Beautifully Random




So tell me.  I’m listening, I’m watching and learning.  In other words, I’m open and accepting, as I hope you’ll be to my own ramblings.  Beautifully random. There’s chaos in my organization.  Yes, I keep things in a row, though I never promised they’d be linear.  I let the train of thought ride its roller coaster tracks, slicing the wind and dividing the night in equal portions.  Those halves belong to the enlightened, but their names escape me.  They’re beautifully random.

They’ve told me I’m here for a reason.  I’m here.  I’m there.  There is here when I’m there, and here is there.  The yin-yang perception of space.  There is no definitive direction, perhaps, just the places I belong.  Beautifully random.

If I exist for a reason, have I begun to fill the prescription?  Have I found the cure for the void that God believed was in the world before my arrival?  Along the way I’m paid handsomely in breaths.  I suppose I’m being paid in advance – I’ve surely taken more than I’ve given.  No, I don’t mean in materialistic ways, just in abstract ways. Beautifully random.

I want to embody my potential.  I want the outside to reflect the inside, but it’s my human flaws that seek this watered reflection.  I may just be the book often spoken about, the cover of which purposely hides the contents, so that each turning page shimmers in pleasant surprises.  There is no foretelling of chapters that lay ahead, but instead a guarantee…  that they’ll be beautifully random.









The Overcoat




We gathered donations for needy storm survivors

I scurried to find jars

of Classico tomato sauce, our favorite.

I found blankets freshly washed in our guest room

I still needed to look for warm clothes for those

without heat.


His winter jackets were waiting to be collected

along with his skis and boots.

Sweaters had been given to Goodwill.

His gray cashmere overcoat still hung in his closet,

hardly used since his business career had ended.


As I gently folded it into the bag to be

taken to New York City that afternoon,

I pictured a homeless man wearing it.

He would have loved that.






Since You Are Gone




Since You Are Gone

lost my ray of sunshine,

my golden light

to illuminate the ebony bleakness.


I am a bird without feathers,

flightless, lacking updraft.

Destination unknown.

How will I sing a song without a melody?


I am a candle without a wick

to illuminate the way

flicker the spark of love.


I am a stead without a mount

without a saddle.

Who’s to hold me upright?


My heart hears the whispers of your love.

I feel love gift for eternity.





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