To be a poet

One day, I hope
I’m brave enough
to step out of my head
and into the rough

to savor the joy
give thanks to the pain
drink it all in
like life-giving rain

remember every moment
grateful for the chance
to relish the mundane
to be fearless and dance!

be a poet of simple things
elevate the lowly
praise the grass, the hopper, the worm, the soil
and finally know what’s holy

In awe

I am in awe
of how some poets
delicately spin
the choicest words
into a web of meaning

Then unlike the unwitting fly
I walk headlong
into their trap
and a few moments later

I am dangling upside down
from their web
with the most contented expression
of resonance through my whole being

because they succeeded
in revealing what’s
in front of my face
glowing and transcendent
and has been there
the whole. damn. time.

Snow globe

I think if I fill
my head
up with words
then shake myself silly

I imagine those words
would create
beautiful patterns of verse
as they slowly descend

before resting
whence they sprung
just a brief moment
before shouting, “Again! Again!”