It’s Possible

It is possible to be gay and Christian.
It’s also possible to believe in God and science.
It is possible to be pro-choice and anti-abortion.
It is equally possible to be a feminist and love and respect men.
It’s possible to have privilege and be discriminated against
To be poor and have a rich life
To not have a job and have money (legal good money).

It is possible to be anti guns and still believe in the right to defend one’s self, family and property.

It’s possible to be anti-war and pro-military.
It is possible to be anti-Trump and pro-America.
It is possible to love thy neighbor and despise his actions.
It is possible to advocate Black Lives Matter and pro-police.
It is possible to not have an education and be brilliant.
It is possible to be Muslim and also suffer at the hands of terrorists.
It is possible to be a non-American fighting for the American dream.
It is possible to be different and the same.

We are all walking contradictions
of what normal looks like. Let humanity and love win.

(Poetic form by Rayn Roberts / Author is ANON, but encouraging you to copy/paste/share if you want it.)



for Ann Anderson

I’ve come to an uneasy peace running from the past
Where voices speak your name
You living ghost come out of darkness
Blinding me with joy only animals know.

I was your toy, a thing nearly real
For love ever is
But marriage is money in the big city
And a soldier’s son
Was unwelcome to a physician’s fair daughter
Lady Anne of quiet beauty, love of you nearly killed me.

Where are you, barbed eyes, sex like E
Raw love of a man
Ruin of my youth locked in my arms?
So foolishly cunt-struck was I
I’d have killed for you
Like some kill for gold or dreams
I had none, only love, pathetic love–

Nights on a sea cliff
Where the waves thundered invitations!
What a scar I might have left
But I could not in any way harm you–
As you flew out of the city
Forever away from me
I felt you sitting next to me in my car
I guess you were
Floating over me, I turned and said your name.

Celtic Tree of Life

Self Portrait

The left eye looks back at a past
Of regret and joy, wonder and guilt
War, calm, seasons, death and birth.

The right strains to see into the future
Will tomorrow unfold petals of a bomb
Or give into a blossom’s destruction?

I’ve sat a long time looking each way
Trying to make peace in the present
And still I don’t know what to do with

The scorn and wisdom of the third eye

Rayn Roberts (1).jpg


Native Love Song

Come, my love, there is work to be done
then we will sing.

Why are you sad?

When you walk with me, the corn is ripe
the river song sounds in our ears
the wolf is high in the mountain
the eagle and I are brothers.

Why do you worry?

Your gait excites the young warriors
You charm me more than your sisters
Your path is full of my footprints
Your father waits in his dwelling
Your mother knows.

Why do you doubt, you know I am yours.

Come, my love, there is work to be done
then we will sing.




Radioactive Eden

The waters they foul will clear, the chemicals
They dump will wash away, gravity will pull
The junk down from the sky, the acid rain
Will sweeten again– There may not be men
Or women to love her, Mother will remain.
I saw the waves of the sea and was seafoam
The sweep of the pine and was green, saw
Sunrise and was sun-fire, I stood on the edge
Saw the end and this is not it — Managers,
Bosses, generals under god, will have you feel
The end is near, Gaia is a stuck pig to roast
Make us believe the Creator gave them power,
Their god of love, prince of peace, their god
Of faith, hope and buckets of blood, hateful
Wrathful father, will crush the living earth
To win a bid for dominance? Think again:
In a thousand years, Chernobyl will be paradise.





To be there, pull back the veil of spring
I am a fool to want that, it comes on its own
Like the weather, unmindful of urging
The thaw in the peaks, the spill of the river.
It all happens for the first and last time
Azaleas, forsythia from the bowels of earth
Lighting the brain, life giving, quickening —
And will this be all, will it be over
This cold flame that moves me, will it ignite
Illuminate a form in which “I” take root again
In the sacred and obscene, birth and death
One stunning blow to what reason leaving me
Gracefully powerless, imprisoned in bone?
Sun warming river rocks, teasing willow tips…
I cease thinking, stop turning

impossible stone

Awake were time and space do not prevail
Breathing, breathing, the vanishing veil.

Photograph “That Tree” by Mark Hirsch.

copyright_symbol_11Photo of Deer is by Rayn Roberts