Today we mourn the collapse 

Of something beautiful, 

And weep for the loss 

Of the ideals we held dear: 

How could so many folks condone 

This senseless killing?

Power of a symbol

Perhaps it was a mistake to choose 

As the symbol of our nation 

A huge angry predator 

Always alert for prey 

And determined to be master 

Of all that he surveys.

Echoes in the fog

The slow disintegration of this cabin 

Echoes the slow disintegration 

 Of the values we hold dear, 

Ideals embedded in our constitution, 

In our faith, 

And in our hearts: 

Freedom, compassion, equality — 

All crumbling as we watch…

Shadows

Early morning, and the sun is low, 

The mist is rising from the frosted lawn,

 And the apple trees, so barren in winter,

 Cast long, mysterious, inviting shadows 

Expanding across the path of light.

Reweaving hope

I wish, like this brave soul, 

I could rise above the controversies 

Tearing my country — and my soul — apart. 

And yet, there may be things that I can do 

Here, on the ground, 

 To find the threads of compassion 

That once bound our souls together 

 And re-weave them into a basketful of hope…

No aurora here

Waiting last night for the northern lights, 

My camera full of colors from an earlier sunset 

And sparkles from that morning’s frost, 

It seemed fitting that the sky remained as black 

As the clothing worn by the women in black, 

Who stood that afternoon to mourn 

The violence disturbing our fair country.

All is not yet lost

When so much seems dark, 

The mountain that lies beyond my window 

Reminds me the world is larger than this; 

That the sun still rises, 

There is still beauty, 

And all is not yet lost.