Star stalker light walker
Night dissolves you dream talker
Speaking the colors of symbols in time
Grow quiet
and small myth balker
Your mind lifts like fog over water
Like mist over land
Imagination is creation–
Countless ways open to wisdom
Follow one, woman, go on man
There is one road to take
The one you’re on
You are who you make: Religion


Rayn Roberts 2017

Seven Fields

What am I…
A man.
Who am I…
A poet
What is this
A gift
of words, love, vision
a mirror
of life
a canvas
of color form line.

I say
what I see
I feel
what I feel
I tell
what I hear
I open
doors, windows, hearts
I admit
the golden ones.

It is
a calling
it is
the fullness
of a wheat field
cloudless blue
it is
the wing
of an autumn crow
in the evening
in the morning sun.

It is
all life linked
all action
having effect
for ill
or good.

It is
the hand opening
always open
ear hearing
every cry
mind in all
heart of god
and healing
at the same time.

It is
where word fail
I see
too clearly
I triumph
and fail
at the same time
rushing in
I desire
to know all
stand still
and now all.

I see
so clearly
I am
I am all
at the same time
and god’s
perfect fool.


Demented Lady at the Bus Station

Can you tell me what you are about to say?
No, you can’t, for then you would have said it!
In a world where madness passes for sanity,
It is not difficult to catch the sane unaware.
How do you think they got where they are?

They know the meaning of lifeless dreams.
They are living them all week at the office.
Their secretaries are magnificent cadavers
With more secrets and lies than a bishop.

Perhaps you could tell me what’s in a name,
I don’t think yours will amount to much.
Blame the nuns, they’re guilty of every sin.
It all comes down to how much love is in your purse.
If everyone had gotten some, we’d all be happy.


Rayn Roberts 2017

The Birthday Party

Love is a happy hopeful thing
Bright as a Mexican birthday party
Ring of children ’round a piñata

Blindfold on a boy eager to swing,
With reckless fury and dizzy glee
He flails the air for the paper dove

Down and up on a rope, then crack
A hole in the beak, tear in the tail
A wing rips out and candy descends

To boys and girls on hand and knee
Clutching sweets to the bitter end
The crumpled form upon the floor

A heap of color moves no more.
Oh happy hopeless little wing,
Love is a broken battered thing.

Rayn Roberts 2006



We Are All, All of Us…

of the same boat, floating to the same shore
All rowing north south east and west all at once

Falling from the bow leaping off the stern
Everyone all of us overboard

All of us the sick are making holes in the boat
while the evil all of us widen the holes

We are the clever and the wise
bailing water setting nets catching fish

Enlightened in prayer are we and dreamers
every century or so, rising clear eyed from sleep

yawning, extending our arms to stretch
letting the wind watch our cloak…and so

And so this boat floats on


 Jan 19, 2017

Peace in the Country

We cannot rejoice in the city
for the city
will bring us no peace.
What can the small violets say
that grow
on furry stems near
broken glass and piles of waste?
Though you kill us
and call to mind
your progress
you are not the masters of creation
it is we who will endure–
What became of country folk
rooted firmly in earth
who plowed and reaped
courage for joy
strength for sadness
what has become of humankind?
Love in a parched land
awaits a spring rain–
We must make love of the land grow.
We can and must go
not to plow, not to sow or cut
but with hearts green as
lance-shaped leaves
empty of worlds that give us no peace.

Rayn Roberts 1997


Goin’ Up to The Country