It's Obvious, The Secret

The flower-tree weeps

Its heavy petals,

Yet fruit is coming. 


And the rosary of pearls:

Irritating reasons 

Make it beautiful.


Do you hear the Finches

Careful with their words?


Can you sense the leaden keel

Farthest from the shore?




You are the gasp of Eagle’s wings;

The moment Falcon tears the fur—

The swelling wish of weighted grain;

The swishing scythe’s hallowed call. 

When Time Stood Still  by Victor Bregeda   

When Time Stood Still by Victor Bregeda


Poem in Four Parts


A few words well-written,

 cared for, 

developed and made real—

 are subtle currents that run 

through the river stones of our bones; 

 what our blood is made of.



Somewhere inside a very quiet place,

 gravity is pulling our bodies upwards

towards roots—

 the force of wild water 

captures the brilliance of sun,

 feeds it into the darkness of earth.



The love the soil has for the sky! 

 A blue so blue only blood could be more red!

The written lines of others fill my poems—

 I take no credit.



I awake each morning and fumble with images—

 “Ask them!” she says, 

“Have them show you the way

 down the long ocean-road.”