some tell me they must get old and die

to leave this planet and go to

"The Other Side."

Ok... the other side:

and what would that be,

if I may be so bold as to ask?

Heaven? Hell? Nirvana?

Lot's of people make the claim

they're on their way to "The Other Side"

even more claim there is no "Other Side"

and what if I don't want to go to any "Other Side"?

(too much like slip-sliding away)

and just want to go on, thank you very much?

The question before us today is:

must pain, suffering and death

be the only path to "enlightenment"?

Is death such a certain thing?

Or is there a way around it? Or through it?

Do I have the answer?

Bet your bottom dollar I don't

but I'm not accepting

what's been offered to date either!

Enjoyment Of Life

Is life on earth meant to be enjoyed?

Doesn't seem to be the case for most

as harsh statistics keep coming to our eyes:

30,000 or so, dying of preventable famine

each and every day. Are these enjoying life?

Seems that concept is not working.

Is life on earth meant to be survived?

You'd think so, by the warring going on;

by resources invested in the military

and yet, how many can honestly claim

they have survived death?

Not fair, some would immediately say:

the military is to make us feel secure

and safe from enemies, not to give eternal life.

OK: how safe are people all over the world?

In Iraq? In the Republic of Congo?

In Afghanistan, even in the USA

with the largest contingent of weaponry

in the entire world?

Another concept at a dead-end.

Maybe it was meant for love and happiness.

Yes: romance leads to happiness.

Wait - what about broken homes?

Family violence and abandoned kids?

Doesn't most of that begin with romance?

So much for good old family values

bringing enjoyment of life.

Well, that leaves the worship of God,

knowing and serving a loving creator:

surely that must lead to fulness of life?

But history, current and old

tells a sad and sadder story of religion.

How many are the victims of divine worship?

Too many to count and the tally is growing.

Freedom Of Choice

As autumn leaves drift in a gust of wind,

landing gently on the ground

or floating away in a nearby stream,

I went back to many years ago.

I was here, on this same bench

reading my Bible, and a young woman

came and sat beside me:

“Tell me,” she asked innocently

Do you really think God gives free choice?”

“Yes, it says so in my Bible:” I replied

she then asked:

“What if you were to be punished

and you were given a choice:

between getting twenty years --

(let’s call that “hell”)

or being set free to go --

(let’s call that heaven);

what choice would you make?”

“Heaven of course” I replied:

then she said “So knowing

there is but one reasonable choice,

how can it be called free choice?

Freedom of choice must mean

you can chose whatever you want

without fear of punishment.”

and I thought her eyes sparkled with mischief -

she smiled at me demurely I thought...

How many beliefs have I let go of since that day?

My heart is lighter, my life brighter.

I no longer cling to the Bible,

or any teaching that keeps people in bondage,

at the mercy of a god of fear and punishment.

As for the young woman and I,

well some time later that day

indulged ourselves in one

of those heavenly sinful pleasures.

and to my surprise (but not to hers)

the god of the Bible

neither did nor said a thing!

Gentle Angel

Gentle angel

ancient being of children's dreams,

comforter of the afflicted

cradling the dying in tenderness:

you follow our meandering paths

throughout our fitful lives;

listening to our ignorance,

washing our endless cursings

in a sea of tears.

Though you turn your head in sorrow

you cannot ward the blows

our insults throw at you,

for you are the cosmic empath

the one who for companion,

chose love

before it all began.

Creating Diseases

What do we know of pharmaceutical companies?

We know their business is making money.

We know they test their drugs on people.

We know they dispose of out-dated stocks

donating them to Third World medical clinics

and we know they get tax breaks for such generosity.

What do we suspect of them but cannot prove?

We suspect they create drugs that spread diseases

for which they carry the patented cure.

We suspect these diseases target certain groups:

Black Africans, children, gays and lesbians.

We suspect they possess the means now

to create a plague that can annihilate humanity

but can't use it for two very good reasons:

one - they may not survive their own plague

two - they haven't found a way to profit from that.

Yes we know a great deal, and suspect more

and the question remains: what to do about it?

(The question is relevant only for those who care.)

We know the great social, religious and economic wars

have all been fought. And all have been lost.

Each one was fought to rid Earth of evil -

and evil simply found another way to manifest itself

within each vaunted victory.

But there is a very simple answer to the question.

And the answer is there is nothing to do about this

or any other great evil wrought on this world.

It's no longer about doing, it's about being.

It's about knowing without giving in to fear.


"Falling in love" as they say

is to me as two dissimilar flowers

cut down in their prime

to be displayed in a jar of water,

without roots, without real food,

show-pieces without substance

soon to wilt and to die.

But when the plants are thrown out

perchance one, or both

may painfully take root

on top of the compost pile

or under a forgotten hedge

and there gently and quietly grow

and create a new plant.

There are people like that:

strong of heart;

active of mind;

who survive the shock

of being thrown out of in-love-ness;

who, having fallen out of love

create for themselves a different life

among the shadows of sorrows

and the too common divorces

of those whose roots

were too short to reach the ground.

Life Within Gaia

You: the steady heartbeat of a spreading universe

overshadowing my fevered mind, my tortured will;

you: sometimes figment of my self-filled thoughts

memory of pasts crushed by time, unknown, undone:

Why do you hide from the one who loves you, needs you?

Is this what you call "love", this middle of nowhere,

which is neither now, nor then, nor perhaps ever to be?

Is there a hereafter to this madness, this emptiness

this thumping, beating wonder?-wonder of throbbing life:

are you in this blinding storm... or the storm itself?

Dreams, all dreams which flit by like grey sparrows,

minute shadows over wind-swept dunes of bleak winter days:

I can't live on dreams nor survive in fantasies

while the world spins by, asking the same question

I cannot answer?-I fear to answer! Who will answer?

Will you? Or will you hide still, inside a thought,

a thought unshared, unheard, by either I or them;

a thought left behind in our long forgotten human past,

no longer real, no longer acceptable or possible,

lost... forever in the passing mists of changes?

Gaia! Hear my cry in the silence, in the still winds:

Listen to me! I am alone, poised, a hungry falcon

on the edge of a cliff floating in white clouds,

an eternal emptiness, a nothingness lost in time:

seeing nothing, only emptiness, a grinning gargoyle.

My mind, filled with swirling winds, grinding sands,

whipping about in phantasms of unknown knowledge,

fitted like an arrow to the drawn bow: searching, blind,

no target to fly at or aim for, only the milky substance

of your thoughts flowing through bare consciousness.

Lost, lost in times past and future, lost and alone

following you, my will 'o the wisp, my beautiful ghost

of nights spent flying through space, looking at life

considering the movements of the universe in your eyes,

the eyes of the frightened fawn, the panting doe:

The eyes which banish sleep and awaken life, Gaia?-

get me through this storm-swept pass above rising mountains

where human life meets spirit, where they separate and join,

where one dies, the other springs to life, eternal: Gaia!

Help me, one more time, to understand, to overcome death.

Who Shall I Say?


Who shall I say wrote and performed the music of the spheres

And who in a day painted the sea and the sky of earth?

And heaved up the green hills and rocky mountains

And ploughed out the canyons and misty valleys?


Who channeled the meandering rivers and cascading streams

And who planted the forests and the plains in their place?

And who peopled them with wildlife, insects fish and birds?

Who shall I say did all this just to set it free to grow at will?


Which of all the answers given

Shall I say is the right one?

Was it man’s creators?

Was it man’s slaves?

Was it man?


Who shall I say forms the tools and builds the great ships

And who sails the oceans of the world and flies the skies?

And who sends the mighty armies to conquer and plunder?

And who carves out the roads and expands the bloody cities?


Who shall I say writes the great symphonies and tells the stories

And who plays out the sad romances and pain-filled dramas?

And who looks on the sun and the moon and the stars in hope?

Who shall I say dies a million and one times alone on the shore?


Which of all the answers given

Shall I say is the right one?

Is it man’s creators?

Is it man’s slaves?

Is it man?


Who shall I say will dream crystal palaces adorning domed cities

And who will walk the future to encounter the peace weavers?

And who will open her arms to sweep up a giggling child at play?

And who without fear will touch another in holy reverence?


Who shall I say will set the notes of love in man’s new song

And who will capture energy strands from a billion alien stars?

And who will stand at the head of the silently gathered ones?

Who shall I say will have authority to give to signal for departure?


Which of all the answers possible

Shall I say is the right one?

Will it be man’s creators?

Will it be man’s slaves?

Will it be man?


I remember how you tried to teach me

that love is not just physical joy

but a spiritual flow of energy;

that when love is alive and free

it flows into every living thing

integrating pain and ecstasy

together as one creative symphony.

Like our love, leaves change colour

even as I meditate on your teaching,

crimson and amber from Summer's green,

and still my heart bursts in memory

of the love we found hidden in a pool

and scattered as dandelion seeds,

spendthrifts in Summer's winds!

How the bittersweet lingers everywhere

as Autumn's art lesson nears its end,

and you fade away to pure consciousness,

to inhabit another space, unseen,

though not far from where I stand.

Together we stare at the setting sun

and touching hands we hear it sizzle,

quenched from view by the open sea.

Dream Infinity

Dreams belong to the realm of infinity --

and infinity is the bane of permanence

for infinity is a kaleidoscope of changes--

endless and infinite changes

upon a background without measurable depth.

What is a world? A planet? A galaxy?

A universe? A heaven? A hell?

Time gives these an illusion of longevity,

even an appearance of permanence

for time is the realm of the gods

who do not change; who do not die --

if only according to their own beliefs --

as long as they remain the Time Lords;

as long as their time endures and they hold it.

But time is finite - not eternal --

and infinity reduces all things

to simple place-markers and nothing more

within the ever-changing picture gallery of space --

For as time is an artificial construct,

a measure of convenience (and control)

so must eternity, a by-product of time

be even more of an illusion.

An ever-alien sea pushes up an ever-alien shore

driven by an ever-alien wind.

An ever-alien stands upon a dune, smiling,

among the wreckage of the Time Machines;

a foot upon the grave of the Time Lords;

the final abode of the Eternals.

I can endure the loneliness of infinity (he thinks)

and still smiling he walks back to his Ship

and his motley crew of elementals.

"Where to, captain? Where to?" they ask

coming to attention as he sits.

"Out there" he motions... "Out there!"

and they vanish without a trace.

Essence Of Woman

Clouds form and re-form

up there, playing in the afternoon sky,

The prairie grass rustles in the breeze

and in my arms

a beautiful woman lies sleeping.

Am I dreaming? Maybe I wish I were

but here she is, nevertheless;

this woman free enough

to express a side of human love

I had never fully experienced.

The sun sinks quickly, too quickly,

behind the western hills;

a cold gust of wind touches my skin

I shiver: she awakens, surprised

then knowing.

We dress quickly. The day is over.

Perhaps, I think,

I shall meet with her again.


But she is a free being:

to live in hope of another afternoon

with this same one;

would that not seem a touch of madness?

Yet, am I not now bewitched forever?



City streets can be colder than stone

when you're young, vulnerable and all alone

nor are they ever paved with the rich man's gold

when threadbare clothes leave you wet and cold.


She comes to a familiar doorway

somewhere in the night when she's lost her way

and remembers all the days of her short life

how desperately she'd run from strife

knocked on strangers' doors for protection

then ran away again from every nightmare.


The man at the desk knows her as she tosses her hood

approaches and puts her hand on the worn wood,

and knows the words she'll say before she forms them:

"I need a place for the night, do you have a cheap room?"

He smiles at her - or is it a leer?

and as he speaks, she can again smell the beer --

"I have cheap - forty dollars for a night at the inn -

and I have free if you'll let me tuck you in."

and his hand slips over her wrist

and her skin tells him, for the mill she will ever be grist.


He hands her two sheets and a pillow case:

she grabs but he says, "Easy, no need for haste."

Here's the key - it's three - o - four -

and don't forget - don't lock the door."


He watches her walk to the rickety stairs,

shoulders slumped, but doesn't feel her despair

and in her head as she steps on the first rung

she hears the lines from an old song she'd heard.


"Baby I've been here before

I've seen this room and I've walked the floor

used to live alone before I knew ya

But I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Our love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah"

(from “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen)

Alpine Meadows

Dry, bare, gray skeletons

remain in the alpine meadow;

stand bowing down to the rocks

to become the soil, the womb

of sweet-scented new life.

Their last moan can be heard

in a warm gust of wind rising

from a sun-sparkled river

entrenched in jade-green walls

far below this wind-swept crest.

Protected by a rugged rocky ridge

green trees stand at the edge

starkly contrasting the blue/white sky.

I feel their roots reaching

for blessed waters

from streams gently moving

deep within the living rock.

Sparkling dew on wild flowers

reflects a million coloured suns

and beyond this pleasant canvas

bare rocky peaks thrust upward

marking the visible horizon.

Softly, a gentle breeze speaks

to my jealous soul, my hungry heart.

My tired mind pauses in awe

at revelations of beauty, of serenity

awakening my natural senses:

Finally, here, I can let go

the gray skeletons of a past that’s gone

and release myself to bliss;

finally I feel I’ve found

my own door to paradise!

Dream To Dream

Flowers of yellow,

blue and violet,

open, brilliant and unashamed

to the morning sun:

my hands

roam the body of the primitive woman,

gently caress her tanned skin,

bodies tingling

in anticipation of bliss:


is a crude word

for nothing can describe

this touch: love?

In the afternoon's warmth

we swim,

the mermaid and I: she laughs

as I chase her around the pool...

we are as one with our world,

tuned to the sacred Rhythm

we love: we make love: we love again!

The evening's blush

contemplates our crackling, sparking fire

compliment of the tree spirits--

spent, sated, sinful and happy,

we gently drift from day-dream

to the other side of life,

dreaming yet another dream,

returning again with the sun

playing out our love

illusion to reality--and back again!

Eating Passion's Fruit

A friend once said those who indulge in sex

inherit each others' karmic debt.

the conclusion being

one should do this only with the one -

the only one,

thus keeping the debt load smaller.

(Is this a control message here?)

Pondering, I asked the New Age Woman.

Her reply?

"The sun and clouds play all day

but when the game's over, and the clouds dissipate,

is the sun colder, smaller, lesser than before?"

"No" I said truthfully, "It's brighter, warmer..."

"Well, when two share harmonious love,

and sex is the best path to carry the energy,

a natural, electrical bridge for sensuality,

they are not diminished, but strengthened,

bolder, stronger, standing as gods upon the earth!

This, my gentle friend, is the great secret

hidden from you since that fateful day

the first New Age Woman dared the gods

and ate passion's fruit, sharing her love

with her partner of the moment...

I Dream Another Tomorrow

In the pouring rain,

by an abandoned railway station:

how poignant the memory

of that mournful whistle

from the train that took you away

that misty autumn morning.

Despite the storm's icy touch,

I feel your fire,

I see your light in the night;

my memories flow

as drift wood upon a river,

each a unique image of our time,

whose destination is

a sea of forgiveness, just beyond my sight.

The storm dissipates,

to release flashes of brilliant colours

through dancing clouds.

Another lonely day sails away

with the setting sun

and in its wake

I dream a new tomorrow

bathing in fountains of sweet love,

healing wounds given heedlessly

in the rash anger and unbending pride

of youth's untested time...

How Long

I can't help wondering

is Earthian humanity really destroying itself?

I observe it rot away on sagging couches

enslaved, chained, to its cable TV

and I must conclude it must be so...

Oh well...sigh!

If I owned this world, I'd happily give it away

to a species that has never heard of TV

or any of the garbage that goes with it;

a peaceful and gentle folk that respects life -

even if they came from worlds never heard of;

even if they looked really weird...

like cute little ET of Hollywood fame!

Of course, they could not co-exist with us

so we'd be thankfully wiped off the planet first;

for these ET's I would presume

know nothing of suppression;

nothing of judgment

and would not survive if even one Earthian

remained alive to contend with them.

Tough? No. For mankind has gone too far

and cannot change its ways this late in the game.

So it must go this way then:

TV will create an ever-more artificial "reality"

that chained addicts will believe as truth

and the cable will stretch and stretch

until the day it snaps!

The couches will collapse

and Humpty Dumpty will fall

through the make-believe floor.

Life Remains Choice

A crimson sun dips

beneath a singing ocean:

I hear

that whisper again:

your name in the flowing tide.

How true,


ever remains the same

as the earth turns.

Will I ever stop believing

that you will return to this cold place

lighting the fire of love

by the simple magic

of one touch?

Without you,

I am but a flicker,

a wavering candle flame

in winter's endless night.

The sky darkens:

I stare at the waning moon:

Old memories: enough already!

In the morning

I shall let the sun's rays

dissipate my despair;

dethrone my demons;

delineate my dance:

I shall turn this page,

start a new creation.

Life remains choice,

even in our greatest losses.

Love Affair

Don't expect the one you're with

to satisfy all your longings!

Another may enter your beating heart

through the door of desire;

fill a space still left empty after the vows,

provide a spark to light one night;

tender words softly spoken in the rain,

an unrehearsed elevator encounter

leading to bed or back seat...

There is no shame in this,

for love always enriches the soul!

Allow the wonder of this moment

to propel you even further

on life's open road.

Drop shackles of shame and guilt!

Follow the sinuous paths of stormy feelings,

don't hide nature's feeling from yourself

in some garret as a childish sin

against the first other, or the Bible and its god:

these are but society sitting in judgment.

It's OK to be hurt, or to feel used

they're also the tools of change!

Let anger and jealousy pass over

like a storm cleansing the air

Let it swirl around you and howl:

love that heals is made of love that hurts.

Summer Love

She emerges from warm waters

a Goddess of love,

a woman in all her glory:

stepping lightly on white sand...

I stand there, admiring her,

she approaches, smiling,

glowing with life, and I touch her,

her smooth brown skin pulses,

her hair dripping cold water

down the curvature of her back:

it feels like I love her

as no one has ever loved.

In turn, laughingly she reaches for me,

touches me, caresses, searches,

her eyes roving over my body,

her lips parted in a woman's hunger.

Within moments we are entwined,

the sand, our lovers' couch,

and we touch the stars together.

running free and wild

across the expanse of the skies.

When she leaves to go home,

her soft shadow lengthening along the shore,

I know I will meet with her again.

Yes, some day the wind will bring back

the warmth of this summer's love.

Strange Corners

The room: a dark void;

I look outside and stare:

a broken street lamp

stands there alone in the dark;

its hanging head no longer sees

the shadowy night;

nor can it dissipate the darkness.

The night's deepening gloom,

The room's emptiness,

remind me that trouble unheeded

issues forth quickly

from strange corners.

My heart was never trained

in showing much affection:

now memories of you

slowly drown in my tears:

I naturally assumed you knew

I really did love you!

"I met a soul longing for love

along a lonely stretch of road

and when I turned back and stared

it was I who was walking there."

Heart And Passion

Strong are the passions

that move the heart of man

and stormy they can be,

unpredictable and wild

spinning often beyond control:

Strong must be the heart

whose passion is for healing

and forgiving

in unconditional love!

Powerful it must be, and wise

to overcome searing passions

dressed in temptations.

Life on earth is as fleeting

as the snow bird's passage:

but life does not end here

and what is done

can never be undone.

Take good care of your heart:

may it serve you well enough

to see you beyond this place.

Angel Of Love

Nights of endless darkness

blend softly into a golden dawn:

a vision of birds chirping;

leaves sprouting green

becoming alive in the breeze;

flowers bursting open with abandon

draping flowing colours

over hill, meadow, and field,

filling the wind with fragrance.

Though winter's frigid grip remains,

I feel the warmth of your presence

burning, as it touches my heart,

a flowing energy renews my life:

you are the angel of love;

you spread gifts of hope, of peace;

your love showers a world in need.

'Autumn Musings'

It's Autumn, and from my porch

overlooking a sylvan mountain lake

I see the sun rise over distant rocky peaks...

In the cold dawn and deep stillness

I can hear my thoughts so clearly!

What is the measure of a man?

the question has been asked so many times,

it has a million answers!

But for me, here, in this quiet place,

it means I am what I chose to be,

not what others would have me be.

How much can one choose one's direction?

Ah well, I can answer that:

by how much one is willing to explore

places shunned by most;

by how much one is willing to take on

- and prove wrong -

the plethora of nay-sayers and gainsayers.

Before I caught on; before

the “normal” label went to the garbage

with the ill-fitting clothes they made me wear;

when I was young and unsure,

I was ashamed of who I was:

for I couldn't hold down a job,

or live a “normal” life

within the System parameters.

Now a beautiful companion

who accepts me as I am

comes to sit beside me

and share my thoughts:

together we create such poetry

with power to change the world.

Autumn Sunset

I thought it fated

I should walk alone

along endless sandy shores

by the open sea...

You had always been there,

distant, unapproachable:

a silhouette, a dream,

a yearning for love,

a love I denied.

How could anyone believe

in one such as you?

You went away.

Many a Summer sun set,

your shadow no longer cast upon the shore:

years passed...

and Autumn came to me.

One day you reappeared,

O lonely vision,

O woman of the sea!

You came and took my hand,

gently, and we shared a day,

our souls as one.

I spun in the vortex of your love,

I drifted silently into other realities;

From a simple shared vision

in an Autumn sunset

we created a new world

outside the vagaries of time:

I thank you!

Leaves Dancing

The ballet, the waltz

are in the opinion of many

the most beautiful dances;

others say the magic

of two in a tango can’t be beat.

Yet nature’s own ballet

of wind-swept leaves

rising, falling, dancing

in the autumn breeze;

swirling in dizzying circles

darting up and down –

a merry-go-round --

coming gently to rest

upon the waiting ground:

Nature’s choreography

of sights, sounds,

and playful moments

in angelic movements:

are they not

as wistfully beautiful

as a man and a woman

flowing in graceful unison?

Let There Be Light

Christmas lights, merry lights,

decorate trees and homes;

I feel the search for happiness,

when the sun hides his face,

lying low on the grey horizon.

Now the Light of the Spirit

the Light of Christmas cheer

is called upon to hold the life

the Sun relinquishes for a time.

I say: find every possible way

to enjoy this festive time;

see the twinkling of coloured lights;

the excitement in a child’s eyes,

the natural greenery,

brought from the forest

to gladden the hearts of the old.

If your mind hums a Christmas carol,

remember to hum along

and if your eyes see two in love

walking hand in hand on a sidewalk,

smile and bless them from the heart.

For you were there once

and shall be there again!

Being happy may not be the solution

to the problems plaguing this world,

but it may be what is needed

to see us all pass more peacefully

into another year of life’s activities.

Life In Life

Why is it so difficult to find life in life?

Why do we ponder, question, despair,

die young -

or live as zombies in the madness

of the commercial maze?

Perhaps it's our focus,

too narrow, too restrictive;

too many attachments to "what is"

to drag us down into the grave -

(not always feet first!)

Do we

hold a belief system?

keep a family tradition?

hoard money?

worship a saviour God?

attend church?

vote and hope?

buy insurance?

seek protection?

push for education?

own a house?

... and do we enslave ourselves

to all the trimmings

that go with all the above?

These are attachments,

not needs -

not a one of them!

The "system" creates the desire,

and funds the belief in the need.

No freedom is ever found

where there is need.

Freedom is found only

through detachment!

I Move The Clock Of Time

A deep, quiet forest stunned by diversity;

an alpine meadow dancing in paintbrushes;

eagles soaring in stark blue skies of Summer;

above jagged black peaks piercing fog;

a walk along a thundering shore in December;

or skipping gentle waves kissing sand in Spring:

gulls cry in stereo unseen in shimmering waves

as the sun beats down upon sand dunes...

Clouds roll ominously across the sky

and thunder rumbles far away in the hills

and I yearn to understand what it all means

for if ever I do, that shall define who I am -

forever - The seasons pass, chase each other

and each one puts its impression on my face.

Snow drifts over an icy gray street;

fallen leaves dance on the Autumn wind;

a morning glory closes itself to the sun:

a sunflower turns slowly in my mind...

I move the clock of time backward

remembering the feeling you gave me

the very first time I looked into your eyes:

their blue light rivaling both sky and sea

and how easy it was to swim in them!

Such love I felt for you then;

such love I may have shown you

had you chosen to stay the hand of destiny.

The Universe called you back

and my dream ended as suddenly

as it started.

And yet... how much I love you still!

I shall chase after you

when this life releases me in turn:

I swear I shall find you again.

I Love You


(at the river)

I think of you,


rare and strange

in your love.

Painful it is

loving you;

wanting you,


the change that needs take place

before we can be as one;

before my love consumes me.

Tears flow:

I cry out

'I love you!'

hoping the wind

will carry my words,

wherever you are.

In my tears

I vow every night

to imagine you-

your beauty beside me:

one morning

I will awake

and you'll be there.

I Choose My Choice

I walk a gravel shore

after the salmon have spawned;

their dead bodies lie everywhere,

returning to Nature.

Do these creatures have a spirit,

a personal energy that returns knowingly

to some spirit world?

What about me? What do I know of this?

Do I return? Do I move forward

to some old place or some new place?

Is it of my own making?

Someone else's choice for me?

Do I determine my destination into the after life?

Interesting thought:

How does one plan for such a future?

Such an eventuality? How can one be sure?

Seems to me it does not matter

if I can be sure or only guess:

what truly matters is that I choose my choice!

I've seen enough of death and destruction

more than enough -

therefore I choose a world

that no longer entertains death:

where there are no wars and no killings;

where no one dies from lack of care,

or lack of food;

where people know what sharing means.

If that is the kind of world I choose -

and most normal people would choose the same -

isn't it terribly sad,

that not one of us is permitted

such a world right here, on this planet?

Love Letters In The Sand

Just as the tide

silently drowned

your love letters in the sand,

so did a little time

erase from your mind

memories of a happier time.

Seems you forgot

my promise to love you

always and forever;

seems you forgot

your promise to keep

your heart for me:

you forgot...

Is it because

only this windswept,

cold, rainy, lonely beach

stretching its endless miles

remains, a silent witness

where once we used to walk,

where once you wrote

love letters in the sand?

Goddess Of Paradise

I had seen her dance

within the light of the rising sun,

along a golden faraway shore.

She had stood, radiant and blissful

at the edge of my greatest visions

which I now shared with myself only

while walking the city streets.

In the shadowy pre-dawn world

I was sadly returning home,

tired and hungry and burdened

from exposure to night vision pain.

Through twisting, twisted streets I wandered,

sharing a fear-filled sense of security

among strangers in unequal bondage...

On impulse, I handed my money to a beggar:

was it compassion,

or an effort to ease my heaviness?

A bit of both it seems, but in that moment

the sun pierced the space

between two great towers

and touched my back as a gentle burning:

I turned in wonder

and I saw her there: she of the golden shores,

as beautiful, as radiant as ever I'd seen

in my visions of paradise.

She had been waiting, watching, hoping

some day I'd give her cause to reach for me:

a touch of unconditional love towards another.

She smiled as she touched my hand.

I knew she would go when the sun set,

but she reminded me of tomorrow,

of endless dazzling days in her havens of love,

where my visions of her, my love for all

would bring forth eternal bliss for those

who entered there with us, unafraid and free.

Loving Freely

So often, we wonder about 'love'

I mean, of the romantic kind,

and in this meditation I thought I heard

Tara reply to my whirling thoughts:

“Do you not realize that in man's world,

a woman's body is always for sale or trade?

that she has learned to please a man


she receives something in return?

See why romantic relationships

resemble the spirit of Christmas

thrown out with the dying tree

after the lights have been stripped off,

string by string...

True love demands nothing in return,

does not prefer one over the other,

is free to flow from all to all!

If you ever hope to experience the power of

true love,

have no expectation but what is offered

in the sacred moment you share with the other.

Freely allow for the unexpected

to manifest itself.

Try it:

You, my friend, will certainly like it!

And she may find herself free enough

in your love to feel the same.”

Giving Or Taking?

I have experienced

that giving has a natural flow;

flowers open to receive their gift

of sun and rain,

then splash vibrant colors

across a green canvas;

seedlings sprout:

green things feed elk, deer and caribou.

pollen and seeds abound

for insects and birds to live upon.

Can I emulate this giving side of nature?

when I give freely,

wanting nothing in return,

the energy of plenty attracts;

I receive much more

than I ever gave away.

The act of taking is energy-wise inefficient:

it requires great expenditure of energy

to indulge the illusion of 'taking' -

for 'taking' is repulsive energy:

that which one seeks is pushed away

and must be chased... or lost.

All organized 'Systems' are takers:

governments, banks, businesses or churches;

they all chase the illusive 'dollar'

and all wallow in dishonesty and corruption.

When we understand how energy flows

we can see it could not be otherwise,

for taking causes an ever-growing debt;

a net loss of 'income' or gift of life.

Corruption and lies are inevitable

to hide the loss and keep the power:

"In God we trust!" says Mr. Dollar.

Hold Back The Tears

It is difficult to accept

the fact of dying from an incurable disease;

being racked by pain,

facing total loss.

Yet, hold back the tears for a moment,

and think.

Try to realize that the sadness you feel

is but a human state of mind!

In the spiritual realm,

these things are always

resolved to a greater understanding.

Celtic Twilight

In the soft indigo twilight

I hear your song

as birds settle quietly for the night;

as a breeze gently rustles the leaves

and branches sway as tender hands

play a Celtic harp

under a weeping willow tree.

The moon's pale light

casts the shadow of your silhouette

upon the ocean's waves;

their soothing melody surrounds me

as I hold you in my arms

until I break the spell once more

with an involuntary sigh.

A cloud moves across the night sky,

drawing a veil of darkness over the sea

and you vanish in the eddying tide.

Still, I know you will appear again

in the full moon's soft glow;

you'll sing again,

accompanied by the ancient harp

in another celtic twilight.


I met her

bearing the warmth and fragrances

of Summer in paradise.

Beneath her angel wings

life burst forth

from this once-cold shore;

her eyes spoke to me of love,

a love I had never felt

a love with no expectations,

no boundaries; wild and free,

enough to cover the earth.

Her hands touched my body,

like no woman ever had,

arousing hunger and excitement.

My passion, my sexuality,

so long dormant

she fanned into a blaze

and the pounding of my heart told me

she had forever changed

my perspective on sex,

on love,

on life...

Today I stand on this same shore

where we met in the Summer.

The sea tosses wildly, announcing

the changing season:

another woman leans on my arm,

another Goddess,

and she too holds

the fragrance of love.


The old man totters to the edge

of the last forest

glancing backwards at the sound

of the howling pack.

Afraid, he staggers and falls in the path

but the young woman, his daughter

reaches for his hand and pulls him up:

together, they walk into the last forest.

In his sleep, the young man stirs,

fear mixes with the anger in his mind;

getting up, he girds himself and runs

towards the edge of the last forest.

He hears the wolves closing in on their prey

and he rushes on, drawing his blade.

He sees the old man and the young woman,

his sister, staggering along

and he turns against the snarling pack:

which, seeing the flashing angry blade

slinks into shadows of night.

The young man knows he didn't come

from a deep love of the old man:

they'd been estranged a long time!

From a sense of justice, then, or

for the sake of the young woman?

He doesn't understand his motives

but the feeling of warmth washing

his softened heart sustains his spirit

as he rides on freedom in the wind.

From some distance ahead

comes the pounding of the surf

and he guides old man and daughter

to the end of the last forest

where a ship awaits to weigh anchor.

Memories That Shine

It's Autumn once again;

drifting leaves

attempt to shroud my memories;

rain falls like tears

washing away a last remnant

of hope that had lingered

in the soft warmth

of your fading breath.

Birds twitter timidly in shadows;

as mist assists the waning light;

empty meadows offer their soggy carpet

for my feet to wander aimlessly.

I hear your whisper

before the breeze dies down;

see your tears fall

from bare branches

to a lifeless ground.

Night defeats day

without a challenge

but as darkness asserts her reign

in this underworld of whispers,

the moon appears

and for a brief instant

the memories that shine

cast an eerie shadow

upon an empty world.


The goddess speaks of "memory"–

the sum total of the Cosmic Self

complete in awareness:

knowing all-space and all-time.

She compares it to a flowing river

which through ages past and ages hence,

though greatly altered in course,

flows ceaselessly to the great ocean

which feeds the many waters

yet is made of these same waters.

The source of life itself, she reminds me

is nothing but "memory."

So think, what do you suppose it means

for one person to 'remember'?

My Lover

When the first day was dared; when time began to count,


in all his power and beauty

embodied in a dream,

clothed in the black shimmering

of still unseen space...


smiled at me, winked and said: I dare you girl -

extending his hand and I smiled back shrugging,

stretching myself on his altar:

he grabbed my arm then, this golden god; this eternal love

and swept me into the chaos, the realms of the unmade.

Together we sang and danced new realities,

spun galaxies, fired new suns and painted swirling nebulae.

It wasn't easy, certainly not always fun,

walking through the voids, running, chasing, tumbling

along ways never before encountered,

his pace always changing, his moods like the weather.

Tired, haggard, hungry, often lost, I cursed him.

I hated him when he drove me;

when time awareness inexorably

crushed me into shapes of un-comfort,

so painful it was I wished I hadn't been

and he offered no comfort to me.

Yet this I do know:

I am his and he remains my lover in every way

and though I've travelled far and wide;

slept with countless strangers along the way

to stay warm, to eat, to survive and play the game

I have never been unfaithful to him:

this Life -- this love -- this one

who so much resembles me.

Natural Beauty

She never wasted her time

painting her body for the mirror

nor for someone who's only care

was for her outer beauty:

she was uniquely beautiful,

a stone gently polished by a stream

cascading from flowered hills...

It was that unfeigned beauty

that one day cast a spell on me,

that gave me a taste of love

as can never be manufactured

from dermajetic make-up

or latest fashions.

Look in the mirror every morning

if such is your habit,

but be happy with who you see

looking back at you:

it's your best friend!

Whoever you might attract

by advertising any other

but your friend in the mirror,

will never stay with you

but leave with the illusion wiped away

at the end of the day...

Night Fall

Evening has drawn to a close;

darkness prepares to bar the door

against the light

when, with one last challenge

over the horizon,

the clouds tear apart

and for one brief moment

red flares illuminate the sky.

The West bursts into flames

and in the East

the mountains burn crimson-

their eternal snows

reflecting the fiery glow

from this dying day.

But inevitably the challenge

was for naught.

All is darkness now.

Oh, Love!

When love flows from an open heart

it becomes as the swell

of a mighty wind-tossed ocean;

the passage of a torrential rain;

the rushing of the wind in wild places.

Unbound, limitless, eternal;

the power of Spirit set free!

Who can know of such a thing?

The one tuned to the Source of life!

And what’s to be done with such a thing?

It must be shared, given to all,

according to their capacity to receive.

Oh! Love! Everywhere, abundant,

here, I stretch my arms out to you:

Running in laughter and in tears of joy,

I gather you to myself

that I may know you,

and that knowing you,

I may be empowered to give you

to all who need, all who ask!

On Marriage

(And Other Foolish Things)

I feel impelled to speak upon marriage

Oh, one more time! I am thinking frustration here,

the worst kind: unfulfilled sexual needs:

in a partnered male/female relationship

should we really expect the female

to be equipped to satisfy every desire, every need

of her life-long male companion?

Should we expect the male to be satisfied

within the narrow confines of her one and only world?

Should we take marriage for granted

and allow ourselves to be drawn in its bounds

should I say, bonds?

Does marriage really equate love?

Oh, please!

I look upon the world of Wo and Man

can't help to see the obvious: (that's my thing after all).

Marriage is falling into disrepute, and no wonder!

For the man and the woman are discovering

that outside their mutually imposed celibacy

are other people, full of life and desire

who also seek to escape their private jail cells

or private hells.

Let's not advocate the destruction of marriage:

this time-worn institution serves some purpose after all!

Think of the children in a divorce: Oh, so much pain.

No! Change the rules; remove childish expectations;

go beyond impossible requirements of sexual fidelity:

how ridiculous that is!

Keep your marriages and necessary appurtenances:

Kids and cars, houses and boats, RRSP's and pensions:

isn't that what it's really all about?

Keep the friendship and the business going,

but for whomever's sake: enjoy your sexuality:

Stop bashing each other with petty jealousies.

Before you get hitched: grow up! And...

if you're already hitched - you can still grow up.

Stop pretending marriage is only about love.

Along The Path

Of The Good Old Days)

The path of life often passes

through dark canyons and empty wastes:

its endless trails crisscross

prairie grass, desert sand

or dangerous mountain snows.

He who fears the unknown

haltingly wanders crooked pathways,

blind; unknowing, always looking back,

his unformed future stillborn

beneath memories of his past.

His unstable feet meander back

over yesterday's fading paths;

always uncertain, his mind fearing

what it perceives as looming dangers

forming overhanging cliffs

or bottomless seas filled with monsters.

He chooses not to reason

that beyond the obstacles of today

possibly lie greener pastures.

In any case, why fear the inevitable?

Perhaps because one realizes

that when one does not plant,

no 'greener pasture' is likely to appear

as magic - from nothing.

"The shelter of memories has no power

to keep life safe."


Walk beneath the tall trees Tara,

and listen quietly to the wind;

hear song birds call and squirrels chatter,

echoing their love of life

among dappled foliage and darkened branches.

Watch the shadows creep upon the forest floor

and step lightly in soft bare feet among the ferns...

Look: I've put a stop to time, my love,

for we're in a sacred place together.

Here nature freely pours her bounty

upon hillsides and deep into shaded valleys...

Yes, take a drink from a gurgling stream -

let the cool clear water slip between your fingers -

and pause along the shore of a glacial lake;

let the haunting call of a loon

enter your softly beating heart.

Put your hands through small wavelets

lapping upon slabs of broken shale

and turn your beautiful face to the sky:

see the endless shapes of endless dreams

within fluffy white clouds passing by.

Reflect under the power of the afternoon sun

and let its rays cleanse your smooth brown skin

of the cancerous impact of the city:

Thank you for sharing with me this day

so freely given from a beautiful Earth, Tara.

Geese, Marsha And I

In slanting rays, the trees

cast elongated shadows on the sand

of a sloping river's shore:

from far away they look like fishermen

standing by the water's edge, waiting.

As the sun dries a million tiny grains

upon that dampened shore,

each loses its attraction to its neighbours

and freed to journey once again,

borne by a wintry, easterly gale,

in swirling swarms flies merrily

over the flowing waters

to settle on a small island

strewn with gravel and see-through shrubs.

There, with its new friends

it settles in the winter's sun

to build a new dune

where geese, Marsha and I

will sun ourselves in summer's warmth,

occasionally dipping sun-sated skin

in surrounding flowing streams

over bars of washed gravel:

I think, in retrospect

that is how the Creators intend it

when they made the sand,

the geese, Marsha and I.

Freedom From Need

He needs to feel his arms wrapped around her;

to feel the warmth of her body in the embrace.

He needs to be convinced of her acceptance

of his physical attention

to deaden the insecurities;

to make his life complete--

yet it never is...

and he blames her for his emptiness of soul

and his need grows with time.

A wise man spoke to him one day:

"The greatest of all gifts

any two people can give to one-another

is freedom from need:

from possessing;

from holding;

from yearning;

for the touching and the embrace

at the end of the day,

stands on its own, allowing love's freedom

to create the eternal bond which replaces all need,

which cancels all fear!"

Gentle Waves

Gentle waves caress

shores of endless sand:

I stand watching

your fading foot prints

being drifted out to sea,

and with deep emotion

I know your feelings

told you there's new horizons

dawning and calling you forth:

and I have no right

to make you stay.

Though my heart is empty now

and my tears flow

like a river,

and I long for you so,

I set you free...

A silent loneliness remains

within the waves

and in the wind,

and though I cinch my coat

tight against my body

I cannot keep out the cold.

Now the spirit speaks:

“See how much easier it is

to become attached

than to detach?

Wiser it is to avoid the attachment

than to try to break it later!”

The Gift Of Life

It is said that everyone is born with a gift,

something special to each, individually tailored;

not teachable, not learn-able nor transferable;

one's special pattern in the fabric of life.

There are some who keep this knowledge

and often live remarkable, memorable lives

but most, sadly, never discover they have the gift

and live their lives as followers and slaves,

playing lotteries and cheering others on.

What are some of the things that hide the gift?

Traditions, dogma, the tick-tock humdrum

that quickly fills every moment of one's life-

Taxes, mortgages, properties and relationships;

fears and tears, losses and wars and petty quarrels;

taking responsibility for things of no consequence;

arguments over race, gender and brand names

and who deserves to win a cup or a pennant:

and each emotion drives the gift further from the mind.

It is generally believed that life is a quest,

that all who enter life are on a mission of discovery:

strange as it may seem, the quest of life

is simply to find itself before it all ends.

Hence, the quest of life is the quest for life

and stranger yet, it is the quest for life

that ensures life's continuance

for a life lived without passion

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