Lost Your Way?

Have you ever lost your way?
Have mercy thinkin’ ’bout yesterday?
I was barefoot in the creek.
Singin’ songs that came out of the street.  And my heart was free as a breeze.

Long before it was broken…Long before harsh words were spoken…
There was nothing to rise above.

Have you ever gone astray?
Rode weary all out of faith?
Have you ever lost your way?

Go where the love is.  And, you won’t be lost again.

##Edie Brickell


Missing You



There have only been a few steps in the stairwell, that we have missed.

Rarely inattentive.

This is the dance, after all.


I had an occasion of being…

nothing but a shoal…

clay and loam.

A raging tempest that would not be deterred.


how life falls into place.

AS if it were meant to be.

A solution for an already solved…mystery.

An acorn blown to the river.

Minutes held on reserve.

Precious time…bought with passwords.

With little doubt,

no purchased remedy to missing someone.

Never a cure to the rattle that occurs while you are gone.

Everything heard…an ambiguous love song.

Homesick beyond four walls.

My remission takes solace only in the beauty that sits outside…of us.

For to confide in the heavens…a must.


with great attribute,

they say,

‘love ages well…

and, never will it rust!’

Home, is where I want to be
But I guess I’m already there



from the inside out 1

Nothing short of dying can glorify the feeling of coming home.

It is an itch at  the roof of your mouth that will not go away.

A common cold that beds down and promises to stay.

Home is the hastened treat for the family pet.

It is a neighborhood where we can be heros…just for one day.

I have captured memories of you in my heart.

When we first met…

At the time,

lone cedar shacks were the only things housing my regrets.

Patchwork comforters provided no comfort.

Blood enemies held leather belts for punishing cohorts.

No longer ill at ease with four walls…

Nothing short of being reborn compares to you.

Nothing short of being at home…compares to the things you do.

In a Cat’s Eye

in a cats eye 1.jpg

It has come down to this, I suppose,

keeping the circle closed.

Sometimes a stone needs no polish…

to make it one’s own.

Flesh being…only water and bone.


Scorned and paranoid…are but a distant memory.

When coiled, almost fetal…true blood is after all, a distant destiny.

A sentence that becomes text, that becomes, never done.

Lambs, infantile…circle of eight on the run.


Less reluctantly, a new world order has beckoned.

As the creatures who provide the crazy to the tree…

Unity, serenity, possibly…four legs or more of tranquility.


So the fur lined bed is pulled up close to me.

Born again?

Perhaps, not.

Just a new, old day.

Sticks, stones, unpolished, at home in the fray.

in a cats eye 2
Love is the puzzle that…can’t be solved.  Catlike, it follows no rules but it’s own, and only it knows what they are.  Also, it can change the rules any time it wants, in any way it wants, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it!     -##Chris Dee

Splintered Cords of Wood

take a right 3

The cord splintered in my hands.

As though it were Goliath…and, I, David.

Just a majestic Madam of being more than avid.

Lumbering in and out…

the muddy waters that held my feet…steady.

Dreams of yesterday’s strength…oh, so, petty.

A union of handmade scars requesting that I, now, rescind that myth.

My inner child pays homage to growth.

Such as, the rings on newly fallen trees.

A well built structure,

calls me to a new way home.

Leather-ed hands toil over acres of what I have yet to see.

Oh, but, those wet with humidity, afternoons, set my child free.

Always within the run of my blood…

But not so distant that the taste of wooden soil…

gently attracts.

Robust sawdust…

Pine shavings…

Protecting me, her, us.

Just a rural muscle still ahead of the curve.

The limbs of everyday chores touching upon my able bodied nerves.