poetry & things


Veiled Moon

The snow it did not fall

only frost, thick as walls

creaking floors, a long hall

leading upward

where stars whispered

calling to the moon

from behind curtains,

branches and clouds

These sheltered words

If these words be thy home

salvation for my soul to dwell in

let them be of love

no beginning

no end

The hollows

Curved, shadows, bones the hollows

hips, skulls, rust red hills

hawk bleeds to kill

desert ghosts roam

echoes calling

no one


Self Portrait

Words, images, little things that would not let me be

pulled, tugging for awhile

I felt them, knew them too,

spoke of deeper knowing,

stringed music playing violins

words, colors flooded in

The paper, the paint

a page, no thought in mind,

crooked smile unrefined,

thick the brush strokes ever bold

eyes, pooled mirrors of soul –

I dared to look



Cool grass

wet rain soaked

fallen leaves bled

dead, decayed

ghostly offerings

wet bark, moss and bones

damp, gray and gone

birth of blue light sun lives one

burning into tomorrow

when yesterday becomes

the past, the dust

of us

Maple in winter


green blanket

stair step moss

climbing to stars

raindrops rolling

falling from

blackened branches

wintery maple

Hood Canal 2

I couldn’t see, but water

reflecting, it danced from stars of sun

Black cormorant dove under stars and pearls of sea

silvery fished his netted beak

A small boat left untied to float, I rowed

weaving cat tail reeds, long through water weeds

Paddles cut my diamond day – sparkling

jewel of soul swayed, prayed to dive me deeper

Sandy shores mollusk strewn

rippled shells covered shimmering blue

Oysters bubbled shallows breathing

seagull smiled watchful scheming

Beach fire to warm the night

and rock the dusky sun to sleep

the coming moon between trees

dark night, the stars to weep


Eyes burn

gritty paper, sand

tears pool

a room puddles

buckets, oceans pour over

dousing flickering flames


some letting go


others left


Deep forest

In this wild resplendent place

ferns unfurl softly green

below bearded mossy trees

rain falls, birds call, echoing

sound of deep forest


A face like the landscape (haiku)

Words by Emily

an everlasting novel

penned amidst the moors

Catherine’s face was just like the landscape — shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient.

Touch clouds

Love lost

such cost drowning in seas

Waves flooding, some wading

tides to recede

Wash over

troubles, waters run free

to float, touch clouds

we hope

Smooth sailing, dead calm

we’ll drift, waves lift

to carry us


Roses withered

Water trickling, grooved patterns of bark

darkening drinking up

Bright yellow creeping

maple leaves losing green

fallen or hanging on

A wind gust

little rush of swirls

tiny leaves come to rest –

wakes the nightjar

from her evening nest

Wet wings, flickers fly

stellar jay looks on,

Roses withered, ages gone

petals on the



This morning rain

autumn – cool rain falling into afternoon

hills, layers, fog nestled in

Clouds, mists become one

so far off, never a thought

the sun

Logs, wooded hills, we climbed

to view, our souls, some moments

in panorama we find

we touch our truths




music encircled your soul,

laughter rang, so beautiful

Brilliant bells, colors, mountain meadows

An open book, you fell

in love with everything

Green hills, trees you climbed

above the seas


vast beauty of you, with worlds long hidden inside

fenced in places, cracks to be filled

your shinning brilliance killed

becoming so invisible


a flower, translucent you bloom

centered, calm within the petal storm

rainwater washing

clean the core

a place, no locks

your heart

an open door

Gray woods

Gray woods, morning mist

hangs upon the trees, leaves decay, sway

falling to the ground

quiet this world, but for the sound of rain

washing wet the berry vines, droplets

falling to the ground

tiny sparrow flits among sheltered branches

a nest to repair, twine and twigs, little sticks

falling to the ground

Forest bed

Moss, softly green as grass

some bare feet to pass

red fox and deer to tread

mossy stepped, quietly the forest led

soon to rest golden heads

bright leaves

falling sleepily

to bed


There was an ancient gully

there were skeletons,

ocotillos strewn across the sand

holy places creatures crawled out from

cactus brittle, drying, lying dead

Mirages leapt – spectrally

ghost dancers, drunkards falling down again

bloodshot eyes searching,

shipwrecks, lost waters, the sea

cool river floating past the trees, you drift

crash and wake alone

cow skulls haunt you

death’s sun bleached


Abiquiu home

Hills, brown rustic reds

skies pile colored layers on

Rattlesnake vertebrae bones

scent of creosote

high desert home

Lover, painter

wild poppies – orange paper

petals, sepal magnification

watercolor, oil painted


Abiquiu home,

desert ghosts, coyotes

wildflower gardens grown

to pick, to paint perfection

a flower


Yesterday the dog

Sad the hour of denial’s disbelief

a day that never comes when years young of frolicking

Playful sweetest boy, swaying tail pure of joy

fluff ball dog in white, too soon your tired night

Long did run, his field days sung

we say goodbye, so cold yesterday’s

setting sun

Tonight’s game

Moon winds pretend to know me

clouds steal the sky away

never knowing my name

removing the veil

what game

night stars


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