Drive to work thoughts

When I was younger, everything
was new.

Living in a city
was new. Finding relationships
was new. Going to work
was new.

But the older
I get,
The more I need
poetry to
make things
new again.

Otherwise, I am on
autopilot various
times per day,
Coasting through
everyday reruns.

Prone to frustration,
irritation and boredom.

It is a poetic mindset
that urges me to
start noticing again,
start finding the newness,
the beauty, the miracle
of being.



The last sunset of summer

A slow breeze
brushes across
my cheek, sways
easily through
many leaves

Summer synonymous
with comfort

Warmth with
moderation, inviting
a couple of layers
or only one — both
will do

Abundant views
that look like paintings:

Bluish mountains revealed
(like magic) when the
clouds vanish midday

Liquid gold peeking
between buildings
obstructed by cranes
at dusk



Seattle summers are delicious.


This great love:
it bursts into bloom,
it grows to fit any

All of the particulars
change: city, age, job,
even friends.

We’ve been to the bottom
of ourselves (and each other).
We’ve been frustrated,
frightened. And yet,
we have wandered out
of the darkest crevasses

It’s magic.

Golden Gardens, Seattle


Down four floors with our
rubbish–2 fat paper bags with
recyclables, a greenish orb
of warm compost, one small
knotted white bag,

We are ejected into the
parking garage, concrete
and sloping. Through one
gate, eager to sort it
(and forget it).

They pile out, two-by-two:
neighbors with giant coolers,
discarded lamps, pizza boxes.

Trash day, (which is actually
any day when you have dumpster-access)
it occurs to me, is a team activity.

Don’t let your dreams die in order for mine to live

An accidental poem by Beautiful Life.

The aching

that has

between us

I’m     falling       into       it.

I might
be lost.


Outside of Dallas, Texas