I am sorry. I don't want to be ungrateful or irreverent, but I cannot take your presents. It is not about false pride but about true and sober sincerity

Imagining a most silent star-spangled night in Sonora desert: cacti waking sleep, a mild rainy morning in a rocky Alaskan bay where seals play, a humid sunny Sumatra noon where palm-trees dip in shallow waters. Ochre, cracking off hot sun-filled Jordan afternoon canyons

Call this an attempt. Let's consider I don't have the answers, as i don't....: Why... did the Earth decide to reveal to mankind, the most inner hidden secret sacred and powerful qualities

It is time to make that cross my friend Time to sign up! Forget about the talk of tiny written stuff! Don't listen-don't read it! It is time to sign a treaty...a truce with this universe inside of you

This is the seventh Generation speaking: Well well, you might take this ingredient, add some precious flour and lots of fancy sugar and bake with it

This is the shortest Poem. I can offer in a now now reality, that is clearly happening in a sky, that is rising from between my toes opening into every direction - saying:

And even nearly two decades into the 21. century now. 24 hours a day a sun rises continuously to this: Torn open and utterly broken

Collected 108 primrose blossoms and three handful of the humble coltsfoot for the medicine chest this morning. But before it got all too sweet and cute

So one fine Monday morning it was, Mara called in one of her best foremen managing her vicious little corporate business in the age that was called parasitic consumerism and asked him how things proceed

I don't know where you live, so I cannot know how many people suffered a violent death last month in your town, your city, your county too many, that's for sure:

Dry as bone, dry as bone the earth was for weeks and now this sufficient rain. Draining into every crack and crevice like soothing balm flowing over weary flesh

It is not dawning yet, wide awake I am and I lighted a candle. The stillness of the house resonates softly. It is not dawning yet towards a dreary January morning

I don't know if this poem is necessary which is often the question when we call upon words But now early morning it is and the heron flies towards my sunset and it is the time when the nurse, poor soul