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a poem for my late father on Father’s Day

Our Garden The garden, That’s where he met me. Weathered walls, Gated; secret. Unkempt and abundant, Scents of green, Heady perfume, A wild meadow, Encircled by bark, Safe; hidden away, This private beauty. The gate opened, Momentary present, We walked, Caressed by roses, Tugged by thorns. “There was nothing to say.” “I’m grateful for what…

“Where are you?” I call out  to feelings so deadened by this grief.   I know not, You.   listless; beyond pain, insensate; behind joy.   an empty moor, a garden door, locked.   unyielding thorny mass wound weeping pus blocked.   how can I heal; when it isn’t real?   This poem is about…

self-development – “The Dance”

What if there was no need to change, No need to transform yourself Into someone who is more compassionate More present, more loving, or wise? How would this affect all the places in your life Where you are endlessly trying to be better?   What if the task is simply to unfold, To become who…