The child’s voice that was drowned, so long ago
that voice slowly sinking to the bottom of the well
together with the coins of dreams, wishes, waiting
waiting in the darkness
together with things forgotten
waiting for the bucket of redemption
to scrape the bottom and raise
all hopes and dreams, not knowing when.
Sending a small bubble of breath
to rise to the surface of the well
break free into clear air
announcing, “There are dreams here,”
“There are voices down here.”
of wishes and wants.
waiting to be listened to, waiting
being acknowledged by the old man
knowing there is a voice alive
waiting for listening.
Others have gone, I am here now,
hearing bubbles of a breath
breaking the surface of freedom
recognizing the sound of this small voice
faintly recognized as my own, still waiting
in the well of wishes.
Wanting nothing but listening
I drop the bucket in the well
watch it sink slowly
bubbles escaping from cracks in the bucket
It takes time to drop
The rope finally slackens, … the bottom.
My eyes water as the connection
is made deep in the water of the well.
I feel something, …something has dawned
tears, love, sadness, awakened
in this now turbulent water
I start to pull on the rope
the bucket full of expectations, unknown
my hands will not stop pulling,
the body must know.
My practice is pulling weight,
pulling up the drowned voice, …hopes and dreams.
My head numb, with fear, forgetting
my arms continue to pull the weight
My practice is pulling weight.
As the water starts to clear,
the bucket comes into view
I see my mirror image in the dark water
in the bucket, rising in the well.
My practice is pulling weight.
As the bucket rises,
I see a young boy in the bucket
eyes aglow with recognition
bubbles of his breath breaking surface
his tiny hands full of coins.
He is breathing, he is breathing
I lift the bucket out of the water, to the edge of the well.
He is anxiously speaking,
water pouring off his body,
as words pour out of his tiny lips.
I pull him out of the bucket
and sit him , grounded, next to the well,
and I listen.
Has Brought Tears
from both eyes
Not one tear drop from one eye
but both freely flowing.
Has the silence and stillness finally landed?
Has the well of emotion
finally filled to over flowing.
Finally watered the landscape
allowing flowers to grow again
in this world of fear, blame, and division.
The great forgetting
has broken the world
cracks have opened
this water from the well
now dripping and filling cracks
going deeper into desperate hearts
sprouting seeds of remembering
remembering how we began again.
in the garden.
learned about love
tended, nurtured, harvested,
yes, even harvesting
all the abundance
we remember how we listened
to the bees and birds, pollinating
and we pruned and fertilized
with kind thoughts
Growing with the trees.
Learning their language, their songs
through glistening eyes
I see, the stone rolled away
from the blinded eyes
now washed from sheltering.
The silence, stillness, and wonder
have deepened this desperate heart
and now soon, as the stones are rolled away
there is another chance to listen
to step into the garden again
as Adam or Eve
and this time nothing forbidden
because I have listened
to the well of emotions.
In Armstrong Woods State Reserve
In the fall of 2017 he declared himself a full-time poet and writer, and committed to have a book of poetry published. The book is mostly Haiku and a few other favorite poems. He learned Haiku from his work with Angeles Arrien Ph.D., a cross-cultural anthropologist, over the course of seven years.
He writes poetry concerned with the “Human Condition," and such topics as Awareness, Transformation, and Deep Intuition. He seeks to inspire and motivate people, with articles, podcasts, creativity workshops, and poetry to recognize their own deep creative spirit and to express that to the world. He believes everything we do on earth is a creative act, and being creative is an act of self-love.
Toughts About My First Book
My teachers and mentors say that I have always been a poet, but it wasn’t until the fall of 2017 that I read in Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way about the “shadow artist” and realized that it was time for me to step out from behind being a shadow poet and commit, take a stand, and publish a book of poetry. I didn’t know how that would happen at the time but I had undergone enough training in my master’s in organization development plus many seminars in leadership, marketing, and many other disciplines that I felt I could create a book. I also felt it was time to trust the Universe and let go of how this creation might happen.
Communications Workshop with a Rotary Club
A MYTH MAKER, A DREAMER
Reading the sample I had of Brian's poetry I thought, here is a myth-maker, and a dreamer. He does what many poets do, looking closely at the experiences of his life to see where they open out into spaciousness. But my inner ear also caught mythic tones, and dream-time themes. He weaves them together with the quotidian, and suddenly, there is something shining and breathing there, that gives blessing.