We begin,
We end,
And our lives
Leave shadows
On the ones left behind
Like faint writing
In the style
Of the departed’s hand;
Just as how your laugh
Is a little like an echo
Of the now still voice,
A small tune in harmony
Hummed quiet
Across generations,
Familiar in the quiet;
They are seen in the mirror
Behind your eyes;
Felt beneath your chest
within your heart.

And so this,
This is how we live,
Continuing on…

R.E.

Jupiter reigns

Over my head

Oblivious to us all

In his tiramisu glory;

Forever watching

The endless dance –

Io, Ganymede,

Europe and Callisto

Tease naked circles

Round his throne

Just out of reach

Laughing in light

Casting shadows

Across his clouded face.

Information is created

But never destroyed

Or so we’ve been told

But where does it go

Where does it go

Deconstructed

Only to be assembled again

Forever and a day from now

How many times

Have I written this poem

Infinite…

war kills the song bird
that dares to sing
as the light of dawn
spills blood across the cratered rubble;
what else can a bird do
in the face of bullets and bombs
but take its voice to flight
and bring a small, quiet beauty
over this dominant death
blazing like a sun,
a bright target for every eye.
what can a song bird do but die;
die singing for a different day to come
that the music might echo through the dark
and irresistible, draw peace into the open.

i hear the music of the dead
now flightless and silent,
now louder and soaring higher than before
inviting my voice to join
and in chorus drown out the hate
that stills the human heart.