Monthly Archives: January 2011

The Ground Beneath Us.

There are moments in the life of artists that feels like the ground beneath our feet is always shifting.

Where unsteady rocks and quickened sand hold that status quo answers for ransom.

Unsure steps approach standard words w/ caution as we navigate the questions of how to live this waking life

While finding a way to maintain in our dreams  the actions that feel most alive inside of us,

like giving birth inside a womb pregnant with inspiration.

We Are

Creation unhindered.

Fearless hands that stand at attention.

We are

Bold voices casting forth the truth of our existence into the streams of pervasive lies flowing through the current

as Uncalloused hearts that bruise easily with the constant revolving of doors that open again and again to the infinite possibilities of creation

We are planting seeds of expression into the fertility of ripened imaginations

To become a force of words cascading down through broken hearts like streams of water purifying itself along the way.

We are dancing bodies tuning to the rhythm of the earth in the song of liberation.

We are eyes sprouting light from opened hands learning  to shift colors into the reflection of our dreams.

We are all invited to participate in telling the stories of an age unsure of its wisdom

To sing in the orchestra of a collective chorus chanting to the chimes of vision

And here lies our work.

To recognize how the sturdiest part of the ground beneath us

Is found in steps that cannot know with certainty if it will land,

Knowing that falling on your face is another opportunity to kiss the earth.

To keep the expression of our being alive in the soil of our creativity

For the ground beneath us is sacred

And it holds us up still.


If We Are Still Dreamers

We must love with a passion not our own

Born from ages past, inherited by futures yet to come

For vessels made of clay burn in the tenderness of hands

Eager to take hold of a blessing not yet prepared to pass through fire

(For as dreamers we know nothing of what is to come

As visions reveal themselves as wild in the night

When eyes shut tight and hearts open and close

clasping hopes in the smallest of hands)

Would we still be dreamers if we knew the distance of the path before us?

Would our hearts still speak with the tenderness of birds

seeking shelter from sudden rain?

Would we still breathe each other in to make love in

Wind that pushes and pulls in directions untamed?

Would the roots of our trees continue to run deep

Bearing the sweetness of fruits made ripe only in due season?

For destinations can be reached with eyes fixated on distance

Or a journey can be embarked charted directly to the unknown

Discovering along the way,

Imaginations that push beyond the chains bound by impatient hearts

To give birth to dreams that have yet to be born in the solitude of our sleep

To fly recklessly into heights that soar beyond horizons of fear

And to land in the sunset of our love till the moon gifts us with passion not our own

From ages past inherited by futures yet to come

For it will be our journey, never the destination

That will prepare us into vessels made with tender hands

Ready to pass through fire.

New Musical Tracks!

I am pleased to release 4 new tracks for the “We Can All be Brave” Recordings. These are some really fresh tracks produced and recorded by one of my really good friends and brilliant musician “Your Friend Ben”

He has an amazing vision and ability to put thoughts and ideas into sounds and to fuse them into the lyrical content of my poetry, together these tracks help create a whole symbiotic relationship between the sounds in your ears, the words in your mind, and the pictures they form in your head. They are quite enjoyable if you ask me, and I am thankful to Ben for his work and his belief in my work as a poet. Hope you enjoy, you can find them here at

Thanks Y’all.

She Tells Me.

She Tells me that she loves me, but only in subtle tones.
Cause we know that the water in which we swim is shallow still,
and finding depth in the distance is our destination.
Besides, she tells me right now that she is a wave of emotions
rippling under feet so accustomed to being cautiously steady.

So I tell her that we are lucky,
Because we have always loved the Ocean
And we have seldom feared the deep.
So I tell her that swimming in our water
Feels like a baptism
Washing away the impurities
Of the way we used to Love;
selfish and reckless
Drowning in the limit of possibility.

She tells me that she likes the rain.
Especially in the spring time.
When sun shines in collaboration with the cleansing of skies
Where clouds fall into graves eager to be resurrected.
And she tells me their reflections are beginning to emerge in
soil that sprouts to life in eyes awakened.

And I tell her that we can never hold raindrops in our hands
But we can let them wash us clean.
For they will tell us their stories of redemption,
Like how we learn to become beautiful goodbyes evaporating upon impact
Or how letting go of sterile words releases our fears into
Tightly knit threads needled into equations that reveal to us how
Love never divides, it only multiplies.
And how numbers,
much like love, water, and possibilities,
are infinite.


This Winter.

Part 1 of 4. An Exploration in seasons.

This winter, I find myself in a new town;
bearing deep in my body the shift through which the changing of seasons takes place.
I’ve never known the cold to be so cold these days,
With only so much chill these LA weathered skin cells can hold
before crying out for the warm familiarities of sun warmed palm trees
they quietly tell stories of change that exists,
in the subtleties of a place that lacks seasons.

-And if I knew any better –
I would pause before trying to recall the memories of weathered days unshifted,
How the winters hardly differed from the slowly rising growth of spring
Till the summer sweat drips from weathered backs in the heat of a sun
that feels like it only sleeps to have dreams of what it feels like to be young again.
For autumn falls into your lap beckoning the palm trees to give away its secrets to the wind,
carrying its fallen skin towards territories more inviting.
Like places where leaves fall from trees lining street sides that spill into gutters
like collection plates gathering offerings for mother earth.

And as my body cries out for seasons
I find myself in a new town just in time for the show.
The theater of trees.
Strong pillars, flaming beacons, raising up like a torch
Fire red branches, thrusting into the sky
fending off the inevitable elements manifested in winter.
Till the fallen leaves scattered,
become remnants of ash,
and how the earth gives way to the cold clouds of darker solstices
even when threatening to invade bones.
And it is here, through the seasons that I am learning to let go.

With the work of these hands I sift the remaining vestiges of a season
where the wondrous beauty of autumn
has found a way to touch so softly the silences of my soul
teaching my spirit, what will be demanded of my body  to survive in this winter.
And now.
And still.
The nakedness of bare trees show us how their vulnerability holds them still in the cold.
For they have never been given reason to lack faith.
Their time will soon come when life bears fruit.
Thin lines of black branches, break softly into the gray of foggy skies,
waiting through the cold days of winter with an elegance of stature
chillingly reminding us that death will always bring forth life.

They teach us that we fear so needlessly.
They ask us why we have forgotten how to read time.
And I am thankful that they are still celebrating in these cold days.
Cause our spring time is near, and I can feel the trees shaking with excitement.
For it was here in this season, that we are invited to learn how to let go.
And soon enough when we have nothing left to give,
nothing remains but a naked vulnerability where
Somewhere in our branches
in the places where we have kept our fanciest hopes warm,
A green leaf grows.
And we will know it isn’t winter anymore.
And our bodies will give thanks.