Down Off She watched her love come from the best of all places. Taking with him extra bags, yet, he arrived alone. And as he came, he swung his legs and jumped down off. She carried with her extra baggage, but looking at him coming to, eager,  fresh to forget, she too would arrive alone…

Because Because I have memories and carry pictures with no putting place in this my time. . . . Because I have memories of worlds I cannot see next door to where I am. . . . . Because I have memories of love once having been given. . . . without needing to prove…

Greenfield Village,   A Walk Into The Past This time now,  the hay no longer lifts the roof of the standing barn. No longer piled loose and pitched with forks as high as the man can stand. It still creases the nose with aromatic exhilaration. Standing now are the bales neatly tucked one upon the other, …

Contemplation (the soul’s Mt.  Everest) After taking the garbage to the curb in early dawn, I stopped  to look about and thought,  I know more about what goes on than I would dare reveal. But furthermore,  who would say I was right? Who would not deny whatever I would say? Who of us has courage…

I would not have had to shout my questions, if I had only known how simple it would have been to simply awaken. It was not a matter of despair but a matter to unearth. I only had to ask and my track record would have shown if I qualified for an answer. photo by…

When first I started my journey there was  a need to know.   It was my focus.   Everyone has their own need.   The way for the each is to focus on one’s need.   The criteria for that need requires insight.  We must focus inwardly.  It is not easy. Many Worlds I wander about in many worlds…

A Validity Stressed beyond belief, my heart wanders in worlds unseen by human eye, not felt by human touch, but altogether real. Mountains are climbed where dizzying heights force vision beyond normal scope, chancing accidents not plausible but valid. It is my guess that distance is traversed on foot through lands uncharted and my footprints…

The Memory Makers The smell of the damp morning kindled memories of earth mold, as she fetched the wood and stirred the fire anew. Warmth crept into the chill room as ghosts of Springs past kept watch and in unison nodded approval to make waves on the still-born  ethers. The children slept; their various ages…

This poem was written a year ago and was received  with such warmth.  Much has happened in the past year to all of us.   Memories rise unbidden sometimes,  but needing affirmation.   So we affirm them and ourselves;  along with the memories welcome and again. . . . . . Come To My Table…

These barns are good. . . . good for carrying on important business, good for storing things, good for being the fragrant strongbox of our memories. . . . places where we played, growing up forever.                                           Tresy       (Our first born son,  whom we call Tresy,  has given me permission to reprint…