Hope. Is.


BELIEVING theriverflowsformetoo
TAKING outthecomma
the VASTNESS of space
ELUSIVE onTuesdays
the FLOOD, nottherainbow
having SOMEONE waitingforyou
the PROMISE ofspring
still KEEPING adreamjournal
an INNER dialog
BOTHERING toaskthequestion
LISTENING beyondthemelody
sometimes FOOLISH
ANOTHER yeartogether
an OPEN umbrella
WAVING totheworld
TAKING thedayoff
an ENDLESS dance
SHINING ourownlight

Well, this is it, the end of hope. Did my experiment work? Am I more hopeful? Not really. What I learned, though, is that I do find hope in odd moments, hiding under rocks, and skipping through the darkness. In laughter. That one was a surprise.

Overall, this month made me more aware of how hope exists in my life—in tiny shards, in bad writing, inside fear. Sometimes it’s swaddled in gloom or huddled in a corner. But it’s there. It’s up to me to look for it.

Happy New Year.


Hope is Shining Our Own Light


the rapture is happening
in slow motion
and we are left behind
the artists on loan
called home
when we need them most
brittle emotions raw
bled out on film or stage
souls crushed by wit
and words otherworldly
legends and cautions
exquisite voices
escorting the innocent
children of war whose
cries unheard rise
a new anthem for our age
the silent soundtrack
for this comedy
what new stars emerge
to tell our painful truths
we must all shine
brighter now
we left behind

Hope is an Endless Dance


things are about to change
what things and how
what change and when
please, someone, shout the answers

life as we know is gone
how far we’ve strayed
what loves we’ve left
we have no cures, just cancers

dance on a polished floor
we slip and slide
the music spins
we lose our grip, it’s chaos

you, clinging to the wall
sit out the dance
hiding your face
no one is safe, we’re all lost

things are about to change
the song, the steps,
the mood, the lights
some say the party’s ending

choose not to fade away
shout your good-byes
grab one last drink
it’s time we stop pretending

the dance doesn’t end at dawn
the songs play on
the world still turns
you sit, but we’re still spinning

all of us, fly through space
no saving grace,
just us, just life
each end a new beginning

Hope is Waving to the World


I step out some mornings,
Face scrubbed clean,
So you can see me as I am.

Other days I dress my best,
Hoping you’ll notice
And compliment my style.

Some days I stay in,
Hiding behind closed drapes,
Not bothering to shower.

Who will I be today?
Which me will wave to world?
Each is brave in her own way.

If you see me, be kind.
Raw, or polished, or hidden,
It takes courage to wave.

Hope is Remembering Who We Are


not a command
though it might feel that way
an exhortation from on high
what the gods demand

not a gift
though it might feel that way
an offering of friendship
when spirit is low

not an ideal
though it might feel that way
an impossible standard
where madness reigns

not a commodity
though it might feel that way
a promise bought and sold
why hearts are starving

not a what
though it might feel that way
as we struggle to remember
who we are

Hope is an Open Umbrella


I hold my small umbrella,
Feel it tug against the wind.
It keeps me dry beneath a sky
That’s dark with fear and sin.

I hold tight to the handle,
Though it challenges my grasp.
I’m dry despite the downpour
Waiting for this storm to pass.

I cannot stop the raindrops.
I can’t escape the storm.
I pull my jacket tighter,
Though it barely keeps me warm.

I am caught with all the others
Who stand bravely in this rain,
Our umbrellas raised to shield us
From the hatred and the blame.

A howling rage blows fiercely;
Greed intensifies the gloom,
So we stand, umbrellas strong
Against the harbingers of doom.