poetry & things


The GMO field of spoils

Grow organic gardens, untainted seeds, saved and collected

plow the dirt, rich red earth, autumn’s bountiful birth

food pure and wild, to eat – a way of life!

we cannot thrive in unearthly soils

in their poisonous, GMO field of spoils

awaken from our sleeping denials

autism, sickness born in the chemical fields

all the killing of you and I

Summer’s drift

That time in summer’s red, the hilly sands I climbed

willow grass woven white with yarrow, fragrantly entwined

my eyes softened in sea drift’s tide, of puddled shallows

ocean sang in rising waves, wild sea kelp tangled

sun slept scarce hours, it’s shining seaward beams

that only leave as the final silhouette

vanishes into night’s dream


her face, moonlight, diffused

pure art, creamy, curved

hands of finest sculpture

alabaster smoothed

delicate strands, her hair

of softest gold

floats, she dwells in stars

Venus, high priestess

magnetic force above

ever invincible

ruler of love


Crushing you’ve come, traipsing through

my fruits and flowers, to stalk after dark, my heart

disguised in scented garlands, your secret blood and art

do you think me cruel, maybe a fool, or maybe

just a lover of summer white moons

with stars and tricks and the air too hot

my mind is asunder, I’ve fallen under

hypnotic spells you weave

and now it’s really

far too late

to leave

Sometimes, traveling

When I am traveling, long

the days and sweat of trains, window games

play of strangers, lonely stray

and I with no escape, but my mind to fly away

will meditate, sink deep into my seat

to disappear, into other worlds

far from my destination

derailed from expectation

like the mad seeking of the sun

when only moons will come

awaiting a friend, a hand to hold

the lonesome of traveling alone

Shadows of summer

Watching long shadows

some slipping under fences

tricky summer suns

like to play me dumb

or glare me, half blind

sometimes I run

or sometimes walking backwards

looking where I’ve been

in the heat of day

only a dream to sway

under the cool

of moons

Red + Gray


it is the clay of hills

cathedral clouds of sunsets burning

the weeping that calls you home

it is the fire within


it is the ashes

blowing from your hands

the sands slipping, back to earth

a soul sifting, a balanced scale

awaiting your rebirth

Only to sing

Some say

she is lost to writing poems

snippets, little vignettes of beauty

so much nature inspired, obsessed

with green, botany driven desires

forever in skies, blue, or black with stars

meteor showers, falling, melting

like the liquid silver, red sea of mars

crashing waves, her days

tossed, tumbled, stumbling onto poetry

there is no fault, in words

no shame to be made

would be a sorrowful price to pay

she is writing to find

some truths, a sleuth, a seeker

of going within, without doubt

writing to find herself

most days searching out signs of life

to feel what it would be like, to be

in trees, in leaves, to sleep in green towers

of garden lily bowers

to finally dream in lucid colors, surreal

climbing invisible ladders

in orchards of apple blossom Springs

to sing, sing, sing


Night skies

In the evening, by the sea

subtle ripples, bright as liquid silver, flash

an ocean of color, to drink away the sun

a line of light fades into skies of night

from the call of deepest dark

a birth of luminous stars

such blue, white fires, only burn

no cares, no seasons do they discern

they have come and gone, without our knowing

they will never sleep, only change in cosmic storms

burning away in the vastness

of other forms

love and the stars

All the air alight, sparks fly

lightning, touching down

the falling of skies, falling of stars

dumb, I am mad and beyond

too far off course to find

the mere constellations

I’ve ever known

Lost poet

Finding your poems, there, all but faded

dust of pages, your fleeting song of days

secret book of you, lost among the ruins, laid

and there I stayed, many an hour

and could not tear away

In Mexico

The furniture was Oaxacan wood

finished in plum, red blood

with brightly painted finials

haunting little animals

a lazy, creaking fan

whirred on, above

in gasping bursts, too tired

to cool the room

and only moved

the paper bougainvilleas

glowing – orange, peachy, red

my feet, ever ecstatic to meet

the cool of clay saltillo tiles

red faced, happy to have escaped

into this mirage, my one thought

being margaritas


Breath like wind

always coming, going

disappearing words written on a mirror

as you breathe, so shall love leave

words will reappear amidst foggy steam

only traces, of a heart remain

this longing, this rebirth and dying

brief our days, love we cannot grasp

nothing won or lost – all is impermanence

Hashtag train

Hash tags

follow you, follow me

ensuing slighted poetry

fingers tricky, click, wizardry

1000 followers, look at me

oh, I see, now this site is about popularity?

no thanks, not for me.

it’s no matter if a poem is lame

what we’ve got here is a numbers game

so jump on and ride that

hashtag train


A wave, a black flood pooling

storm of sorrow leaving

deep wound of darkness reigning

teardrops falling to the ground

your buried silence


garden of the sun

a garden fence of wooden slats

giant poppies bloom and fill the gaps

brightest petals, orange

white birds of summer

will mend, with twine and twig

windy nests of a northern winter

today, only an indigo sea

of lavender bees, will hum

like gold, beneath the sun

no frowning clouds will come

only morning glory flowers will bloom

blue as sky, blue as heaven

Fly from darkness

The bridge, well worn, with slipping wood, crossing over

with secrets hidden, nearly fully under,

rainy days so long.

Her head – a flutter of lily moths, emerging, searching for air,

from a stifling room she fled, dark the forest bled

whispers, wings of white clouds through trees

swirl, drifting amidst dancing fields

on this day, learning

to be free.


In your hands

I shall place

sweetest flowers

little yellow suns

to hold you


upon your palms

I will map days

follow hidden paths

traced through trees

to reach

quiet rivers

holding your hands

at the border’s edge

free dive, trusting

letting go, to fall

our two souls

deeply connected

Chrysalis (10w)


of a lonesome heart

wrapped, spun and torn apart


Woodland child, you have lost the moon

to walk a path, dark of fallen trees

sorrow of your sacred homeland camps besieged

the old ways buried, deep the red earth swallowed

all the precious souls, have flown far into the endless night of eagle

feathers swirl, scattered at this ancient altar

In the ashen air

always your heart remains, your wisdom blood breathes

like the sun of fire, your dance of vivid painted colors

surreal dream of Tishomingo, trading beaded leathers

through the ages, children rooted in trees and fields

medicine men smoked in visions of waterfall suns

all of our days, deep this bloodline runs

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