I write this to all the men of my generation, my age - 70s/80s. Go back and listen to Bob Dylan's music. He's been speaking to us--and for us-- for the best part of our lives. But we forget now and then and we get lost but its still there. The world recognized it again with the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature. Its time to listen again. You who think Trump is an answer, the times were a changing in 1964, and they are changing still and Trump is not the answer. He is the grosses example of the worst of what was. When he wasn't looking women have changed, they are free to denounce men like him and to stand with men who respect them in all areas of life and will stand with them against men like Trump. Women in all parts of society know that men do not speak of women that way and men will not accept his demeaning of our girl friends, wives, mothers and our daughters or any women known or unknown.
And times are still "a changing" for our brothers and sister in the African-American, Hispanic, Native-American and Asian communities. The set backs are agonizing and all the worst with a fool like Trump in the public eye. But Obama showed us in reality that change is all around us. Biden has move on this - Trump and his ilk cannot reverse this flow of history.
By John Peterson

The Dreams We Share

Parallel Universe book cover.

Cover design by Judyth Greenburgh
Cover art by Gerald Macua

Poems by Raphael Block
ISBN 978-1-63649-694-8
111 pages $17.50

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Peace Presence

The frost brings out
the whorls and swirls that flow
like fingerprints
through these redwood deck planks.
While Thich Nhat Hahn slowed
the whole anti-war march
walking with mindful presence,
thousands of fraught, pained people
came to their senses.
When do I make time
to look at the shelf
instead of the books?
To touch the grain
and let the pine feel me?

Raphael is a poets of the natural world, he studies it, he walks it, he speaks it and sings it and, oh yes, he writes it. Here is the writing, but rest assured he is the same here in these glyphs and symbols as he is face to face, as he is when he chants it, as he is when you talk on the phone or when my son Devon and I met him on his shaded redwood deck.

This is our fourth book together and that in-itself is an honor. Each book does what Alan Watts shows in one of his talks on Zen. Zen has no philosophy, it just points to the thing itself, satori - you can only have it. Through parables and poetry, a way is pointed, then you must have it. Raphael does this, his poetry is a pointing "the whorls and swirls that flow". Now it is up to us to dare to find out if his pointing is ours. – John Peterson, Publisher

Calla Lily

Each day the cup grows larger,
its lip curls farther, a miracle
resting on its tall stem and
broad leaves, its delicate stamen
a yellow glow through
the translucent skin.
Although its core is not fully visible,
we know its color and scent–
its story, our story, the same.


Riversong Cover Image

By Lee Underwood
ISBN: 979-8-9896447-0-4
87 pages, $15.50

Sonia Crespi
February 5, 1935 — December 26, 2022

To my beloved wife of 50 years,
I dedicate Riversong and all of my
other published and unpublished works.
She was the one who made them come alive.
I feel most blessed to have loved her,
even as she loved me deeply and truly.


Music arises in the cosmos and sings throughout
the universe. On our small blue globe, each note
blossoms into a culture, each flower into a musician,
each leaf into a song.

Just like a poem, a child, an orchid, a dove, a planet, a star,
a galaxy — music in all of its manifestations exists above our
human commotion and sings with a life of its own.
Music, a vital power, the breath of being, is as beautiful and
indestructible as cosmic joy itself. With all of our ups and
downs, life IS our personal riversong.

Listeners who seek its music will find it within themselves.

Those who listen well will always hear it.

Flight of Geese

Ah, I can hear them calling.
A flock of geese in flight, beyond the trees.
I rush to the door, open it, walk outside,
Lift my head toward their wild honking.

They appear just beyond the trees,
A magnificent widespread V, each individual attuned to all.
Their voices arise as a melody, each one singing to
The others as they fly like an air-born orchestra.

I crane my head back and listen and watch,
Magnificently attuned with their wild and lofty flight.
My aching heart sings in such deep love
Of their gorgeous beauty, so wild and free.

They honk as they fly across the skies,
Moving slowly into the fog ahead,
Singing their song to me as I watch and listen
As they disappear into grey clouds, distant... gone...

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