I am

I am so consumed by entertainment that sometimes I have to wonder, whose entertainment am I?

So consumed by comfort, whose comfort do I provide?

lost in this endless river of words
drunk on the fire

desire, my friend
desire, my love
desire, my god

River Days

River Days

the sun basks in the sea-sky, cottonwood flashes in the breeze like water in a stream. we the people wonder, will the river birds show up today?

people sit and listen to the jazz band play jazz with an undertone of funk. while a group of 6th graders holds up the ice cream line.

We the people.

black mothers in sunday summer dresses and their friends in v-necks. latinos conversate;

the caballero with two daughters —one painting a horse, the other a bright pink pig. both meticulously painted.

dad is laying back, but also giving instruction when needed. i follow his lead. he offers his chair to my wife. we smile and make eye contact.

We the people.

the old look after the young, while the young watch out for the old.

two policemen chat, arms folded, sunglasses on,
and jump to smiles and high-fives as soon as a kid walks by.

We the people.

dads push strollers. moms walk with toddler in hand.

fire hose spray, a rush of children trying get soaked
and the kids and firemen laugh together.

We the people.

the endless river smoothing stones, polishing the light of day. a drifting canoe works it’s way through the languid shallow water.

Dragonflies never seem to stop catching the eye.

We the people
We the people
We the people

The duck race at Renton River Days

This poem is for those that believe that they can learn something about themselves in the way they read poetry.

I wrote this after our family trip to the annual Renton River Days, a festival celebrating the summer season and the water in general. A part of Seafair, a week long celebration around the greater Seattle area. So much talk about race relations and this group v that group and you go out to a community outing and there is none of that. More and more interaction you have you may start to notice it’s just not there, not the way it seems within the media and political powers. It’s up to us, to you and me -We, to not let the talk run away with us. Thanks for reading!



Into the misty morning Gray
the ‘gulls cry back to crashing wave
across the housing development
and back to the Sound
screams of separation resound.
For they are one, the sea
and the ‘gull
and any moment apart
is like dying
like the crashing
of the wave
and the heart

and i want nothing more
than to get back to you


There is a cutting truth, the kind of truth that stops the argument in its tracks, there is no wiggling around it

—as soon as the truth is seen it cuts through any illusion immediately.

Words cutting
through illusion
mind over mind
reality seems ether thin


on the edge. on the edge, always on the edge. on the edge. we’re always on the edge. on the edge. livin’ life on the edge. on the edge, i’m always on the edge. on the edge, my love is always on the edge.

on the edge.
til what i got
to give is gone. gone. gone.

boy you’ve got to know
to teach with a soft hand

to love with a fierce heart.

gone. gone. gone.

livin’ is easy, but it’s the learnin’
to give that
makes the change

boy you’ve got to
speak with a soft voice

you know
to listen with a big heart

peace and change
making peace and change
we could be
makin’ peace and change

strivin’ is easy,
always striving
to make things easy
—make a piece of change

make a change,
boy you’ve got to
make that change

on the edge
til what he got
to give is gone. gone. gone.

on the edge. my life is always on the edge, on the edge. livin’ life on the edge. on the edge, always on the edge. my love is on the edge.

gone. gone. gone.

peace and change
we’ve got to
peace and change
make a piece of change
we could be
makin’ peace and change

gone. gone. gone.

For Granted

…and I see the Indian couple on their evening walk, with an arms width between them, as they sway with the same pacing, I resolve not to take for granted this ease of walking, or that spring in my step (though it’s not what it once was).

And the lavender stretches and dances with resplendent joy…