poetry & things



Green tangle, narrow spiny fingered

your prickling sharpens, midday’s heat

bearing scarlet flowers

this bird feeder

a drink

Net fishing

When I can no longer dredge, move water

dragging silt through sand, disappearing

my hands tied by seaweed, clawed and crabbed

strange ocean of paraphernalia, I trudge the land

my lips, red crusts and salty bled

fingers stiff, rusty locks, rubber gloved

swallowed up, fastening round a net, a trap

to pull the ocean in

In flowering hills

Never wait for me when far in fields, I’ve gone

mad and wild flowered, abandoned every plan

my mind ebbed and fallen, no never do call on me

if when I’m very drunk in halcyon hills of day,

or in lucid colors of a pastiche floral parade

never when lost in splendorous meadows

when a bird of peace, in hills I fly

amid some heavenly place

where I can only but

dream to die

Imagine love

When love goes slow or runs

clear like water, heavenly in rivers to float

or flies a dove of splendorous iridescence

in streams of dreams, imagining love

a gorgeous winged, metamorphosis

Fools of moon

Strange glowing orb

mystical magnetic oracle

points us aimlessly

in and out of love

pushes and pulls

the tide, spellbound

sea wrecked, sandbarred

left high and dry

deep in the night

foolish we, two

fools of moon

Ethereal flower

Love silent, falls

it touches soft, invisibly floats

unseen by the scope of eyes

comes brushing by, or comes in a down pouring,

wet washing the soul, unwavering, wordless it unfolds

travels most rugged terrain, smooths the way

there is no season for its efflorescence

it sits, a silent bud, any moment to flower

always we know it’s fragrance

it is the way, the path

a flitting, ethereal flower

one, that we can never grasp

Building fires

How fire builds, born of warm remembrance

far or deep in heart it burns, sparks

a flash, how lightening strikes fly

achingly, beautiful pieces of sky

tiny embers burrow

swept inside the soul

a call, remembered

will burn, burn



Winter’s unsteady weather

cold, hot desert

on this walkabout, severe angles of sun

icy mornings drip into the sweat of afternoons

the impasse of giant stones the gods have laid

to stop or climb another way

egos travel irretrievable we sink into what is real

here we scale thorny towers of denial

revealed in layers – to cry, to smile

meanwhile awakened, shaken

from the sleep of our amnesia.

Wintertime love

Eyes, lashes flash

patterned lace, snowflakes

melt soft across my lips

exquisite blooms of winter

coldest icy snow shall not freeze

nor will night ever slow or blacken

in the howling, we watch grey skies sway

laugh at wicked, whipping rains

hear only the call

of our names

Winter dreams

When I wake in winter, to howling winds

a head of dreams still swirling, spins

my body aches forlorn, bury myself warm

sometimes half asleep, upon the pillow

fall back, softly deep

witness myself surreal

float, I walk or run through

strangest worlds, hurled through

time, I climb upside down

back out, from dreams – awake

eerily shiver, winter’s cold

to shake

Wild ocean of you and I

Ecola park

misty rain of

late September

overlooking blue seas

a gathering of birds and flowers

wild ocean of

you and I


Today, far and away

beyond, we’ve gone

from one another

still there are days

listening for your name

strange how my garden blooms

lonely, bright colors of you

strange, watching petals fall

fading into winter

Watching rain

Under these pines, these bougainvilleas

petals blow across the wind

red sails on gravel sands

clouds blue laced black

pitch of hurried birds fly

disappear in darkest skies

a sudden storm at the window pounds

slant of raindrops crash

splash of puddles, the iridescent ground

sun bursts through a field of clouds

the desert pure redolence, calm

a silent rainbow touching down

Two birds 2

Your eyes are polished amber stones

gold flecked, honey brown

a warm spring of waterfalls

our love, a whispering river call

we, a silhouette of wild birds

winging amid a

softened world


High in hills, drift the clouds – of sun it kills

wind barren path strung low with lichen laid

starry flowers, pale white, soft a blanket made

amidst dawn’s dewy moss, footprints pressed

leading up and outward toward the day

the sky, through all of time, only a spiral

how earth makes it’s way

Sonoran desert

Still lingering, clouds meandering

layered upon this lazy blue day

birds fly in and out of view

surrounded by mountains

as if a painting, surreal

the desert drinks us dry

leaves us far behind

there is no separate mind

we sit for days and nights amidst the sands

breathe in sync with this sacred land

chasing butterflies from our heads

losing all the words ever said

day is nearly done, the time has come

soon to sleep and dream

never of this place


Of love

I will see you in the field of days

in the blue or grey of thundering storms

though wild rivers change course

and I lose ground, you steadfast remain

you are the rousing dawn of birdsong

the silver sun of white light flashing

you are the wind, a whisper, a kiss

upon my face, that lifts my sullen eyes

all the tears, your infinite ocean washes away

and I am left upon the shore, where only love remains

Ode to Mr. Davis

It was Spring, late May

and I so late, for class

poetry lessons of Mr. Davis

the hours, soon and fast

how warmth would come

a fleeting sort of sun

language poured rain

cried words

never again

the same

October’s window

Stillness bathes my room, the stars have gone

slow sweeps the light of dawn

watery windows breathe of cold

spider mandala art has gone

now sleeps the garden green

of gorgeous lily bowers

silence has come

the quiet of flowers

falling down

Nothing to falter

How when days were like rivers, unending

the slow flow of beginnings, the fearless floating

of dreams, until the startle, the rift and ripple

of awakening

How when days were like friends, warm comforts

mornings came right in, igniting the heart

of polished stone, soft and smooth

to hone the soul

How when nights were long, of stars

moons lighting all the world, the trees

bright how branches shadowy loomed

moving like breath

made a billows of

my room

How when visions came, sleep was late

roaming deserts in the dark

listening, kneeling at nature’s altar

no language of words, no ego

nothing to falter

In wild fields

This house, it does not speak of me

I am unknown to these adobe walls

these cool clay floors

I press my feet against

wanderlust, I dance

desert nights alone, I roam

these sands to drink of moon

thirst for stars to call me home

I travel endless nights

painted blue with black

wait for sunlight

to warm my room

once more to lay

in wild fields

with you

How long

Old books, older still the dust

lost library, forgotten world of words

through vertical windows, distorted glass

of years past, watch shapes of trees

colored birds fly by

dusty poem, room of



Black and white photos

framed upon the mantle

how long our memories

shining wild, to light a room

how long do we think them

ever full bloom

How black water lives

Nights, we take the boat out

paddle our way, green through water

swum by inlet waves, full moon apace

shadowy, ancient tribal faced

lose all trace of shore, black

but for phosphorescence

glowing, trailing from the oars

a haunting, ghostly art

green and breathing, disappearing

back into darkness, swallowed

by black water, by night

strange this death

the rebirth and breath

felt in each and every moment


You lingered far too long

with rain clouds, your morning fog

I waited in mists of rain, the days

for sun to warm, to wrap it’s arms once more

to watch the steam of scented cedars

I sat silent under great trees

of a rhododendron forest

kept looking for buds

a hint of flowers

to come


Nights, when I don’t see you

trailing in stars

or by the light of moon

however bright

blackness takes my sight

a shooting star – I fall

back to everything

and nothing

at all

Daydreams of green

Of trees, the whirling of leaves

how soon the days, changing

streets of rain, storms of grey

winter winds, chilling

sleep, I dream of love and lilies green

imagine how words softly fall

disappearing, now swift I go

beyond, lose my mind

to all


If we could go shining

glints of silver water

far and flying doves

words would never falter

sweet we’d sing of home

falling soft from reddened lips

then we would ever bloom in song.

Water lilies

Green the day, that moves in waves

of gentle blowing winds your way

sweet you slept, caressed

on mossy laden ground

silent ripples on blue lily pond

I, a singing bird of sun

that calls to you in the middle of a dream

hearts, water lilies – opening

adrift in the middle of a song

we, two singing birds

of only love


Looking at apples, my mouth of juice

longing to taste one delicious bite

I stand under this tree

for days

I climbed many a splintered fence

saw you from a great distance

sturdy branches, your arms

leafy crown of thorns

and charms

In trees where ravens fly

from blackest skies

to shelter storms

days of clouds

and cruel raining winds

where even strongest branches falter

Thank you (haiku)

To the trees, to sun

to birds and the ways of love

to breath – I thank you

Sway (10w)

If you could look my way

maybe you would



In the stillness I found myself bound by

ten thousand days and nights

in a fire red desert

you were dancing, chanting

praying for rain, for tears

to drown, wash my soul down

to the earth, bear my rebirth

your hands red clay, shaped

burnt offerings, smudge grey sage

snake whispers cloaked in skies of smoke

hum of drums

leather bound polished stones

with peyote, I have gone

home where the

earth and sky

become one


I laugh

no future

no past

Of you

Of you,

I speak of

softest petals, always kissing

flowers, full bloom

wet drops, your reddened lips

pour darkest cherry wine

all the day, watercoloring

my skies


Black charcoal, thunder clouds reign

a torrid storm of heartbeats pound

your strangling hands, choking land

muddied, we breathe through

gasp of living much too fast

we come seeking love, drown in fear’s

torrential flood, in a world run

by men with hearts of

black obsidian

Night lilies

Tonight in this garden

a million flowers boom

clouds of gypsophila loom

at my window and beyond

with fragrant vines, that crawl

saturate, scented paper walls

these night lilies, only a dalliance

that blooms and fades

your hands soft upon my legs

we are drunk from dulcet wine

sung from the whisper of moon that dips

caress of your reddened lips

all other time is now lost

as we travel this world

lilting softly slow

Night desert

Walking this trail, all is strange

I am still round, attempting square pegs

the evening desert with its saguaro looking people, my friends

snakes, and the hissing heat of day they now crawl away

into the melting sea sky of orange, red

into the indigo rising, turning black

no sound of cities, no world out there to cry

only the calling of stars, like musical notes

songs twinkling in time with

the hot honey yellow moon.

Night blooming

two birds

a sky disappearing

lost in clouds with you

soft cotton, downy feathers blue

now soon the end of day

gives way, dark as indigo

black, as light strays away

we bathe with blinking stars

through windows sparkling blue

candles of the moon, our room

of fruits and wildflowers strewn

here we lay, only to die

only to bloom

Never the same

Black geese on the waves today

crashed, then flew away

blackness was the water

that called my name, late

and never again the same

deep dark well, a cave

I went looking in, the deeper

I go, ever an echo

that calls my name

naked, stripped of shame

my heart revealed

never again

the same

Naive girl

Pretty they said, oh but it was summer

when she bloomed, and wildfires came along

dancing across fields – wind songs

blowing through her mind

and there she stayed

sleeping much too late

to flee the lake of fire


Sometimes half asleep, scribbling words

or waiting for the morning sky to deliver birds

I fall off the edge, leave this tiny bed

float on rainy streets, there is no one that I meet

only a corner vacant house, where precious paintings hang

I am staring in the window, at flowers yellow, blue

this must be the room of Vincent Van Gogh, this starry night

with lily ponds so beautiful, fields of flowers

purple iris, Monet meadows

brown skin woman, hibiscus flowered

island scenes of Paul Gauguin, so brightly colored

there are pastel Degas dancing ballerinas

Marc Chagall, blue indigo people

without legs, they smile surreal

this museum of the mind

minutes like hours

turned sublime

How night fell

It felt at first – tangled, then more of an unraveling

hair in hands vanished, how softness fell

swept across the room, and soon

shadows in the sky

lost in moon fog’s tide

glowing, the shining of two souls

the seek and hide

the reappearing of

you and I

Further the winter

Driving arctic valley road

early morning, silence of deep snow

grey winds collide with windows

impossible how snowflakes fall

haunting songs, play my radio

winding on a north country road

branches lay heavy, low

snowy owl calls

further the winter

drives deep, my soul

further the winter

quiet valley of snow

that drives me


From the ashen fire

I shall not come in from outdoors, I am deep in storms

watching waves of clouds, pitching black skies

the beauty of raindrops makes me cry

wet washing, my soul reborn

I am gone, traveled through the storm

tossed and torn, now resurrected from

the ashen fire, my heart

of crystalline

Flame red sky

When you go by

floating the way you do

tonight, beneath brightest moons

airy you’ll fly, don’t have to try

while I, made of fire

flicker awhile awaiting

only your breath of air

souls bared, together

alas we shall build

flame red skies

Sacred blood

I have traveled home

I am nearly reborn

sitting with ancestral bones

a warrior’s path – alone

sifting veiled dust

of the past

Crows fly, blacken skies

thunderous drums

my heart in sync

amid this sacred

burial ground

this raining red sky

the blood of teardrops cried

Sacred dawn

Reflection 2

Oh, sure I could lose myself in gardens, oceans of flowers

but not today, today I have reserved for the revelations

of the soul, the deep calling of watery waves

I dive below, rocky ways and slipping sands

sifting moments of this day, searching

for unknown pieces, that break away

feeling a longing unnamed

glints of gold reflections

all these connections

that carry me home

and away

Northern lights

How can I ever paint the sky with mere words?

my language, pales northern lights

waves of color impossible to derive

from ghostly glowing skies

spirit merges, flies

Maple tree 2

Giant skyward leaning

shedding leaves, do you dream long

of summer’s greening?

The gold of days have waned

the gray rains sway

fall will leave you

cold in winter’s lay.

Seemingly a thousand years old

a seedling sown

born of an ancient

maple forest.


In this world

starry eyed, we bloom

petals silk your lips, sing

sweet violet songs to me

a drifting scented dream

blue sea of you and me

When morning comes

When after night has flown, starry blue

to other lands, until tomorrow

when just before the light of dawn

in streams of gold upon the lawn

the world still violet hued, pinkish blue

soon bursts on fire, a blaze of red

silence is the wind upon the clouds

silence of colors, the sky speaks aloud

rearranging the mind, the heart like petals

of a million flowers all abloom

When autumn comes


the warm summer grass we laid upon

in daisy dreams of gold, yellow suns

today walking barefoot on the lawn

cool rain awakes the autumn dawn

dewdrops disappearing in the ground

a chill has come with breath cold lungs

to breathe upon the earth and trees

bringing summer’s fire to her knees

and with a final gasp will swallow

molting leaves red and gold

falling to the earth



Waterfall, the swell of rains will come

fierce a wind that takes our breath and then is gone

the mad sailing, that leaves us to the wild seas

borne of oceans, ripped away, lost to vacant longings

we wait the temperamental moons of coming, going

always seeking for other shores, anchors

to hold our souls, unchained, reclaimed

in foreign lands, hearts to mend

and still another storm

will come

Sacred ground

rustic rain

brown-yellow hills

crows circle a carrion kill

I’ve come for resurrection to bleed against the sky

thirst of deserts longing, cool water washings

bones, abandoned skulls – sun bleached white

prayer offerings for an earthy altar

here where death is hallowed

Our morning tea

How kind the early day came

smiling through our window

soft as yellow, pale blue shone through

lavender infusions of deep indigo

a scented morning tea, this herbal garden

awake from dreaming, night is weaving

it’s final star into the dawn

we are sleepy as flowered penstemon

waiting for the gold of sun

our hearts open

lotus flowers floating

ever peaceful

this tranquil


Mourning winds

I am lost in mourning winds, a desert sand drift

a dandelion wisp buried in ocean depths

an emptiness in the blue of longings

this traveling is slow mud, I trudge

blue red fields of life’s blood

the disappearing of the ones I love

they have flown far and gone

leaving me to linger

looking for the sun

the moon to come

and so I walk on

Little bird

Oh, bird how can you sing?

and today of all days you bring

little twigs and colors green

to fall among dead flowers.

Do you know of this lost garden?

How can your heart beat so

amidst such troubled, sorrow?

Still you fly joyous in the morning sky

lighting hearts afire in the early dawn

long before the sun.

In September

Walking the dirt path, down around

the gold brown hills that spill into the orchard

apples baked in the oven, sun of summer

and in September they are done

red, we dressed with honey, cinnamon

the air was bliss, the trees, the ancient harvest

with baskets full and too our hearts had overflowed

this was a place we called heaven and now you are in the trees

in the sweeping fields of turquoise seas, in the stars that never cease

here, where you once imagined and could only dream to remain as ever

Dedicated to my brother Curtis and all those departed from the earthly plane

I will look for you

When I wait for northern lights, absent is the moon

and too the sun has gone, silence of blue green lights come

like colored ghosts of whirling skies, they fly

and I no longer think of night stars

I can only dream to fly, to shine

magenta in magnetic fields

But tonight it is you

that burns across, beyond the heavens

dazzling brilliantly, now beyond this earthly plane

to join a symphony of seas and stars out there, unknown

gathering in the ethers of forever

Last night I dreamed of you

smiling, as you laid

in green fields laughing

and tonight I will see you

in the northern lights


Dedicated to my dear brother Curtis, who passed away this morning.

It has been a difficult year, with the death of my Father in Jan and now my brother.

Cedar forest

Cedar tree, your arms wild in the wind

red bark, blue rain that comes again

storm drenched, looking where we’ve been

sponge mud footprints left herein

and in the gold of days there is incense, sunning

warmth soaking the green forest in

a path leading outward

that leads back in

whispers awaken the

soul within.


Stars at night, long the hours

watching animal spirits deep in the wooded wilds

tracing circles round the moon, glowing

translucent spiders weaving webs

floating at the edge, before diving in

oceans of sailing green seas

waves newly born, bright as sparks

lightning in the dark, igniting hearts

fiery blue, water too, the earth and air runs through

basking in other worldly realms of moon

with hearts, pure white where lilies bloom

home, where the soul of the sea is borne

drenched in storms of falling star seas

yours is a place wilder, than these.

The wind

Wind, wind it came in

I was glad it did, the way it blew

around my heart and through

a place of hollow blue, a storm

warm of drumming beats in sync

went swirling round my head

a flutter of butterflies flew on

through morning fog

a song was heard of

leafy trees and birds that speak

connecting me once more

the breeze that blows

to shake the soul

of me, quite free

all the day listening

to the earth

and all the ways

of wind

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