poetry & things


The trouble with rain

How many times at this cliff, wild with winds

waiting for direction, even though storm clouds come

I look beyond, remembering the halcyon days

but today – rain, rain, rain

The night lilies

Tonight in this garden

a million flowers loom

clouds of gypsophila bloom

through our window and beyond

with fragrant vines, they sprawl

saturate scented paper walls

these night lilies, only a dalliance

that blooms and fades

your hands, my breath of sighs

we are drunk from dulcet wine

sung from the whisper of moon that dips

caress of your reddened lips

traveling this world

lilting softly slow

The first bird 2

I woke early to silence

but for the whirring of a fan

the stillness before dawn

I wrote these words

though they never convey

the pure heart of morning

pure the song of the first bird.

Only a storm

When you come home

bring forth a garden, a storm

all the colors of you

a flower petaled rain befalls me

a soaking, sweeping view

from mountains you come

calmly with rain

deep from earth’s core

sweet with petrichor

encircling softly warm

attracts me magnetically

stupefies me uncontrollably

though I know the killing hour

will come crushing, empty and forlorn.

Of peace

When peace comes curling up to me

comes to rest softly on a sweetest breeze

or in the cooing of a mourning dove

carries my aching soul far and gone

it comes in the soothing kiss of dawn

in the quiet clouds of red and orange

brief a fiery sky, consumes all the

troubles of this world.


This evening, with the wind

of my curtains breathing, I listen for night birds

watch the room grow pale

the finality of day, a nightly ritual

how skies reconstruct themselves over again

twinkle and murmur of stars

cynosure of all planets, even unseen

clouds like amnesia, hide things

our earthbound slipping away

of days lost irretrievable

How the soul moves

It must be a tricky business

it lingers, hovers stealthily

an invisible silence

a swift inhabitation

the soul awaits

to startle the body

In wordless voice

moves from room to room

turning lights on

spends a lifetime

ever longing

to be heard

Home again

When I returned home, after having been gone

I’d missed the fire orange poppies blooming

missed the lilacs too, it was early summer

time for bright and blossoming flowers

there is no place that fits me quite like this

no place I wear this smile, quite the same

I follow bees into the garden

I sing like morning birds

just to be home

hi coo (haiku)

high up in the tree

a lonesome feathery dove,

does he coo for love?


I find myself here, wild

roaming the long road home

to no one belong

Spend all of these days

together or alone

Survive the heave and cleave

the warp, the weave

of winding years

A lifetime, a spiral of




Evanescent life

This path of sandy footsteps, windblown and buried

this road contemplated, walked upon

the veritable green of a forest speaking

I come out the other side, bask in flower meadows naked

travel to summer seas, float the wild blue-greens

watch the wet sand, of footprints sinking

a nomad, windswept – my days of seeking

I see the watercolor sky, a painting in orange, red

soft feathery ferns, my bed, left to dream under

moon jeweled skies, indigo velvet nights

only to breathe the sparkling air

of this evanescent life.

Colors of day

Gathering colors of day

sea of green viridian, washing storms of grey

seagulls cry in shades colored blue

how mad the ocean’s raving tune

it sweeps away the end of day, a hopeful sun

to paint the sky of blackness

paleness of moon

rises, fades

beyond the sway

of silvery shades

night shimmers its way

into red and blue

where fiery clouds ignite

the day once more anew.

Cactus garden

Oh these doves, they are cooing crazy

a language full of sunrise colors

with a variance of blues, they coo

and soon the quails – laughing

the way they do, in their morning mood

smaller birds chirp and shrill

the air, melodic music filled

here amid this cactus garden

singing halcyon songs to the sun

and these flowers pale yellow

bloom high in the saguaros.


Wings they came at first, unknowingly

didn’t even feel them – a part of me

until you pulled the ground

the quicksand from my feet

breathed my sinking sleep


Wilted garden

It was shallow water, rippling

a watery moon quivering

on the surface seen

It was night fire

burning water into steam

gray smoke screened

It was willful drowning

upon a lily bed of lies

parched a wilted garden

slowly withers, dies

Truth (19w)

This sacred mountain

holds me ever close

this trail fat with hope

to whom I’ve finally

told the truth

Traveling at night

Redolent rain

steel train

streak of blue

racing through

night lands

rainy window

sallow moon glow

no reservation

nor hesitation

time to travel

some things

to unravel

go looking


my mind

drift into peace

float in my seat

high in the sky

sweet sighs

to feel again



there is

no plan


a dream


a dream

to feel

a life time

so surreal.

To know a flower

I looked into the center

into the circles of gradient color

the pollen, sun gold anthers

sepals green, holding close the petals

smooth stemmed, impossible heavy heads

beautifully in rings around trees

the honey sweet blossoming spring

busy with new born bees

that fly in fragrant dream

discovering lilies bright as sun

watching bees become one with flowers.

The green seas

The blossoming green seas

sometimes shines of two

wet, watery kissed

salt drenched lips

of burning steam

bodies unfixed

tangled into


The breakaway

I sit here, brood

a twisted mood

think how

to forward move

how to undo

a tricky tightrope wobble

people pulling me

I cannot walk straight

need time to deflate

lose these traps

want to break free

of the need

want to find me

really love me

please go away

you cannot touch me

cannot know me

or go with me

cannot show me

anything I need

from you

I am the juice

the fire

the truth

the liar

you are reflecting

back to me

places I do not desire

I am feeling



of the price

I’ve paid

now is the breakaway

the reckoning day

no plane

no train

no half insane

free to go

free to assail

derail myself

from you

far and



From this island, water and more tiny islands

heavy treed with Douglas fir

landing ground to ocean otters

while orca whales glide by

spout and spray

the beach, broken shelled

puddled wells of tide pools

filling, spilling over again

brown bauble seaweed mingles

round algae rocks, barnacle shingled

here where the air breathes salt scented

water running wild with salmon

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


Of wings

Walking this ground

we gather rusted remnants

pieces of a lifetime placed

within the hollows of our shoulders

and from the hardened blades

the bones, this is the place

where gorgeous wings

are formed

Iris in my garden

Iris, how you shallow breathe in winter

shiver under clouds, laid in a bed decayed and brown

your days cold in a garden, green and underground

long through all of winter

with spring only ever waiting

for the unfurling, color blue of you.


If wind

would have known

could have gone

another way around

if I had not been too soon, too late

to hesitate or let myself go – unbound

piled, buried too late to be found

if I’d not have stayed away far too long

yours would be a place

I still call home

Dance of petals

These flowers

coronal quivers of gold

heavy headed they nod

sweeping sway of yellow

dancing white petaled

wild spring meadow

washes over me

bouyant in

a breezy


Bird in the clouds

How you flew, newly feathered

a fledgling falling from the sky

but upwinds sailed you far and high

carried you strong through clouds

winged and wild your arms

fingers running through

the updrafts of cold,

cool then warm.

Your drowning waters

In a drowning river I went – to swim

only a short while with you

the flail and falter of cruel water

caught in the reigning thunder

impossible to breathe when held under

yours was a killing lure to be sure

a death trap of words

but no steel cage can ever hold

a sky full of beautiful birds.

Wind of pining

Wind and dark the night I pine

stark the grasp of longing

branched and vined

blue mourning

deep in soul

an echo


When through my fingers

your hand slips

taste of your

fleeting kiss



Paper winged

when torn, I stutter, stammer

spiraling and falling

only in dreams softly sweet

once more a butterfly

brilliantly winging

When winter goes

When winter melts

footprints of mud, this path

now a screen of green

I cannot see, lost I listen for

calling words, the haunt of forest birds

cry, they call before the storm

deep a swell of rain pours

that wild, brings another Spring

mossy soft this budding floor

mist and petrichor that waft

attract, they meld and melt

sweet into the soul


I am waiting for the spring, the change

the variance of green

waiting for you, a fool

swim, I drown in this moon-pool

dark down a tunnel of night

I make my way by braille

only to touch, to see

a rivulet of rain

before the sun

that swells of red

and strays away

the day, a heart

that long ago


Until morning

This is the shadowed imprint, the trace left

ice melt and sea drift of time erased

soft-shod footfalls once apace

this ancient path we travel by

wild with beasts, fledgling trees

of downy wings

we cry, learn to fly

stay awake to see the night

how light penetrates

moon tangled through trees

our souls to illuminate

stars light the way

carry us ever further away

once per chance, never again

until morning

To float like moon

My heart a fevered pulse

haywire fuse of sparks

an ignition, a lock, a key

turns, follows, leads

In a world unknown

our days, sweet, slow

we glide, float like moon

glowing through trees

the shine of dream

here where the hours are slowed

here where one is left


The killing hour

With night, my love brings a paling flower

brings me full bloomed, a drenching petal shower

disheveled, falling to the ground

until our colors run out

the burst and shatter

delightfully tattered

the killing hour

he brings

The first bird

Early, this silent earth

in the stillness before sound comes

before the sky, the narrow line of light that forms

my ears not yet attuned to this world

search for noise, waiting for the first bird

then soon a chiming bell of birds

a cactus wren that comes to drink of sun

or deeply sweet, the air with mourning doves

that woo and coo before the dawn

a soothing balm, a bliss that fills my head

Spring skies

This valley, belly and backboned

a blanket of snow – stitched and gone

textured trees, willows wind blown

here where an early moon heaven still hovers

here amid the last smoking sky of cold

a chirping of morning birds unfolds

singing a gleeful goodbye to the moon night

winging before the sunrise

the blooming of daffodil springtime

and too, wisteria tangled vines will climb

reach for the calm of violet skies.

Sky of jewels

Celestial, indigo

sparkling stars of fire

molten rings of planets round

the silent sailing clouds

float across a sallow moon

hung in a sky of glittered jewels

diamonds, opals, pearls

Lullaby of the Whales

High in hills, winds the road to your home

steeped and flowered by lupine towers

after long slumber, the waking hour – warmth of summer comes

our feet grassed and green, we wish dandelion dreams

watch tiny parachutes glide into the sea

this place is wild resplendent music, played of notes unknown

we have become more than ourselves, and slowed

have stopped to feel our breath grow

making a path, cut from last year

we are slipped and sloped toward shore

silhouetted, just before the end of sun

when the world sinks silent

but for the deeply toned

hum of whale song.

Like winter weather

Winter was his letter, wicked weather

with a head full of snow, a deafening cold

blinding, piercingly curt without a care

slighting me, cruel with words unfair

upon the telling page, icy clear

and I frozen in my dumbfounded stare

left cold, lost in winter weather.

Just to be

It is nothing hard to find

to be the stillness inside

the slowing of time

sink into the tranquil divine

the drift and melt away

of mind

It is nothing you cannot know

the unwinding slow, the softening of soul

the water trickle, splash and sparkle

It is something worthwhile

to let the moment be

swallowed by the sea

to be the shore, to sit and wait

ever at the gate of the unknown

How you miss me

When finally quiet comes

the long pain of night’s trudge

the unmasked soul dredge

swift an arrow, piercing

when friends have all gone

in the silent dark before dawn

this is when you

miss me.

Helium headed

He bought and sold things, much like the man

who sold balloons in the park, fashioning them into strange animals

mostly fastened to wooden sticks, except for the helium headed ones

they remind me of you, floating high and lofty

out of reach, wanting escape from ties and pulling strings

drifting from the city moving countrywards

many are mesmerized by the migration

the fantastical triumph of levitation

they wait for days, years under trees

but not I, I am no longer drunk by

hot air and helium dreams

Colored rings

Kaleidoscope eyes

spirals amber brown

meld and move, turn and groove

exquisite mandala art, they impart

colored rings, how they bring

ever close your soul to me.


Cold clench of angst, these sorrowful days await

what of love, its lessons gold or cruel

our flower laden bed, of stone now lies dead

clouds and clouds of my blues, no winging bird

or musical tune, slow the silent hours burn

languid days creep ever nightward

into black, starless, bleak

bruised and weak, my heart to mend

my mind grapples, reaches

for an end

Under a Springtime Sky

Moss and moon-green Spring

fully bloomed, the dogwood trees

our breath mingles ever in the ethers

a place where sweet the soul will dwell

and shall not die nor wither

Crocus flowered violet grass

scented sweet pink hyacinth

yellow primrose metamorphosis

inhale we drink and can never think

only lose ourselves

deep in fragrant amnesia

Until beyond this meadow

when day recedes into night

and the scarlet sky of purple blues

is swallowed once more by

the molten, pearl moon

Told me everything

When you came from mountains

came washed from seas

you gave me words

told me everything

like two birds or flowers

blooming in the Spring

the green of everything

soft and mossy dream

it spoke of love

told me everything

when you came

gentle, sweet with rain

not and ordinary day, the way

you came and told me everything

Tonight’s game

The crashing sea

Borne of blue water, fiery blue the hours with you

swimming, we rode atop waves

we, the bright raves of sea

float and foam, glistening

the spilling ashore, as never before

seeping inland, our waters ran

filling cracks and hollows

felt like heaven, felt like an ocean swallowed

the twist of turning upside down

the gasp of breath, the holding on

the place where lovers


Something worthwhile

It is nothing hard to reach, looking outward

countless distractions, how they move me about

I play a game, circling moon-blue rings of sky

see a rivulet of stars quiver by

It is nothing easy, fretful, I tremble with night

dark unnerving path, I run and hide

amble, fumble my way to reach inside

It is something worthwhile at times to swallow a river

dredge miles of soul, to crumble stony towers

reconstruct this apprenticeship

to slip once more

back into softness

Planetary fools

In the night air, of ghostly moon

starry the darkened blues, quiver

some falling from the sky to startle

under murmuring trees, we rest

and never sleep, we seek to know

what night will conjure

strange drunken allure

of the celestial

Planetary fools

entranced by moons

magnetically pulled

ebbed and fallen

just another day, we lay

soon swallowed by

the sun

Morning birds

Strange path, with green overgrown

a place unknown, a wild bird haunting calls

as if to wake, coax the light of dawn

wet my steps, break with day

I wait the sun, to come

lighting slow, a lonesome home

or far off hills of grassy yellow

I hear the smaller birds too

beyond these trees, among the reeds

sing glorious amid morning’s meadow

and I, entranced deep in nature’s glow

can only hope to follow.


Sharp shard with blood, it cuts

your armored heart of crystalline

no one knows you, nor gets in

barbwire wrapped and shut

black, the deep – you’ve fallen

your desultory descent ever sullen

gasp of strife that smokes

and chokes apart your life

makes a slave of you, alone

calls for your blood

and bones

Half moon day

Some days, this desert

under spells of sun and moon

think, I brood in fields of agave blue

the angled sun blares sharp to parch

to dry, to crackle leaves to dust

tricky this prickly pear cactus

bitter thorns, laden with

impossible blood sweet fruit

while high and seen out the corner

of my eye, the half moon smiles

beguiled by the sun

Dumb struck

Red the field flowers, a thousand petals – rain

oak tree meadow’s verdant sway

and too the path I travel

along the lonely hours gained

winding this sacred sojourn

how brief the days stray

light of life that wanes

too quick the verdant sun

green in hills to lay

and I a vagrant

plod such beauty


all my



He is from fields, endless prairies

runs with buffalo on the Oklahoma plains

nature runs all through him, restless

as rivers, always a river, he is winding

weaving, fording the depths of soul, masterful

days exploring countless outer lands

his hands must be worn winter leather, warm

in Spring he gathers flowers for his lady’s home

sees her essence in sky blue clouds

wanders the salt creek way, home

or sometimes lost to the wild hills

he may lay all the day, watching shadows of the sun

wane and melt their way back into moon

he seeks, watching storms in gradient greys

windy skies sway, with darkest rain

he is soaking in, all he can hold

all of nature transforms his soul

his words are woven, spun gold

ever sublime, are his poems

to behold

Twas love

Our eyes met

softly, fluttered danced

and perhaps again

shall never meet

still, twas love




Our days

like pearls come

ever from darkness, sprung

we’ve come in human form

twas always

always love

the hollows

I don’t know why I wallow

curved, I meld into the hollows

sunk and swallowed

a pale yellow sun, I follow

whittled, slim cored

dark from sullen caves explored

here where I await the glowing moon

a relic jewel, to light the path

for me, a sad and silly fool

The bracken woods

By these woods I’ve come, wildly green

mossy step of days, long the forest rain

refresh my breath, breathe deep of trees

hovering grey ghostly steam

the smoking warmth of sun that comes

to sing with birds, perched upon

soft sword and leather fern

laced with berries wild

and faeries good

sing green of home

they wildly roam, safe amid

the bracken woods

Of the soul

vast silent sky

dusk of life, stillness in the fall of night

the soul unseen, hides

at times is felt, like tremors of moon

shines much like stars, blinking us awake

startles, illuminates, if only a moment

to glow, to radiate, then swiftly fades away

back into night

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