New Poems

The Voice

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

of knowing.

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,

I listen,

I listen,

and I listen.

Sheltering Tears


Sitting Thinking,

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

spreading abundance.

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

from sheltering

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



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.

Sherri Rose-Walker





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