stolen from the wind

this quiet voice heard
stolen from the wind
wanting to take it away
to wherever wind goes
when it whispers to the dark

captured in a heart
in the beat of its four chambers,
tender, throbbing
kept safe,
given blood, given life

its echo led to a hole
sand dug by a child
with plastic shovels
in plastic pails
until deep enough to climb in

the surf filled it up
one gentle wave after another
until buried into a whisper
it began to cry out
“hear me… hear me… hear me…”

now heard
this quiet voice
surrounded by others
dug up from the sand
begins to sing

as it always has
to the gulls and dolphins
to the otters and sandpipers
to the crabs and mussels
who have been here all along

A Mad World Poem: Queue the Music

A collaborative poem with my talented friend Christine of -Gecko

fills my ears like
gin in my glass
accolades for how well
I convey pain
others consume
I am their proxy
their stand-in
these words
I give
tiny pins
that prick
nerves like
tying up
this human condition
I am grateful
for the shot
at the main stage
the time you give
me to speak for
the lonely
the voiceless
the desperate
the crowd
praises my performance
my art
feeling too much
this fancy
red carpet
dress returns
to an empty
dressing room
to drink the gin

Words’ Worth

What these words are worth
To those without eyes to read
Or chips in heads binaring what pens bleed?
Take time before it melts
To look,
To see,
To listen,
To hear
All the tiny things the earth
Record them, Poet!

Like the nine lovers of Hesiod sew
Lyrics to life from the smallest detail.

The simple worth of words
Hearts slide outside
A closed box,
With pen’s ink
Rearranged order,
And find in disorder,
Joy’s deviance.

Painting: Francois Boucher Erato, The Muse Of Love Poetry