Life will be kind in it’s cruelty

and cruel in it’s kindness.

It will give heightened touch

and the mask of blindness.

Sweetest roses,

and sharpest thorns.

Softest fur,

and sharpest horns.

Life will draw blood,

but only to leave us scars.

Memories of where we have been,

and memories of who we are.

Memories of dreams

and memories of dreams lost.

Of hopes that are fragile

and then recklessly tossed.

Life will draw tears

and challenge our fears.

With nights of sadness,

where shadows bring madness,

and the pallor of night

takes all from our sight.

Life will give beauty,

and wither it before our eyes.

It will take purity and kindness,

and fill it with lies.

It make a smile

twist into a frown.

After all:

Life will be kind,

in it’s cruelty.

And cruel,

in it’s kindness.

Life will leave scars

to remind us,

of those things behind us.

My Garden

The ‘greening rain’ comes each May

and the delicate grass blades push upward

toward the light.

It is during this time each year, I walk the paths

laid out some years ago.

I wander the mossy carpets

which sponge beneath my feet.

I peek at the buds

slowly opening their eyes,

leaves unfurling at the sky.

And I breathe in the the earthy air,

forgetting myself.

The rebirth all around

astounds me.

Each year in May

you will find me this way:

Eyes closed

Broad smile

Arms outstretched

Breathing in,


Breathing out,

the earthy air.

Road Trip

Sometimes when I am busy with mundane things,

I let my heart ride in a blue convertible

with the top down and the wind blowing through my hair.

That is my happy place, no matter where.

I could be standing in the grocery store line

and my mind will travel down mountain roads,

where the sun shines dappled through alpine trees

and the breeze hangs with the smell of the forest and living things.

It is said that life

is the journey not the destination,

that the path is the goal, not some designation.

So I smile as store clerk beams my way,

and I beam right back, as if to say,

“I am cruising along this mountain road,

and I’m glad you came by this way.”

And then the mundane things seem far less so,

there are meaningful moments that we all can know.

With a smile and a nod, I cause a smile,

and their journey is made better, at least, for awhile.

Please join me in my convertible blue,

and we’ll laugh loudly into the wind,

both me and you.

It will be

I see you there, mortal man,

raging against the wind, tide and sea

and slicing at the vine, brush and tree,

to make of the world what you will.

And such beauty and horrors you have made!

From my window in the sky

I wonder at the living you do, with such mortal life.

But it seems so futile.

It will be, you see?

No mortal man

may change the rhythm of the tides,

or the comings and goings of the moon.

No mortal man

may freeze the hourglass,

or warm the unloving heart.

And so, mortal I ask you to say:

What is, will be.

Say it to me!

To which the mortal man replied:

“My Goddess, I am on bended knee

and pray you see, my life’s gift cherished.

I raged against the wind, tide and sea, to taste freedom.

I sliced the vine, brush and tree to build my home.

I have sailed with the tide,

and followed the moon,

I have treasured time

and lost love too.

But all these, are my bounty, oh Goddess.

For as I see approaching night

I must rage against

the dying light.”




What is a companion?

Is it a man, woman, or simply the one,

or someone who always makes things fun?

Or is it a person who’s feet touch the ground,

who’s wisdom and insight joyously abound?

Or the one who has a tender smile,

a glance and grin that makes us stay awhile?

For me, I think a companion is this:

A person who’s presence you always miss,

who always gives a gentle kiss.

Someone who hugs when you’re scared or sad,

and are always patient — even when they are mad.

A companion is the one who lights the way,

down every path, on every day.


A dandelion lay tucked in the corner of my garden

but it was at last found by me.

It was pretty and puffed in fluffy white stuff

and my eyes took in the singular beauty,

Wanting to marvel closer, I kneeled and peeled

that delicate white stuff all puffed and pretty

straight out —

and to my dismay

fluff set afloat and upon its way.

And now that singular beauty is tossed,

Some beauties when held are quickly lost.


Mere babe, so tender and unknowing.

who were you?

Before thoughts were taught,

and curses and blows bound your heart in rigid fiber,

Were you trusting?

Before the door was empty,

and disappointment stole the hopeful breath within,

Were you innocent?

Before the love was lost,

and all your goodness was thrown and broken like shards of glass,

Did you love?

Dear babe, where have you gone?

Sweet tender babe, I search for you,

but find the cradle empty,

and blackened by the shadow of that man in the door.

The sun will rise again

Sunrise over Windover Lake, MI

The sun always rises, beyond the reach of ordinary men. And yet they teach, the ordinaries, how extraordinary we may be. And they preach, the ordinaries, of God within. Promises of resurrection dance in my mind but not in my heart. The sun will always rise again but not for me, nor we. The dance begins in my chest , knowing my place in this eternal mystery is small, that death I may not forestall. So I take a stone and toss it into the still lake, and the ripples grow and glimmer in the sun. And this, I know, is all I shall ever be, and all God needs.

The long road back to here.

Dear Readers,

Several years ago, I had a blog here at It was a great little place where I could explore new ideas, write substandard poetry, and share a little bit about my writing. Then the unthinkable happened, I forgot to renew the domain and it was quickly snatched up by a domain squatter, much to my chagrin.

The years between then and now have not always been kind. Somewhere in that adversity, I grew a little older and a little wiser. Some beautiful moments of joy were peppered in there. So that brings us to the present, where I offer you a front row seat to my mid-life crisis. I am now at a moment of reckoning, where I have chosen to stop wishing my days away, waiting to retire, waiting to write, waiting to LIVE.

And yet for all my impatience to begin, it would seem patience is a virtue; after several years I was able to snatch my domain back. I look forward to exploring my muse, and wondering with you all.

Yours truly,

Ben Wonders