In this first volume of poetry from the Transcendence Collection, Rivulets to the Sea: Predawn Memories, takes us on a journey through a poetic eye that reconnects us with a language and art form reaching across culture and time. Rivulets to the Sea: Predawn Memories contains poems about the evolution of spirit, of soul, of life. Poetry can capture a part of the mundane of the day, be the lightning bolt of change, or be the soft rain of a thousand tears that hears your pain. Poetry can read like story and pulse like song. Poetry can carry a cadence that wakes us or lulls us with a rhythmic lyric that we remember over and over. Poetry is story and story is song. The poems in this first volume from the Transcendence Collection, serve as an invitation to participate in the telling of family, place, love, tragedy, and hope. These poems are exquisitely placed along a lineage that is as ancient as the water itself from which all life flows.

Rivulets to the Sea
We are like the wind and the trees
Of the same world but not of the same origin
We are like the everglades and the succulent in the desert
Green but miles apart
You are the river flowing to the sea
Holding in the eddies meandering down stream
I am all ocean
Tangled in the seaweed beating on the rock
Someday we will flow together
Rivulets to the sea
In the end we’re all the same
Dust and bone and dreams

A Poet’s Plea
A poet’s soul is soiled
A poet’s words are a confession heard
Sometimes a joyful relief
Sometimes a painful relief
But always a price worth paying
They are the guardians of the heart
That enables a poet to keep living
Like a cleansing bath
The words wash over old wounds
And sooth the scars left standing
As the colors of sunrise
Cross an unmarked grave.

I Went Walking
I went walking, walking, up the way
I went walking, walking, for my dreams to find
I went walking, walking, up the way
I went walking, walking, for my dreams to find
But all that I found was a tattered old man
Sitting inside on his tattered old hands
And all I found was a tattered old man
Sitting inside on his tattered old hands
I went walking, walking, up the way
I went walking, walking, for my dreams to find
I went walking, walking, up the way
I went walking, walking, for my dreams to find

Where Is There Peace?
Your eyes aren’t clouded now, as mine are
Your voice is now clear and solemn and free
Your shoes are off for the night
My boots are on, strung tight and high
My voice is hoarse, where is there peace?
Our candles burn low and long, past the high towers
Our candles burn low and long, through the rubble in the streets
The stench in the jungle, the cries in the night
Our candles burn low and long and silent.