The many places I have been And countless faces I have seen, The many tales to be told, Into the universe, they unfold. It’s all a passing show,

Every hour we are someone Different, Every day something new Learned, Death is just another

Memories of my childhood Visit more and more Each day, As ghosts of past relatives Cast their shadows,

Summertime gives A chance to grow Under the sun, Travel, to new places And have some fun.

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

My spirit communes with the four directions: To the north are in-laws, our aging mother, her last

Geese are honking As they fly Across an orange colored Sky. My spirit soars

On a walk this morning, the rocky cliffs that reach the blue-green sea, talk of strength today.

Inspiration is in the falling of rain, the soft coo of birds in late afternoon, the sinking of the

Blue star behind tree branch. White cloud passing half moon. Black space surrounds like a

This is the America I know: A sea of white, black, red, yellow And brown faces, Strong minds and voices Raised to the sun,

Not sure where we are headed, Could be a long ride, Keep your heart steady, Open wide your eyes. There is something to learn

Dark bulk of a single bird, With red puffed up chest, As winter’s breeze sways his perch…

Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay