Trust

Trust

I have a strange mix of deep trust in life and general skepticism. I am overly trusting with business assuming that we will work together with positive intention and keep each other’s best interests in mind. I have been burned a few times by this approach. Still, I keep trust as a travel companion and this poem explains why. What is your relationship, in general, to trust? Do you consider yourself a trusting person or not?

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Warrior of The Heart

Warrior of The Heart

This poem arrived as I listened to birds sing outside my window in the morning and wondered what it would be like to be a crooner among them. It is also part of an ongoing theme: what happens if I strip away my old story (for whatever is up in my life)? What if I I could “give up the quest for another world and simply say, ‘I am here'.’” I listened to the birds sing and wondered: What if I did one thing as if it was everything?

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Not An Easy Truth

Not An Easy Truth

If you are not attentive, the world will take you, hijacking your spirit for its own ends. The hidden message in the popular dream of the world that we can "have it all" (that we can be rich or famous or above the rest) is that we must give our all to the dream. But if that dream is not truly yours, then you lose yourself in the bargain. What do you do to make sure you hold on to yourself in a world that wants to take you over?

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What Train Travel Does

What Train Travel Does

I wrote this poem while traveling on Amtrak across the USA, starting with the California Zephyr  from Sacramento to Chicago and then the Capitol Limited from Chicago to Washington DC. The photos show some of the amazing countryside of America. When do you feel off track in your life and when on track? what do you do to slip off the old robes that no longer fit who you are as you evolve in life?

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Ghost Town

Ghost Town

Once in a while, I get stuck looking for a phrase or for a line to start and find myself dismissing possibilities in search of something captivating. This is a recipe for writer's block!  This poem came out of one such blocked moment when I finally landed on the line, "I went looking for words..." The key to writer's block is "moving away" from, dismissing lines and phrases. Hence the poem took an interesting turn with the idea of driving away from something, which led to the image of a ghost town. What kinds of ghosts live in your ghost town?  

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