Trash and garbage

contain meaning.

Say what now of

all that cleaning?


Here’s the clutter:

pins and candles,

steamer, carpet

red tape handles.


Line it up for

a collection…

sweet removal,

heal infection.


Leaves on branches,

a cactus rind—

takeaway from

your landfilled mind.



That big ball of

God’s energy

has gone above

and beyond me.


I used to think

and pray and dream

but I’ve lost ink

and heart and steam.


The beauty in

the truth of good

is just as thin

as stain on would.


There’s nothing left

in my account.

It’s human theft

of spirit’s mount.


NOTE: A friend of mine challenged me to write a poem about spiritual bankruptcy…something she filed for today. How—and where?—does a person file such a pleading? Over cellular lines of communication, by speaker, into the void! Who takes the case? We do. We are all members of The Supreme Court Of Humanity.

God has no jurisdiction where there is such a separation of spirit and state of being.

The End.




E = In2

E = In2


What’s in a name?

Who’s at this inn?

Infamous fame?

Hope on a pin?


Inner g forces

light in up speed,

minding sources,

dominion freed.


Inertia sticks

to inner eye.

Intentions fix

Indite reply.


Two are in state…

…letters in line


our Einstein.



While summoning energy early this morning in order to apply it to the tasks of today, I saw the spine of a book on the shelf—a biography by Walter Isaacson, titled Einstein: His Life and Universe.

Until now, the fact that there are two “in”s in this great thinker’s last name went unnoticed. I saw that the only appropriate thing to do about it was to write this poem. What also caught my attention was that in the word “universe” the spelling of “in” is reversed…but it is in there if one takes time to see it!

Thank you!innerlight

This photo is of a light bulb inside a glass box. It is part of the design of a mailbox that belongs to my neighbor.


In Cloud Storage

In the bucket

of your wish list

lies the fable

of what you’ve missed.


Dreams in storage

too elastic

to be kept in

pails of plastic. 

august motion




Have a penchant?

Learn something new?

Send it upward

then pull and do!




Desires rise!

You’ll get the gist

with head in clouds

of see and mist.



     My friends have heard me talk about the fact that I have a Cloud List. It’s what most people refer to as a Bucket List. My desire is to have people start storing their unrealized dreams in a Cloud List.

     The theoretical cloud is a much better place to keep your list of desires. It is safer than a bucket, and much more romantic! A bucket is also something you can use in an emergency leak or throw-up situation. It holds mop water or other kinds of throw-away or recycle-able things.

     You don’t see buckets all that often, but you do see clouds in the sky, and when you see them they can remind you of what you’re keeping in a vapor state. Vapor states are mutable–they can evaporate or turn to rain or snow. And, they are interesting things to imagine–when you want to realize a dream, see yourself stretching into the sky, reaching into a cloud and pulling out a ticket that will actualize and allow your dream come true.

     What’s on your Cloud List? 

     Since I’ve had my dreams in the clouds, I have been able to realize a ski lesson, a dance lesson and a few other things I prefer to write about by hand, and only in a journal. There are a whole lot of other things on my Cloud List–some are profound, some are pedestrian and all are possible poem material!

COMMERCIALIZED: An Essay on Expansion in 400 Words


eye eye eye eye

My wise grandmother blessed me with many with indelible memories. Spending the night with her and “Pa” at their home was my first experience of how the world could expand.


            My grandparents were from Croatia. Grandpa laid bricks and played bass in a five-man orchestra. Grandma was a gourmet—she cooked with guidance from recipes written in old ink on yellowed papers. Heirloom recipes were scratched into her memory.


            Getting to their house by dinnertime, I helped set the table. I watched grandpa enjoy the food before him. I spoke and was listened to as we progressed to quiet enjoyment of the inevitable dessert. Then for me there was a bath, pajamas, a story grandma told of her own experience as a child in the “old country,” a feather pillow, and the hope for a dream to be discussed at breakfast. Grandma knew that dreams had meanings. She interpreted them.


            One morning at grandma’s house, I’d remembered a dark dream. Maybe it was about a witch—something I was as scared of in theory as I was scared of dogs in real life. Maybe a witch and a ferocious dog? Perhaps I’d cried in my sleep. Salt-like, crust lingered in the four corners of my eyes.


            In the sunny kitchen, I described my feelings while grandma cooked breakfast. At a point, she looked into my eyes. She said, “You have a commercial.”


            “A commercial?”


            She handed me a tissue and told me to wipe my eyes. Then she explained: “You vatch a story on T-Wee and then adwertisement comes on. The commercial. When you get something in your eye, it’s a commercial. You vipe it out, get rid of it.”


            Commercials are everywhere now—on TV, in print, on billboards, on screens, embedded into consumables, on telephones, in the mail—and they’re always in your eyes. No one bothers to wipe them out. Marketing, advertising, getting the words and pictures out are here to stay.


            The world expanded…so fast.


            So, I take a tissue to my eyes when a bit of salt and cellular debris builds into them. I take the issue to my mind and close it down. I take a walk in a place where the only things that bombard my senses are trees, sky, clouds, birds, flowers, puddles, rocks and. . . and I think about what kind of energy presented the opportunity to appreciate natural marketing.