When Time is Song

Time is a song
that’s flowing in rhythm;
It’s like a river
and always changing –

Time is our heartbeats;
It’s our love for each other;
The planet in darkness,
and the planet awakening –

Chorus: Experience of oneness
and planet as whole
looms on horizon
when time is song –

And this time flowing
within and around us;
Time’s like a song
where we all dance along –

This world’s inner rhythms,
changing like heartbeats,
making the wholeness,
connecting each one –

What words or images do you like about this song?

I’d like your comment.

The Garden

Small Purple Flowers2

What is the garden saying to my soul?

Come and bathe in the color-sea.

The reds, the whites, violets: a mosaic,

a panorama, a journey for the Soul –

A symphony of color

amongst the grand healing tones of green

Experience in the stillness

the flower’s vibrations.

Be open now to those sounds in the silence

out of which comes all the languages –

Open now to this experience of the Heart.

Photo by Joanne Savoie

“Poetry sees you through those difficult times, helps you regulate your emotions in a way that nothing else can; it restores order in the midst of chaos.”

– From “Why We Write Poetry” -Anna DiMartino

What is the feeling that this poem gives you?

I the Poet

Larkin Creek 1

I am not an ad for me,
I am just me,
for better or for worse.
You don’t have to like me –
that’s my job.

Hiding for me
isn’t an authentic way,
although sometimes helpful

I am the poet,
evolving and unfolding,
expressing my skill
and taking this journey
of my life.

I love the feel of writing –
I write in a
flowing cursive manner
where thoughts and feelings
and words come easily

I the poet want
to deepen this
often fragile link
of language between us,
between the conscious me
and my deeper self

This is my commitment.
For tonight –
I hope I have made
a step on this journey.

What do you think is the role of the poet?  If you are a writer or a poet, why do you write?

Why do I Write?

I love to write and want to share it. I’ve read a few pieces by other blog writers, some with which I have resonated, so I want to express why I write. I have of course been inspired and instructed by many well-known writers. Two of the most notable influences have been Natalie Goldberg’s “Old Friend from Far Away – the practice of memoir writing”; and for poetry, Robert Bly’s “News of the Universe – poems of twofold consciousness”. Of course there have been many more influences on my writing and composing.

I write often in a journal, and then write memoir and poetry pieces. I find basically for me that my writing nourishes my soul, my being. It may seem strange to some that I most often write in a cursive way, and then type it out later. That seems to work best creatively and expressively for me. My creative feelings and thoughts seem to flow best that way. I have studied how to write other genre and have read a variety of other things, but I prefer sharing poetry and some memoir writings. In truth, my writing is basically selfish- I’m discovering in a solitary manner, insights about myself, others, life, ultimate reality, and spirit. I don’t define life exclusively because it seems always to be evolving, expanding out of any mental frame I give it. I am just another wise man around the proverbial elephant, trying to fathom Ultimate Reality. Life is a Great Mystery, and I’m very grateful to be on the journey and using my talents, hoping to make a difference for a few others. That’s how I can use my life and death on this planet.

I guess I’ve stated enough. I’m joyful that I have the wherewithal in our tumultuous world full of inhumanity and suffering for many, but also full of much love and caring. I would hope that my writing would make some small difference in the larger picture, but that may be an unreachable goal. I have collaborated with those who care and have that same hope for a peaceful world that works for all.

I just write in my journal and share some of it. To restate, I write to express and nourish my heart and soul, my being, and I hope that it makes a difference for others in this world. You’ll have to forgive or tolerate my inner poet’s tendency toward incremental repetition, like a song or a poem, verging for some on redundancy I suppose.

What are your aspirations as a writer?  Why do you write?

  What do you read most?

Inspirations of the Muse

In a sense, all of my poems are a declaration of the spirit I feel inside my life, something I want to share and show others this poetic doorway. These are my linguistic craft. Each of them has a story in itself. My poetic skill has matured over a number of years, beginning, I think, when I read a book on Beat Poetry in the 60’s. I use words to describe, capture, and express my experience at the moment. What’s going on in my experience is much more than just the external reality, although that’s part of the experience. The words help me capture the inner experience and to share it; I use this process to reflect my heart, mind, and spirit. I don’t use the words to take myself out or away from the experience, but to take each experience to a deeper level, and to value and affirm through [my writing], my contemplative mind, the heart of an experience.

That, I think, is what I’m calling the miracle; it’s realizing the fullness of our experience, beyond what our conditioned, egoic mind sees.

I will share more inspirational stories related to particular pieces as I write them.

You are welcome to comment!

Rhythms and Rituals-Song/Poem-1


The colors of evening, now color the sky
Signal of passage to night
and the hills in the distance, silhouette and fire,
sundown’s now radiance of light –

CHORUS: Rhythms and rituals, now, life all around
Sharing our lives with the Earth –

The colors of the city, now, light up the night,
viewing from mountain on high,
The buildings, the people, their daytime jobs done
Merge in the stillness and flow into One –

Passage of time/ now/ feelings inside
Forever flowing within,
Expansion of ecstasy/ now/ moments in time
Great Mystery in all our lives –

We’re coming together, now, evening’s embrace
sharing our feelings, our day –
It’s a game – it’s a dance – it’s a sharing of time –
it’s a rhyming, a ritual, and it’s yours and it’s mine

CHORUS: These rhythms and rituals, now, all in our lives,
Sharing our life with each other –

Time is now bending, journey of dream
Voyage to distance of stars
Wonder of universe – Earth rising up,
brightens the view from afar

  Does the poem speak to you?  What images or words stand out in this poem for you?


The Resonance of Trees-Poem

Camp Fire Reflection

{Remembering my Inner Shaman} –

 The resonance of trees
sensual feeling of the breeze
a time frame slower than
my senses can perceive

 There’s this unseen hum, now
near my inner ear
something I can hardly sense,
it seems so distinct and clear

 All around these miracles
beyond the limits of my senses
as I try to know the sense of it
within my own so small lens –

 but this resonance of trees today
inviting me to share,
to take my animated presence
where the trees cannot dare

 To feel within this resonance
1,000 images passing me by

 So, I set the metronome
so very very low.
this resonance and
so slow drum beat,
so much lower
than I know

 Is it real?
Ask the trees
if this is so –

 This resonance of trees
as I walk now with the breeze
in this time frame slower than
my senses can perceive

What is it you like about this poem?

Snapshots of the Heart

“Daddy.” I’m not so sure when I started saying that word or loving that being who was my dad. His sojourn with me was not the length of a novel or even a short story – more like a 5 stanza poem. He died before I started school at 5. It was not a tragic death, but he went through the veil before I really got to know him. Maybe this relationship with him inspired a love of mystery of poetry, song, and writing within me. I look back wistfully but thankful for the time he touched my life, we had happy moments, all too few.

I was barely able to read my new Golden Books when dad was informed by our family doctor that he had colon cancer. The conversations and experiences we had are more colored with emotions rather than articulate conversations that I can remember, so, my memories of our time together are more like snapshots. I can only mentally reconstruct our few conversations, especially those in the last few months of his life. Are these conversations real or not? I can only say they are stored in my heart where they are clear. The language of my heart being that of feeling and emotion, I believe.

There are several of these snapshots I can see clearly with the lens of my heart, in the silence, in this space between the lines. There is this one picture of him standing in front of the china cabinet in the dining room telling me something about when I would be grown up. It didn’t make sense at all to me, but I just took it in and didn’t raise any questions. I guessed somehow he was just expressing love, and anyways adults did a lot of things difficult to understand and made things I thought silly a little too serious. In addition to being my dad he was also an adult, so I didn’t question. There is another snapshot I recall of him in the hospital bed at Deaconess Hospital in Detroit. He is in a good mood, so I’m feeling hopeful – He will be back home soon. Everything will be okay again. I now see that he was good at covering up his deeper feelings and not expressing them. In that snapshot, he pointed to the dresser top drawer that was to my right, and said, “There’s a present in there for you.” It was a Hershey Bar.

Those are a couple of snapshots and a song from my heart that I share. They have great feeling and meaning to me.

The Song in My Heart

Here is the song in my heart
Here is the song in my soul
Here is a song that can heal
rhap-so-dy now –
– Richard MacKay

Crafting My Blog

Here, I want to explicate what I hope to express and craft with my blog.  This is my blog credo and roadmap of sorts, and I will see how it unfolds and evolves, as I saw my poetry book evolve with my creative work.  At this point in time, this is a definitive essay on crafting my blog.

In my poetry, I have wanted to express the oneness I feel in my life.  Simply put, I suppose I would say the articulating of my relationship in life to Spirit, Ultimate Reality, the Universe, or God.  I stated this in my poetry book: “[I am inspired by] the spirit of oneness in my experience. The connection between different facets of my experience such as visual colors, harmonies, nature, and language. Spirituality is sensing my world as both evident and mysterious and putting that into my poetry.”

I recall a TV program called The Naked City – There was a story about a person in one episode and the narrator talked about this person: who lived in a neighborhood in New York City. In the story that was told, this person never ventured out of his neighborhood, ever.”  He lived in New York City and yet he only knew a very small part in this huge multifaceted place called New York City.  I don’t want my blog to be like this, I want to venture out courageously into my life experience, into my creativity.  I want to venture into both charted and personally uncharted waters.

I want this blog to be inclusive of my creative pursuits.  A blog is for me about not only tangible stories but also exploring some more intangible areas.  It may include stories about me, I don’t know, but it will include much more.  What is this “much more”?  I can’t specifically define it – the “much more” is my imagination, my poetry, and other creative endeavors, including song composing, art, photos and perhaps more.  These are my creative contributions, hopefully to give insight and uplift other creative people.

The blog is also like life itself a creative work on its own – “a work in progress”.  Additionally perhaps, I’d like to explore some analysis of my journey of writing, composing, drawing, or painting something.  What in my life sparked that image or idea?   How did I create it then?  What do I have on my expressive palette to create my blog posts?  I’d like to suggest the analogy that a life, my life, is little like a book, it has a, a prologue, a beginning, middle, and a completion or epilogue.  There are chapters, adventures, and phases along the way in any particular life, showing growth, digression, or a little of both; a life lived is full of stories, poems, music, pictures about that journey, that is what I believe.

So, for me I want this blog to elucidate the facets of my creative muse, my creative spirit, exploring and expressing for myself and others.  It has to do with images and ideas of reality and imagination, putting together a more comprehensive outlook for myself, illuminating my intimacy with life itself.  Such is my muse’s credo and creative roadmap at this point in time.

The Death of My Father

Someone posed the question to me the other day, “Who has influenced your life the most?” I thought about it for a moment and then unequivocally answered, “My father.” My answer surprised me since I think many people have influenced my life. It may seem like a pretty standard answer to the question for most people. Here’s the caveat or surprise, though: my dad was only in my life for a very short 4 ½ years, not long.

I realized that my dad, James Evan MacKay profoundly influenced my life. I have never expressed this profound connection to myself or to anyone else. At this time in my life, however, I realize his importance in my life’s direction. I realize he’s been there for me, not in a material sense, but I guess in a spirit sense, in a heartful sense. He’s always been in my heart. I have not talked to him, though I know that it’s a visual exercise one can do with close friends or family members who have made their transition. I’ve never been one to go to séances or to talk to departed spirits, and I don’t have a strong belief in that.

What I know about my experience with my dad in this life is that it occurred before I had a great faculty with language or life as I know it now. It occurred in the time of my life where I was developing emotionally. It was before I learned to read and write or add and subtract or in effect have the mental and physical skills of an adolescent and an adult. I have a few memories and pictures of him while he was with me. He had at least one conversation where I recall being there physically in my body, but I didn’t grasp, I think, that he was trying to tell me that he was going to die. I didn’t know what dying was. He talked to me about being an adult, I believe. It didn’t really make too much sense, and I don’t remember how I felt; only confused.

I would say the event of his dying and death was not a consciously traumatic experience, but one that my family carefully crafted me through, avoiding the emotionality of it. In other words, his suffering from cancer was for the most part hidden from me. There was no grief or crying for me; there was only, after his death, enjoying a trip up to my aunt’s in Sudbury, Ontario, and getting ready to start school, shortly. Carefully planned distractions to ease me through until school started. Unfortunately, for me a pretty blank, perhaps emotionally empty time, not that I felt like I was suffering. Perhaps, I could say in retrospect, I just didn’t feel anything deeply too much. Perhaps there was sadness at the loss of my great friend and prince, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.

So, in essence, this experience put me face to face with the ineffableness of life. – That’s why I say that this relationship with my dad was a profound one. Life is a mystery. I have learned to journey in this mystery, this uncertainty. There is always the evident, the familiar, but also there is the mystery; both have been familiar realities with which I’ve lived. There is for each of us our life’s purpose and journey of each day, and there is also death and completion at journey’s end. I’ve learned and practiced loving each new step on this journey, and I’ve tried to live as fully as possible and to the best of my ability. I feel I have been loved and guided by certain others and by this Mystery, however you name it. I am grateful for it all. My fondest wish is to portray, practice, and express this love, this spirit of the Mystery for others.