Come to Surface

Winter won’t let go,
the grip of cold and ice
fierce in attachment
to the rising earth.
Vain we are
to dream of awakening
asleep in the stone cave
yet dream we must.
As our soul fire ignites
the ice melts, rivers flow
and we come to surface
gulping in the air of freedom.



photograph by Thomas Kast






















Dramatic reading of “Come to Surface” by Steve Einhorn




Reading by the author of “Come to Surface” with music by Cinder Wells & Jim Ghedi


Happiness of the Forgotten Gods

The earth is quiet,
gathering life force
under rain sodden ground.
Rainbows of color
form in the dark soil,
ready to emerge
like an innocent babe
in the light of the sun.
I wait too and gather,
poisoning the termites
of resentment
with laughter,
making space
in my winter chapel
for the heralds of joy.
We will rise together
the earth and I
and you my friend.
Wherever you are
on this silent planet,
may the happiness
of the forgotten gods
find you and release
your inner deity.


















Reading of “Happiness of the Forgotten Gods” with music by the Beatles.


Voicing the Incantation

Light returns as the earth slowly awakens.
Warm in winter refuge,
I feel the tug to rise
from beneath the woolen blanket
and expose my skin to the cold air.
The building creaks and groans
as it shifts weight, like my body
in the first steps of morning.
A hymn of grace sounds within the earth,
melodies of joy and sorrow
stirring the underground
to begin again the journey
from darkness to light.
The old and broken seek repair
and babes listen from the womb
while elders finger their beads,
voicing the incantation of new life
aching to come forth.




photograph by Louis MacKenzie

















Reading of “Voicing the Incantation” with music by Jimi Hendrix


Working Iron

When we were behind the plow,
working portions on another man’s land,
we thought we understood the situation,
our dream a piece of ground for ourselves.
Worked our tail off for that quarter section
and then came taxes and we were forced to wonder.
My Pa fought the first war in France
and me the second, walking in his tracks.
We sent you to Vietnam and your kid to Iraq.
Now they’re ginning up a reprise.
Are you getting the picture here?
Once you decide not to lie and steal
there’s only the hard road
and it don’t lead to glory.
Your Ma believed in Jesus
and I guess I do too
but not the way she does.
I don’t mind having a friend in the fight.
Your boy never saw a pair of overalls
but he’s still working iron,
in it up to his knees.
I know you think of me
buried six feet down
so I thought I’d just stop by,
neighborly and all,
to let you know you’ve got to stand.
If you don’t, well, that’s not worth talking about.
That great grandson of mine,
do your best to keep him out of the mud.
There’s high ground somewhere
and it’s worth all you got.





















Reading of “Working Iron” with music by Scrapper Blackwell