The Simple Word Poetry

The water shimmers in the blazing sun, it ripples silently like waves upon the ocean. The dragonflies dance merrily overhead, the birds dash above them like dive bombers in war time. I take a sip of cold beer. The trees are still, leaving only my imagination to determine whether they are alive. The grass and innumerable weeds need a good trim. The kids dart to and fro, occasionally peeking above the water, assuring me that two heads are still among us. A lonely hawk hovers overhead, circling effortlessly. I lose sight of him briefly before he reappears low on the horizon, farther away now, barely visible between the pine trees. He is my friend, carefully watching over me everywhere I go. I see him on the back roads, on my walks and in my dreams. I wonder if the dragonflies and birds interfere with his meditative flight. An inter-continental airplane flight passes over my head. Like the birds, it knows of no boundaries at that elevation. Admire it I do not, I'd rather be the hawk. A

I witness the baron plots of land, denuded of its leafy green canopy that naturally cool, shelter the birds and quiet our soul. On the ravaged surface, the dead trees lie strewn, in a prone state, stacked one upon the other like corpses. The sun bakes them overhead. The insects are full of bliss, chewing, burrowing, invading the bark like a burglar. Nearby a bulldozer digs a hole where a tree once stood. We've seen this far too often. Another building will soon call this land its home. Humans call this progress. I do not see the logic in that way of thinking. Why do we only equate progress by the number of structures we build? That department store adds to our economy, but at what cost? What has our natural world lost forever? We only think in terms of monetary value rather than environmental value. The trees and birds would undoubtedly agree. The hardened concrete and steel erect these rigid structures and solidifies man's close-mindedness towards the land. The earth is not ou

What is a church? Four walls, an arched ceiling, frescoes, statues, pews, hymnals, holy water, a priest and choir? Will I find God within these walls? Is God confined to these artificial structures of worship? I feel a peace within these walls, a respect for the church, but does it transcend my spirit and provide me with inner peace? May a church exist among the wall-less forests, unconfined skies and mountains that soar towards the heavens like a prominent church steeple? A church, in reality, is any place where the spirit of God penetrates your heart and soul. My church is found in the mountains, in the forests, in the valleys, in the rivers and streams. Who is God? What is God? Is God a man or a woman? Maybe neither. I have found that God is a spirit of goodness that resides within you. I may find this anywhere. Within or outside of the traditional walls of worship. The mountains rise high, they intimidate me, I feel inconsequential in their midst, like a parishioner before a pries

The front porch, evening, dark and the air close, storm clouds swirl above me. Myriad stars intermittently poke their heads out like a frightened child. I gaze left and right down the paved thoroughfare, I imagine thy neighbors houses bunched together like a freshly-cut loaf of bread. Can they hear my snores at night? I long for the trees and the nearby forests they inhabit, that infinite nothingness. It soothes thy soul and inspires thy mind. A distant light from across the bay. Is it calling to me? I tilt my head right a few degrees, it disappears. I readjust and it appears again.  A boat maybe.  I will have to find out. A stiff wind whips the indigenous grasses like long, flowing hair in front of the house across the road. It rests on the water’s edge, the bay front. The light pollution stunts my senses.  Nighttime was not intended so. What I would give for the tranquility of the woods. It’s dark there at this hour.  I long for the continuous sounds of crickets chirping and