Recipe for Sanity

Recipe For Sanity


This cookbook won’t put up with none of your self-centered archaic antics.

Its recipes have a zesty tang to remind you that nothing exists but here and now.


After all, haven’t you spent enough time doing what was expected?

Why not add a spoonful of cayenne even though you don’t like heat?


Life would be boring if it all worked out exactly as planned.

Why not stand on the edge of a cliff and twirl as fast as you can, eyes closed.

Then take a step forward.


Well – you’re still here – so I guess it worked out.


Your reward is to be Michael Jordan about to shoot your biggest shot ever.

Millions are watching. You are in the ocean with waves lapping at your knees.

All you have to do is throw this big ol’ basketball and hit the water that is all around you. Can’t miss.


But what if a hurricane rages into your face just as you let go and blows that ball onto shore so you lose the game and dejectedly walk away amidst a medley of boos that drift into your marrow.


Can you realize that there are things bigger than you?


Can you accept that everything doesn’t always work out the way you planned?


Well… if you can… then you are ready to bake this cake.


It will only taste right if it is infused with love.

The kind of love not meant to make you feel good about yourself.


A love that is a form of art nonexistent until right now.

That’s right…something new.


And you are not creating it.

It is creating you.



clamor of the clarinet and fiddle, and it’s happening right now.

Michael Chabon Manhood for Amateurs final line.





What I knew seems lost

amidst the clamor of lies

and social distancing and

how many nutcases there

must be for our president

to be considered seriously by some.


Tommy next door practicing

his clarinet again is off key

like life has become.


I fiddle away time and it’s

as if what’s happening right now

isn’t the most important time in the

history of this planet.


Because if I look beyond the clamor

what I find is a lot of other noise

that seems to be going in the same

circles as this planet and solar system.


Maybe life imitates nature.








What if the Native People in this country

boarded giant canoes that were able to take them

all the way to Europe.


What if they came ashore on the rugged coast of Wales

and soon took the continent by storm…accepted as seers from far away.


Countries all wanted visits from this gifted group

that were in touch with nature in a way not known in that day.


The Europeans realized the faults in their expansionist attitudes and

learned to live off their own land with little waste and discovered a new kind of kinship with nature.


Kings gave away their luxurious lifestyles and went on pilgrimages to find

their inner selves and ended up much more happy.


Eventually the tribes that were now flourishing all over the continent wanted to share a more personal vision of their experience.


So they took some of the explorers home with them on their humongous canoes.

What do you think happened once they got to the place now known as Acirema?











Poem 10


Is it really that different from the sixties?

Are we really that different?

What do we want in this life?


There is always a lot:

to be thankful for or

to complain about


and in this country

if you’re white and privileged– to have.


Moon shadows follow us

reflections of who we could be

and can be

and wish to be.


Why are we here?

Is it to learn something?

Is it as random as leaves falling in the breeze?

Or is this time and place perfect for us?


As if a pandemic and a pathological liar president

ganging up on us isn’t enough…maybe there’s a lesson.


And if we learn it, maybe it won’t be so hard next time.

Or maybe just the opposite…it’ll be a real challenge.


None of us know for sure.

So what do we have?

Love and hope and a whole lot of nothing.










Mask who you have become

because you can not let lethargy

be around the next corner.


Make the most of pandemic.

Zoom like you mean it.


Tinkerbelle will lead a strange brigade

of lonely fireflies above the treeline

past the Cohousing cottages

into the sky and then to the stars.


Don’t bottle up this strange energy.

Eat it like porridge.

Feel its heat.


Because who you thought you were

no longer exists.





Emoji Poem



Emoji Poem

(based on my current favorite emoji’s)


Wave to us Tinkerbelle!


look at the rabbit

who looks at time

with two open eyes


loves to wave

rides the waves


but like a bumble bee sans flowers

can’t help but be unhappy

with such horror on the earth.


His inner eagle

needs to fish around to

find an angel with brains.


His starry-eyed smiley face will

then give a thumbs up to


the doctor who is a diamond

in this time of crying.


Don’t be a nerd,

give a thumbs up

thank you to those who

wear masks.




Season of the Reckoning



Season of the Reckoning



Everything’s off rhyme

we’re stuck in syncopated time


this season of the reckoning

is echoing how sickening that

sanity’s trembling is still worsening


adrenalin assembling

both sides told they’re trespassing

disenchanting or awakening


deafening editing slides by

some who are unquestioning

but to me it is unsettling


deadening, deafening lies are enveloping

our lives but we keep on messaging

while what they’re peddling is like sentencing


we’re used to this crazy menacing

like a loaf of bread with leavening

we rise up but feel we’re second string


this skeleton of embezzling

is sickening but we’re awakening

strengthening what’s developing


together we’ll soon be reveling.






The Ideal Day




The Ideal Day…


smells of orange peels

past their prime

desiccated in sun…


cheers cascade down

like waterfalls

and I can’t get enough…


I don’t usually pinch myself

but this warrants the pain

born of pleasure…


to finally scream goodbye

to the worst side of ourselves

manifest as Agent Orange…


Reality TV once featured a peacock

strutting and fanning his wings

to the adoration of less and less…


Until crooked politics

and internet circumvent

couldn’t keep him on our screens…


they say smell has the strongest memory

and his septic tank of vision

will fade like a sunset bright from pollution…


and I will bite into a crisp Gala apple

to cherish the taste

of something sweet…




The Lake



The Lake


shimmers like the dream it represents

distant lights of Coeur d’Alene a beacon

of trust – we’re not in this alone.


and like many things

it’s not always what it seems.

we bathe in such calm waters

fed by rivers from the hills.


mines made money for a few

provided hard work and jobs

buried deep within the earth


trickle down washed to streams

flowed into pristine lake

hidden from view

way down on the bottom


like trickle down economics

as the gap widens between

rich and poor

healthy and sick

haves and have not’s


invisible as a virus

politicized until those at the top

realize that they can’t imagine it away.


that reality is more than what they think


the rest of us dive down to the bottom

and wonder why the water seems

a lot murkier than you’d expect.










Dear Anonymous American




Dear Anonymous American


I know it’s not your fault.

You caught it by default.


All he ever wants – exalt.

We wander through double talk.


From the top we get assault.

Our wounds get rubbed with salt.


You’re now in burial vault

of his askew surreal pole vault.


His mind flexible as cobalt

while your life was lost.


I’m sorry this thunderbolt

somersaulted your life to halt.


And if I say I’m sorry

it’s from one deep in worry


that you’re one of the many

his lack of caring had to bury.