Angry Morning

The morning is not soft or gentle.
Storms push and beat on my head
Thunder is unforgiving as it rattles
Slams and pounds without pause.
Dawn is set away somewhere
Replaced by ragged
Jagged lightening strikes
Here, there, anywhere I gaze.
The rain joins in
Like a schoolyard bully
Showing himself
In front of friends.

Dawn Interrupted

Dawn Interrupted

Magpie madrigals awaken me

Early each morning

Glorying in the newness

Of the day

Praising the beauty

Of newly sprung Spring.

Looking back along the path

I often sit and dream, think of the roads taken and not.
Not a great poet, I, nor a philosopher wise
Just a weary traveler who looks back
Sees the road behind
The choices made, the road less
And more traveled.
Then I wonder, I drift in possibilities
Of what could have been
Should have been, might have been.
If we could go back,
You and I, retrace our path,Walk backward in our footprints
And stand at that place
Where roads divide...
Would we stop and consider well
Our paths, think on these things
Or run recklessly toward the roads
We know, we are secure in?

SQUIRREL FISHING
AT THE
CINCINNATI APPALACHIAN FESTIVAL