Listeners With Power

are seldom the most powerful voices
in Earth’s wombed room.

whether intrapersonal individuals
or interpersonal incorporated persons
and both,
listening to the most diverse voices
usually become cooperatively empowered
advocates for Earth’s open rooms
birthing eco/theo-logical Grace
from within God’s re-creating history
as above Gaia’s Paradise
cooperatively heard muses,
colors of vibrant heart music.

Ego sung and Eco-danced
with messengers
and lunar
and in-between
co-arising transubstantiations
gathering revolutionary therapeutic powers
for health of multiculturing happiness

Buzzing messengers,
joy-filled sin-clear angels,
silent but lively superpowers
becoming cooperatively re-invested
in polypathic listening,
then polyphonic speaking,
then polycultural re-listening again
then polynomially re-iterating yet again
then multiculturally listening
to eco-messengers
actively healing ego-listeners
cooperating yet again.


Vitamin D

I have a youngest sunny D
an improvising third of four
in third quarter beating maleness rhyme.

He wears the greatest many hats
but only one spirit-timed

He sings and shouts
C Major 7th inside voices
and outdoor D minor diminishments.

I have a youngest son named D,
improvising three for four
communicating RightBrain dominant
rhythmic looping sound vocations,
easier on my WiseElder
matriarchal years
counted in and by and with
Plan D.


April Loves

She worships her western horizon
toward the river, sparkling, hinting of lightning pasts and futures.

Leonardo is wrong.
This seems unlikely, perhaps judgmental,
even so, his God clearly reconstructed in his well-owned glorious image,
universal God of Creative Architecture.

But, for her, as she watches bruised red wilt into painfully pale lavender,
over black night’s forest line,
cerebrally alone,
sacredly uniting
nature speaks through Gaia’s full-timed EcoLogos Voice,
sometimes in pastel skies and meadows,
sometimes in relentlessly vibrant green,
sometimes Full Moon, New Moon,…
Rain, Wind, sometimes sublime both on her tin roof, whistling through worn-out window frames.

If God were made in her image,
creation would speak in reasoned fertile seasons of shadow dark, and lightning bright,
synapses of climax, echoing down river valleys
rolling out grand majesty of EcoLogos,
perfect rhythms,
rain beating Earth’s thunderous future.

It would have been more revolutionary
and probably therapeutic,
most certainly lovelier, had Leonardo portrayed God as Earth’s logos voice
swirling light as surf,
tidal river waters gleaming wide at dusk,
narrower in dawn’s first light,
a ribbon flowing light emerging to west
reflecting waters greeting eastern sky enlightenment,
Gaia’s morning river logos
translating Sun’s architectural might.


Sound Barriers

Words must wait for welcome
within this sacred green laced vista,
a cathedral incubating nuances of light
and shadow,
of succulent sway
inviting minds and tiny bodies
to come along this way,
then that,
billowing breeze
then soporific tease
lulling silent waves of blue grey clouds
continue on their more steady play,

Twilight looms for this day
and life,
more peaceful without ego’s endless string
of intrusive
anthro-culturally enslaved,

Waiting to welcome new winds of time,
noticing this embrace
within Earth’s voracious voice,
vibrant flow
welcoming this time to go,


Time’s Eternal Consciousness

Time’s natural spaces,
a universe of footprints in remembered places.

Need is a kick in the ass and head.
Dissonance is afterflow,
crashing cart with runaway horsepower.

Want is a binomial step into time,
co-operatively left-producing and right-consuming
memory footprints on the beach of time,
some more resonant and resolved
before erasing surf re-emerges,
and some less formed before washing into history’s cultural flow
of confluent wild consciousness.

Time bilaterally surfs
sands of positive place in negative space,
resolving comprehensive consciousness.

Footprints in the sands of time
regenerate decomposing memory
within nature’s wild chaos of flowing rhyme.

As we have no time without space
we experience no yin without yang
we coincidate no perfect vacuum
no perfect bad,
no perfect good
save well-timed balance between these appositionals,
except our potential for comprehensive harmonious consciousness
in mind with heart
and informing and exforming lungs
fueled by nature’s DNA intelligence.

Our shortages of universal intelligent time,
our misconceptions of potentially balancing spacetime consciousness
lead to suicidal
tidal footprints into quicksand’s chaos,
revolving karmic grace
for tomorrow’s regenerating beach
awaiting more transgenerationally resonant feet
and hands,
hearts and minds
surfing seasoned time
with permacultural wisdom.

Time flows and folds frequent nature’s voice
for each to hear with dissonant contentious noise
or listen in key of confluent contenting choice.

Time’s permacultural space,
universal footprints in memory’s conscious place.


Silent Psalm

I long to write a silent song;

ringing resonant rising

round revolving reach,

risk relaxing riots,

quiet storming streams,

sentient string

waiting your


sharing story,

advent’s adventure

deep despair diving

diastolic drifting

out beyond sonorous sea seasons

sweeping flight to gather might,

speaking slyly deep

down steaming volcanoed channels

reaching roots of listening

into Earth’s core chi-soul.


Speak, justly shout enchanting contention

churning charry content,

informating reasons

fine-purposed meanings

boiling funnel tipping

turning spinning

spilling waves of Tao balance

revolving temperamental cross,

straining yang from West to East

reversing yin from East to West

like longing lingering

loitering within belonging

becoming being

yin’s right spins left

good’s evil space

wrestling voices



massaging rhythm’s blood flows

flying frequencies

echoing past identities

of storms still-dancing

through memory’s veins

and river swollen

spring’s raucous roaring

songs singing silence

I long to write.





Mute Longing

I belong to your vistas

your panoramic places

older than our Voice.


Toddlers listen to

memorize your scent as this day’s time

your shadows, curves, slopes, curls

a panoply of nature’s sacred places

shaping spaces for mind’s rest

imagining your view as mine

to play or hide

or grow smaller

or dance

sounds of buzz and chatter,

clack and clatter,

august synapse

resounding crash of tipping gravity,

move, shift, roar, hunt…

resting silently again.


Behind my breath

I hear yours

then ours together

echoing before this Voice

interrupts my holonic bath,

within long intimate horizons,

vast belonging songs.