poetry & things


Nature lover

With eyes, like owls – great horned or a night cat’s

his arms, tree branched, heavy laden, strong

with legs, sturdy pillars for mountains climbed

hair of silken silver brushed upon my skin

his essence, forged by nights and wildfire pines

his reddened lips, softly melting into mine.

Like stars

The taste of your mouth

it exploded, salt bright

upon my lips and I fell

reckless, haphazard

as the night was – of shooting stars

blushed, bright flashed, gleaming.

I fell, the thump and tumbling

of hearts, by the moon, love spun.

Your arms, bands of gold, bronze

gathered me – each part

like stars, one by one.

From the river

All day from the canyon

the wind birds hover

the dance of pines,

the free water.

The long grass that flows,

green seaweed of the river.

September’s early leaves

paper, gold upon the water,

wild yellow petals.

The river’s edge

with bright blinking flowers, fully petaled

they are looking out upon the water

all day the blue, green, yellow of the water

all day until the red, gold of the evening sun.


The goldenrod now half exploded, on the edge

flowers cut across the path leading to the bracken woods

from the long grass, three young deer emerge

from the mist, into the forest they disappear

to shelter under fir and cedar boughs

just days old, they rest on mossy loam

I trace their perfect footprints

I want to follow them home.

Watching disappearing stars

In the cool stillness the desert awakens

night barely lingers, with dreams now afar

in the chill before the dawn

comes the fading of stars

blue before the sun

with birdsong

a new day

is sung

Breadth of night

Here in these beautiful hours

of night’s deepest secret world

shines a speckled sky of diamond fire

blooms a starry portal of flowers unfurled.

Sandhill cranes

Over by the wild fields, crossing wired fences

climbing into view, we saw the sandhill cranes

like airplanes, impossibly winged

they weaved in and out of sight

stalking tall amid the grassy screens

prehistorically made and in the green

of murky shallows to wade

warming in the sun, they come

returning every year

and we can feel the air move

in a giant swoop, a flapping wave

breathing heavy winged

we sighed, at their precarious lift off

the feathery snow of sky

alas, the distant birds

silver streaking by.

Our last road trip

Every day I awaken early

always I open the curtained window

to gaze upon the fire red sky

sink my thoughts into the tallest trees

distract my mind from these worries

I drift into the aromatic leaves of tea

try not to let flashes of you beset me

all your photographs I must quickly pass

I walk wooded paths for beauty to seek

and from my lips your name I shall not speak

and never think of our last road trip

the Colorado river, the ocean,

the weight of this sinking ship.

Of dawn

Very early, before the birds

the morning moon travels to underworlds

gathering stars and seas of glowing pearls

when swift, the sweep of darkness goes

the night from black to indigo

blue in layers, the light unravels

then wends the coming day

the dawning sky of gold.

Of all the colors

Of all the colors

or incense of fragrance imbued

of lavender in fields, violet blue

or softer still the lilac florets all abloom

pale silk, sweet the honeysuckle dew

drips and drinks the yellow painted tanager

and flits afield the newly winged swallowtail

the thrum and dance of bees bright in floral symphonies

gathering, heavy laden in the bending breeze

of all the colors, this bird iridescently shimmering

blue into the disappearing trees

too soon another day to lose

of all the colors, a favorite

I can never choose.

Chocolate (haiku)

Sitting in this void

you seem to fill my love needs

empty calories


In China, towering spires of green

with pine trees, the fog that hovers

breaks lucid in shades of mauve

blue flame of night’s dawn

gives birth to stars, the skies

white snow of clouds,

the evening cranes

that fly above.


Tiger, your eyes of amber

lull me hypnotically under

slowly sink, you slink in tallest grass

night, a steamy jungle where you sleep

scratch and paw, you claw my neck

I run, always you bite and bite

growl, and prowl hunting me down, to defeat

tireless in your clever games of hide and seek.

The trailing stars

It is summer, and soon the Perseid showers

I have gone from my desert home

I wander far from crowded towns

my feet here in grassy, bee clover

on a summery hill, all daisy flowered

green, with wild blackberries

awaiting the August sun fire.

Here amid the slowing of mars retrograde

of my lover returning home too late

no long goodbye, only the weight

I watch oceans of seaweed sway

at night the phosphorescence

the lonesome, of sea stars trailing.


Today the rains came, without any warning

I watched droplets forming, pooling on the ground

the trees dissolving into palest fog

into the quiet of this forest, void of birds

traveling off to some secret world

perhaps to some cavernous mountain hollow

with glorious wings, I dream to follow

through the darkened woods, hidden by ferns

through harrowing clouds to be one with birds

with gorgeous feathers, downy warm

among the flickers, pheasant and crow

to be an evening silhouette in the alpenglow

a skylark winging in a painted sky.


Blue, sea green night

the moon’s gone missing

lorn shore, footprints and broken shells

my heart an empty ocean to fill

without you my love, further

than the planets and stars

how long this ache

of blood and cells?


Strange music playing

I never know from where it comes

always on a whim it wanders and goes

a flute, warm breathed upon my flesh

sometimes cool night jazz

a deep toned oboe, I breathe in wildly slow

drums synced in rhythmic beats

now a bass guitar strummed ever dark

a haunting violin that moans

ripping at the heart.

Museum art

It was more like alabaster, but I could only be sure

of one thing; it was an exquisite lesson in anatomy

cold ancient, pale Roman stone, the arm half gone

strongly curved, the rippling of muscle, hair and bones

a man held by pillar, marble like legs of smoothest stone

his eyes deep set that wended near, then waywardly away

the kind that strangely follow sometimes linger into the next day

broad faced, cheekbones perfectly amid the shadows

and I don’t mind saying while on my museum trip

though he was a statue, I thought to kiss

those divinely sculpted lips.

Long distance

When I am a thousand miles away

and you are seemingly a million more

here where I trade the sun for rain

dwell in the intermittent patches of grey

I distract myself in gardens green

study madala art of spider weaves

decaying, diaphanous maple leaves

the cool of wet mud wriggling around my toes

and yesterday the black birds watching me

disturbingly, the cawing crows

and I could hardly think or speak

as I dialed you long distance on the phone.

Lessons of the Ocean

Pink iridescent moon

shadows cast upon the sands

of endless moving seas, of broken shells

feathers and bones of seabirds we’ve loved so well

together we are tied by swaying seaweed ropes

our souls ever ebbing us toward home

to see the possibilities, endless in our lives

to let ourselves be wild, allowed to float

feel the arriving tide, the unwavering ocean

always willing, always letting go.

Forest collection

Wild geraniums collected

in pocket, red painted petal stains

my feet squish, squash in this forest

the earthy mud a mossy sponge

with fern and lichen the trees are hung

upon the ground greening with maidenhair fern

my satchel filled with dainty floral sprigs

in spring the sparrows gathering vine and twig

June’s an efflorescent carpeting, soft with lady slippers

in summer the wildflowers and grasses wed

when celebrates all the flying things

wooded bees and butterflies in the sun

sparkling with faceted, glistening wings.

Disappearing birds

I have left the desert

to live in forests, under green trees

ruminate, drinking rose petal tea

my sipping cup, salal leaves

always I am watching the beauty

of birds, the wonder of skies

I dream into the disappearing

imagining beyond any ordinary heaven

with wings gathering gentlest winds

soft amid fog and cumulus clouds

coming, going, disappearing

how brief this precious flight.

Silver lake

In the spring of warm grassy lawns, silver threaded

song sparrows high amid the bright lily bowers

they fly gold drenched in the morning hours

in the deep peace of this sanctuary shelter

we are far from the city’s maddening swelter

here beneath shade trees and roses, we sip tea

soft we float like petals, a dream life in these hills

smell the ocean rain, blue the way the sky spills

we walk scented jasmine trails back home

come to rest in each others arms

before this resplendent day is gone

with nature becoming one

connected to all things

we are never alone.

Roman man

I think you are of clay

of red earth and water

smooth formed and forged

a vessel for holding fire

a warm copper bronze

sculpted, divinely poured

of ancient Roman origin

descended from Apollo

born of pure poetry and music

you walk the earth, a skilled hunter

with bow and arrow

I will leave

Tonight, with its blue moving stars

and mars overhead, in its bright blinking red

the breezing leaves upon the rooftop eaves, calling

a falling star, impossibly high catches the eye, while dying

and I dream to fly, flit and roam amid night’s celestial home

but with tethered feet, can only gaze upon the sky, to drink

in the space within my mind, I try to be and not to think

but feel the distant seas, that crash in waves and never cease

the endless ages, ancient and modern ways of humanity

and tonight, I imagine you out there lying soft upon the grass

tracing the dying stars, reflecting on the things that have come to pass

knowing very soon I too, will leave in summer.

Desert note, after the rain

Here in this redolent rain, droplets saturate the ground

I watch the clouds move on, and then once more the sun to come

this sparkling desert strewn with tiny diamond stones

the air hangs in petrichor, thick with chaparral

birds drink from puddles formed in the broad agave leaves

rainwater trickles with steam in the sun of the singing trees

songs of doves coo cooing in the desert mesquite

spiny lizards stop for rest and warmth upon the rocks

they are ancient, tiny dinosaurs with rounded teeth

for eating flashing bugs and beetles

here beneath the spindly ocotillo

the pale flowered saguaro, that blooms

amid this wild ocean of sandy seas

of cool nights and hot breathed days

the way the desert breathes.

Wooded pond

I have come to these woods, after the rain

rivulets, sweet where droplets in soul have pooled

where clear water washes away blue

I have come to hear birds in spring

to watch the air of butterflies floating,

newly winged, faceted and sparkling

I’ve come to feel the cool earth, green with leaves

my feet soft upon mossy carpeting

toes intermingled in a fragrant field

cool of hyacinth emerging

in a swirling world, of unfurling fronds

the sun streaming across emerald pond.

The night field

It is late, the sky is black slate, coal

a desolate moon glow, cold

this silent world flecked with tiny lights

diffused amid the softness of clouds

the night, only a blooming dawn

a field of stars that come.

Spring pond

White fleshed, the wild roots

cold in caves of soil, the bulbs, the tubers

burst through aged brown clay, wet through mud slick rains

sun drunk buds, of tulip leaves, petals painted pink

music, the chirp and groan of ponds, a soft bedded mossy home

of woven fern and forest fronds, built for night’s invisible frogs

dogwoods, white as moons, calls heard lovelorn

through an open window.


When I write these things

my thoughts fly with birds

sometimes grey in storms

sometimes winged in skies

so feathery

When I sing this song

my heart goes in beats, bittersweet

sometimes heavy held, my sorrow spilled

sometimes warmed, red flushed

and fluttery

When I paint this canvas

my brush moves in labyrinthine moods

sometimes shades, darkest blue cerulean

sometimes flowers white, soft as clouds

upon the page, floating heavenly

Shapeshifter of peace

Blackbird, your wings – reminiscent of ashen skies

iridescent as blue morpho butterflies

the impaling of your sharpened eyes

tricky black witch, all knowing, you cackle

shapeshifter, a Yaqui Indian

desert bird, a grackle

Stirring, you stare me down

shaking mesquite leaves to the ground

the air is a thick musk of sage

smudged for peace, for prayers

a wish to cease the wars we wage

With vision, pure of heart

this message of love unfurls

breath peace – peace

in this world

Prince – the beautiful one

Don’t make me lose my mind

you were so hard to find

baby can’t you stay with me tonight?

we’ll party like it’s 1999.

Why must you play this game?

when I only want to see you laughing

in the purple rain, purple rain

You know I won’t make a fuss

cause you don’t have to be rich

you don’t have to be cool to rule my world

I just want your extra time and your Kiss!

Don’t make me wait here alone and blue

cause darling I would die for you

you say – I’m not your lover

I’m not your friend, I am something

that you’ll never comprehend

and I would die for you

darling if you want me to, want me to

I’m not a woman

I’m not a man

I am something that

you’ll never understand

and I would die for you

the beautiful ones

we always seem to lose.

Painting of a shell

Somewhere in the red lands

thick with oils, she painted sands

clay hills of rouged mud rain

a sliver layered blue, a sun sky yellow

that broke from rust colored rain, from clouds of brown

it was found, a prominent grey, a white washed shell

stark amid the scorch of desert

a piece of ocean that from her pocket fell.

Love notes

When I can no longer discern the path

when I am seeking a seer’s looking glass

I walk miles of desert alone, travel years from home

to stand hot or cold, in a wilderness, fragile or strong

in storms, sun sweltered and windblown.

I believe in fire, the burning into ashes reborn

look for defining lines, watch for the telling signs

I listen for the music of words, spoken softly sweet

for love notes, tucked in heart, to keep.

Without you

This space, of hot breathed desert

the searing swelter singes my soul

leaves me windblown and hollow

windy sands to bury my sorrows

of yesterday and tomorrow

of pain, the crying rains wash away

of storms here and gone, together now alone

of air we breathe beneath the same moon and sun.

Watching petals unfurl

Watching the budding vine of petals unfurl

all through winter I am looking for spring

the daffodil yellow greens, the lilac blossoming

of tiny star flower florets, sweet the songbird chorus

moss softly sunning, the trickle of forest creeks running

the remembrance and fragrance, the pungent warmth of rain

drops, wet and round, bounced from trees, upon my face falling down

cool splash, the startling of my eyelash

wet washing and alive, the resurrection, the cycle

of all things again reborn.

Under spring moons

gentle water ripples

snow of falling flower petals

soft the landing of your lips

we merge like clouds in dream

become one, learn to breathe in sync

This moment, with you

Verily we are suspended

to one another invisibly threaded

gold spun, finely woven

we breathe the air of summer

silken petaled, softly subtle

through these woods treading sun dappled

we come to rest, in a rosy heaven

lose the world of whirling much too fast

to gain the moment, lose the future and the past.

The woods in spring

In spring, green along the river

amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails

wild in the woods of scented pine

of silver sycamores, silken barked

stark, they pale against bluest skies

their new leaves green and glistening

we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words

transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world

warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring

melodious they sing, leaving far behind

the cold, the dead of winter.

Looking glass

In the water, some tears erased

below the surface, they slip away

only a watery grave of what used to be

a mirage, a vision of possibility

a looking glass, this moon-green sea.

I fall

For you the woods, the moon

night paths, I breathe the air attuned

treading starlit, sleep and dream

ever closer my love, to you

bright from the sky, like stars

ever into your arms, I fall

and fall.

Altar of dawn

In this desert

I touch the ocean within,

here where I abandon all plans,

I spend hours watching cloud formations

of flowers blooming violet, red.

I travel to the sanctuary of the soul

each morning, sit silent

at the altar of dawn.

Yaqui man

You are a traveler of the South lands

brown, a leathered skin coyote

desert walker of the Sonoran sands

crafty, black magic witch

a shaman, lucid dreamer

Yaqui Indian spell weaver

of visions, of paintings in the sand

mixing colors, peyote flowers

red, the melting of the aloe bowers

dark blood, the blooming agave towers

thick with snakes, the fire and hiss

that burns black of sacaton grass

the quiver and flash of flying sparks

igniting night, time traveling to the stars.

Woman of sea and moon

Ocean swimming, buoyant blue

salt encrusted hair of jewels

seaweed shimmering, waves entangling

savoring, deep her belly breath of sea

with a mermaid tail, to flash in hues of green

wearing rings and pearls, she swirls in a sea of stars

radiantly, far below the moon.

Winter Sea

Winter – your face, of ice and snow

the blowing cold, of sailing northward on

lost in a flailing storm

of thundering, blackness

bleak sea of the nearly drowned

wicked, the splitting williwaw groan

the haunting of the howl and moan

To travel

I am looking at maps, constellations and planets

plotting routes to drive, to hike this country

seems I would stagnate and die

were I to stay put all of the time

my eyes scale topographies

like braille, my fingers feel

the green of flowering fields

the rain running down hills

always I dream of skies

I envy birds flying over

in cities, I don’t seem to settle

pace this floor, a caged animal

daydream of wilderness walks,

spending nights watching stars fall

the heavenly peace of it all.

This tea

This tea, I steep

red apple, your kiss

alizarin crimson, wet

impossibly sweet

you soothe, I drink

your lingering lips

poured with honey milk

by the fire, consumed

of love infused

with herbs and leaves

this tea, I drink.

Morning colors

In the morning red hibiscus flowers

yesterday’s petals have fallen to the ground

a hummingbird briefly hovers

in flashes, green iridescent feathered

soon the silver sun comes from behind clouds

reflections, in spectrum colors

of painted sky, brush strokes

in watercolors of dawn

the heart, a lotus flower

center of the soul

that opens.

In the deep end

I stay awake with stars, thinking of your eyes

amber fields, flecked with golden moons

your lips, red cast by secret coral worlds

swim, my hands you catch in woven nets

roped hair of salt and seaweed curls

hold my breath, catch and save myself

nightly, in the deep end, just before I drown.


love me

elemental as

wind, water, fire

wild in billowing fields

drenched watery wet in sweat

of all other things make me forget

igniting dreams of lightening steam

all the ordinary world evaporating

Desert day

On days like this

cool, with little winds

desert birds forage for sticks

they build nests perched in cactus

some build green in palo verde trees

always I think of baby birds in spring

hatchlings, the fledglings that fly

I travel far beyond the noise of towns

watch the movement of cooling clouds

the roundness of rain upon the ground

the grey banked scurrilous skies

of hurried birds, their silhouettes before a storm

daisies that close, cold amid the stones

beneath where snakes and lizards go

slither and crawl in this landscape of saguaros

and I, ever tethered can only dream to fly.

Desert bones

Ashen grey, weathered wood

splintered, white bone

hollowed by the desert sun

skull and backbones

laid to rest, wind blown

sunk in sifting sands, exposed

by wet washing squalls

drinking water into steam

interwoven, dead with weeds

iridescent beetles and scorpions

glints of pyrite, diamond stones

the haunting wind, that moans

wild through hollows and holes.


Your heart – all knowing, that finds me

blooming, a lotus flower unfurling

sepals and petals, morning yellow

of golden birds, gilded meadows

of grasses green, your wisdom eyes

of flashing fields that shine

we are infinitely interwoven by

the sacred that is unspoken

by all that is divine.

Winters like this

Cold clouds, white in the greying skies

deep, they loom in the snowy heights

a frozen state, this silent place

where we have come

Ice, thick walled, that waits for spring

the trickle of water, that flows beneath

to see beyond cloud occlusions

our doleful delusions

Buried by northerly drifts of snow

our love, cold and far below

banked and piled high

lost to winter’s long goodbye

Tricky weather

Only a desert of blowing dust

a junk yard of weathered metal rust

the brutal blare of scorching sun

the cold of winter’s raining snow

an ever changing, tricky season

a killing storm without reason

only a metaphor to explore

the hot and cold – of you

that I deplore.

Some lonely place

When you pass this way

will you think of our long burning hours

the melting, the rendering as one,

radiant, the raveling of our two souls?

Or will you think only of the untangling,

the tattering of our love – apart?

Will the evening shadows cast

a glow across the prairie fields,

the flowers that we picked?

Or will a wistful wind brush your face,

indelibly, now in some lonely place

where we once stood?

Salt water

First the soft biting

lips and all the rest

your hands, this landscape

a smooth curved road

of breath hot summer, the swelter

this endless sky, an ocean to discover

salt water of my lover

Of the ocean

You are of the ocean

of lime, salt water green seaweed

clinging, brown threaded, verily suspended

ebbing in the far off edges, unseen

steeped in luminous moons, mad colored

a time traveler, plumbing ageless depths of sea

strung with opulent pearls, swallowed by hourglass sands

a light discovered, bright in the shoal shimmering lands.

Fragmented dream

The air here is slow, it breathes like steam

a fog bank hovers, settles within

time does not tick ahead

I stare at minute hands

this room is silent snow

falling, colored blue – then drifts

cold through broken windows

a fragmented dream

of you

Scroll to top