along the trail she waits

in the gentle stillness there
come the words hauntingly
that line the water’s edge
echos of the lover’s heart
creates the music floating
only the thoughtful apprehend
where mothers and daughters,
and daughters, and sons
walk that golden thread woven
starting around the night’s fire
the robe wore like the day’s
gathering of fruits, nuts and blossoms
delicate and painful,
beginnings and endings
where tomorrow’s dreams ignite
captured in this one simple
moment’s embrace of the infinite.
– for Kristina


confined to the boxes there
create your private illusions
flourishes to bloom herbs, pressing
weeds and brewed a bitter tea

someone else’s wildflowers
became your vines wrapped legs
firmly planted immutable space
with spurious belief, internal critic

bought Birnam wood closing
round with root and branch held
once greenish constructed a prison
of what would have been beautiful.



It is
the wave
the wind
the light
the color
that flows
spreading high
and laughing
all the while
buried deep
the ground
the earth
the core
the fire
stones move
creatures emerge
solid roots
from ancient trees
catch hold
carry essence
upward to leaf
solid as iron
supple as water
It is
and always
It is me
it is you.



and of the finest
these moments
transform energy
blooms compassion
with little hands
steps aside
my fragile heart
begins a new song
with graceful
dancing smiles
along other roads
where trees
always sway
in gentle breezes
and your love
not contained
carries the river
touches bare feet
of children playing
sandy shoes
that line the door
warm cocoa memories
rich laughter
like kindnesses

little shoes


what remains

the stories that remain

Switzer’s road, the cool stream frogs’ song
camping in our homemade bags
around the campfire with marshmallows,
hot dogs on a stick found by the site
because that’s how you do it, rugged
under the stars shooting overhead
how my brother rolled in his sleep
down the hill away, stopped by a boulder

hot chocolate after playing in the snow
sledding, creating snowmen and angels
the tall pines heavy, dripping with white
visiting winder’s show weekend roadtrip
because that how you do it, returning
home where the quakes rattled rooms
how my sister always spilled restaurant drinks
laughter and the stories we told, we tell still


About 1977


defining you

before electrons firing, connecting
one neuron to another forms
pattern that you’ve felt before,
the addiction of attraction, anxiety,
stress, or fear, that form 
a chain
so many miles long, no one
can really know 
the endlessness
like Christmas lights that line
city streets at night reflected off
the muddled snow in heaps aside
one stream 
to another, fireflies
that feed your thoughts, driving to
places you have dreamed about yet
dare not go, even in sleep 
there is
no rest, it creates the reality that is you
the only 
truth that matters, your unique
piece of humanity standing the crowd
pacing the worry while holding up the trees
not to make a fallen sound, majestic
dances in the wind, and somewhere
a baby cries, 
and somewhere a woman
dies, and somewhere lovers 
sigh, and
somewhere a soldier kills, the reality
create, the definitions you told
yourself, just illustrations of the story
 are the truth no one else can own
things that were spoken and 
those that
you cling to like the lies in this bed,  

they define you, they define only you, 
only you alone in your illusion.



– Sean Peterson Schnell
(from Voyages, Maysa Peterson)


There you are again, against the wind
Walking these roads, tiny steps each day
You cut new paths through rustling leaves
Hidden beneath dark hair, against your cheeks

But you say nothing to me

Life is relentless, you said
Well here I am
Waiting for your response
I can’t just leave you here like this
So here I am
Waiting for you
And in my head    
The silence        
Yeah sometimes the silence roars

Here I am again, pushing through
Pushing through this, this stinging rain
It’s another day there with yourself
Why do we always meet like this?

It’s filling me with anguish

Life is relentless, you said
Well here I am
Waiting for your response
I can’t just leave you here like this
So here I am
Waiting for you
And in my head    
The silence        
Yeah sometimes the silence roars

Yeah, sometimes, this silence roars
On this voyage
The silence



Posting now… with the song.

searching for simplicity

sometimes the silence roars

there you are again,  Image
against the wind
walking the roads
tiny steps each day
cutting new paths
the rustling leaves
hidden beneath those
dark strands before you
beating your cheeks
pushing, pushing through
the stinging rain
another day, another
there with yourself
interminable sentience
intimate voyage
with pique and delight
anguish and desire
life is relentless, you
always said and
the silence

And here is the song that Sean Peterson Schnell, lead singer and song writer from The Day We Met wrote based upon this poem.  Enjoy!

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swimming in stars


Mosquito Bay

the moon comes he says
in tones that rise and fall,
falling stars will then hide
what now circles all around
glistening water, luminescent
trails behind like wings
dark, the little boat bobs
sways the tidal dancing
direction becomes lost as
downward the upward shining
swimming between the stars
an ethereal welcoming home



again the gleaming
horn section
blasting turning into
tuning, disorder
organizing, hot
metal branding iron
before the screaming
teeth, the crashing
waves jagged rock
etched our
monument’s face
sandy undertow, and
churn, the little
creatures scatter,
burrow, wait for the
receding to talk
among themselves
under the roar, wishing
to be heard




orange and yellow explosions
nestled in the round green, crawling
the corner of the yard where loquats
ripe and dripping fell onto the ground
created a child’s secret fortress
hide and seeking, the lemon tree reaching
how we sold its juice for matinees
collected soda bottles for change
skateboarding down Franklin hill
tomboy pleasures, imagination games
later passages to sons, where the 
community center gym transformed
spaceships with sabers flashing, bedtime
stories shared across generations
‘little old women sitting in the tree,
pushing one leg and pulling the other,
pushing one leg and pulling the other,
pushing one leg, and…’
falling asleep.


Nasturtium memories


walking the blue shadows
that call out your name between
soft light and verdant scent
music descends from the canopy
swimming through the heat
where the water’s edge tied
the last little canoe for today
there inside, the ripened mangas,
bananas, and rice weighs low
to settle yourself for the hours’
trek somewhere deep into the
green, and as Boto lures young
women, a Lua births a river



Long Travelings

four corners met in the nostalgic
lullabies sung now to sleepy children
places long ago well traveled reminders
the stones in your shoes, white canvas
how red cliffs scrape the sky, tower the
golden cottonwoods by little brook
sliprock trails led you into the heart
cliff dwelling and the kiva descending
desert cholla, how sage contrasts the emerald
crashing sand dreams that wind the coast
seal lions and sea birds romp shores
in childhood you played and picnicked
tall pines fill the spaces to open up
on glacier blue Paradise Ice Caves
blue lupines and red paintbrush flower
picking wild blueberries and eating them all
how the islands dot the bay calling you
to visit, cycle their course and walk
long paths that smell of bay laurel
hemlock leans the iced falls transformed
daily into sculptures of winter not far
from where the corn fields once stood
the lake now frozen holds its secrets
where once you lived now transformed
into the places long travelings





It is the monsoon
season, August in
Tucson, but a monsoon
in life. Energy levels
rise and fall, build
and deluge filling
the arroyos,
filling your eyes
to stream down
your face with
laughter and pain,
with longing,
hope and fear,
filling with emotion
and energy that
can’t be held back
because the longing
is too great
it doesn’t belong
to you alone, it
belongs to humanity,
to the earth
and heavens,
it something divine.


Seth: Why do people cry?

Maggie: What do you mean?

Seth: I mean, what happens physically?

Maggie: Well… umm… tear ducts operate on a normal basis to lubricate and protect the eye and when you have an emotion they overact and create tears.

Seth: Why? Why do they overact?

Maggie: [pause] I don’t know.

Seth: Maybe… maybe emotion becomes so intense your body just can’t contain it. Your mind and your feelings become too powerful, and your body weeps.

– City of Angels


It came with thunder roar

sudden against the walls

cracks that opened skies

falling like stars’ showers

laying there on grassy hill

the wind howled your name

hearts bled the tears of lost

while laughter combed trees

dark shadows like sentinels

marching across the horizon

dreamt of better days when

evening fireworks were a blessing



there is a place, there
between the silence and gray
where grace resides so gently

beneath the river tumbled stones
cradled in tree branch nooks
between the fluttering feathers

elegant hawks in flight,
there is a place ethereal
between the day and stars

where cognition patiently resides
collapsing the waves resounding
whispering the wind of blue

and in the stillness, discovery there
is a place where oneness hides
buried deep inside of you.