poetry & things


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

Desert communion

Along this pilgrimage made

with candles lit by the sun, vast desert communion

seeking connection to the one, here in this fiery church

where I have found lost souls, sun bleached bones

drinking of sun and moon, coyote haunting calls

saguaros wandering to and fro

all are parched for water

cactus leaning, I am kneeling

here at this earthly altar

awaiting resurrection

I have come to pray

watching nights and days

like fires, burn away

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

Our sunset

In those days we shined, reflected like mirrors

pebbles thrown, ripples wind blown, your heart

it was silk upon my lips, soft butterfly wings

we grew like trees, to the clouds

in downy feathered love

floating amidst the fleeting sky

of our sunset – leaving

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

The soul

After some time, there are no words spoken

only an awakening in the silence

of a blue light dawn, a moment

where stars linger on

a portal is found

where the soul

lives on

and on


Ages have gone with all the colors run

shadows of a northern home

a memory in sepia with dust upon the mantle

a woman’s face behind the veil

the evening light streams in.

The room in layers golden, yellow

how strange a glow that lights her face

and faint a smile’s revealed.

Of dawn in summer

In the garden, a bird, a flower

gold the edge, gold the dawn that hovers

a song of summer, a tiny sparrow perched

long upon the woody yarrow, that musky fills the air

a redolent warmly breeze, brushes by the maple trees

caressing sweet the singing leaves and breathes the air of heaven

in the gold of a halcyon summer

beyond the hills of sage, grey plumes

the stark blue sky cloudless looms

and sings with birds in lilting waves high above the field

they break the silence in a world transformed

a song – void of man’s ordinary words.

Heart surgery

I am delirious, lingering from days

frayed at both ends, especially the head

and knotted in the middle, a rope tightened

round the heart, squeezing beats out

in stops and starts, oh but this how

we play the game, it’s sweaty palmed,

brow furrowed fun, with far too many clocks

cold halls to walk, amongst holy ghosts

tearing through white sheeted rooms, they haunt

or sometimes they bring invisible healing

placing flowers in colorful rings

and garlands circling round the bed

and in the night, only blue white light

to fill a room, basked in love

a tattered heart to mend

Forest dawn

Where sleeps the crescent moon

and drifts bright stars away

to bring a song of light

glowing from a thicket there

where tawny birds take flight

or dappled in the wooded trees

foggy breathes the morning light

with rousing sounds of faeries there

drowsy in their dreaming cares

they bid farewell unto the night,

to stars that sail swift into the evanescent light.

Now springs another day from this woodland place

soft with mossy grays or starry lichen lace

green the leafy ferns will wake

with scented rains, wet upon the bark

incense cedars drift and swirl

sweet, the air of smoke

until alas the sun, so brilliant comes

from behind a clouded cloak

and disappears once more

the dawn that softly spoke.

Woodland summer

It was only ever flowers, in a meadow wild

tangled tendril vines, of blue eyed passiflora

caressing stems of blooming heart, delicate dicentra

shining silver in early summer, a pond of silken mirrors

leafy vines of garland rings, nature weaved

perfectly a tranquil scene of bonny swans

float silently amidst fallen petals

soft nests of downy feathers, wispy on the winds

that a woodland summer drifts on


Walking home

Today walking the cut off road, home

watching clouds and birds disappearing

all these moments of coming, going

I came upon feathers of a flicker, brightest orange

and further on the road, his body

and wondered of his dying

and if he was freer in death

or in flying

Of my own life I pondered

the fleeting moments of freedom

so much lost in the sinking sun of youth

difficult to find amidst a hurried life

fewer and farther in between

to breathe, a restless mind

settling in a silent stream

and when shall come the hour

a moment to be free

Walking with you

Trilliums (haiku)

petals, leaves in threes

looking triangularly

do not pick them, please


Deathly quiet all the sky, distant black, pitching

birds, sudden screeching turns, disappearing

windows rattled, beneath banging shutters

awaiting the pain of centrifuge

a house, like glass to shatter

shards of cutting winds

Summer song

Woods, the birds on branches, swing

words, the forest trees, will sing

of summer winds, a leafy song of green

blue the sky is painting, not a cloud

only the sparkling of sun, a song

of mosses warmed, a fragrance undone

black and fuzzy yellow bees, circle hypnotically

tiny hunters, drunk with pollen, disappearing

in the tiger lily towers, and fly they

home to serve a sacred queen

all the day, the sweetness

of gathering honey

Only a moment

Soft the silver needles

falling to the ground, tiny boughs

wet with misty raining seas dampening

dark the forest trees, late in summer

call of early morning

blue the sky, blue the salty cry

of sailing seagulls

this breadth of day

brief a moment

hovers, then

flies away

Of petrichor

after the storm

an efflorescence

still drips the air

still the rain so near

only, just here

earth of fire, quelled

where a storm seeps in

copper veined, iron blood

burning blue this place

of redolent warmth


In the air so still

In the warmth of a summer forest

I sat in the mossy scented air so low

quietly still, as silent raindrops fell

my woodwind breath of music, floated

as I remembered how to breathe

awakened in my soul, a well of joy and sorrow

it came in waves, to flood the heart, it’s empty halls and chambers

a wave of grief soon surfacing, and I with nowhere else to run

was made to feel, letting the wave take me, a wet washing of tears

cry of locked away fears – deep to feel

of my hidden soul, a truth revealed

how sacred a moment, a place to heal

Gentle the summer rain

It came softly warm, mist of fragrant showers

bright flowers of parchment petals, drank

of sun, of moon, of rain

a world glistening, silent

as perseid shooting stars

falling from a sea

of heavens

Cry of the soul

There is only a flashing, of soul

a susurrous echoing, hidden, hushed away

in the running down of slipping sands and fall of dreams

an ocean of water washing waves, bury and uncover

one cannot ignore it’s constant call

an ache, beautiful a sorrowful longing

deep, calling you home


you are gorgeous in turquoise blue

a swirling of oxidation, transformation of warm reds

you are ocean water colors, deep in rocks, in canyon waterfalls

like the changing light of eyes, chameleon colored

ancient, elemental


a conversation in my head

Ilion Gray, such a cool name

I love the name Ilion – Ilion Gray

I wonder is it his real name

it looks like it could be, his name

though I’ve never known an Ilion

never read poems by any other Ilion’s

his name fits perfect, his poems, exquisite

and today I see him posted on the front page

a prince of words, a master, a sage

I think he lives in NY, probably downtown

I bet it’s loud, I love the way he writes like that

I wonder what kinds of things he does, in summer

or winter, I know he has a cap, but does he have coat and gloves

I wonder how many times, he fell drunk in love

he probably reads poetry on a stage, a pastiche word parade

a lyrical brigade, loaded and fired, finishing with a bow

yeah, I bet Ilion is writing a killer poem right now


a million petals ago, in colored meadows

stems, gathered in far off fields

windy, wild born

bright pods of summer

split in August suns

earth bound, await

September floods

cool, foggy rains

cycle of rebirth

wildflower seeds falling

back to earth

When we were endless green

When we were endless green

When we were very far

and there were never any roads, no star lights strung, to follow

only a winding path, a branch to grasp

a place to fill the hollow

blue the summer, with drowsy daisies came

petals, petals, we drew circles round the sun

gold spun, our halo heads of pollen

gold, the bees of sleepy flowers, fallen

they, seeking clover grass, heaven

days we lived deep in hills

we were endless green, in countries never mapped

stretching past the farms afield, in other worlds

borderlands, too far to see, beyond the gray of days

and we were ever free, in the shining silver

of our hallowed hills of sun

When I sleep in forests

Eyes, crystalline, shine awake

newborn suns stream, blue light

mists of fog breaking through

cool breath, of forest’s wet

steaming bark, clouds of water smoke

trees breathe deep, drinking dawn

mosses warm in wooded sun

raven call penetrates the soul, an ageless echo

pulse of forest drums, awake my heart

in birded rhythmic song, connection, meditation

I am home, I am home

Waialea bay

How the rains came

wild blue in waterfall tears

magenta orchid clouds to wear

Oh, the tropical winds

leeward, an ocean blowing in

plumeria flower waves

a blissful turquoise bay

lay of fragrant floral sands

warm breeze to carry

this wild ocean breadth

far and off to foreign lands


Breath of life, it is a wild ocean

always a tide coming and going

in this place, it does not linger long

never holding on, only drifts quietly into night

into stars, into fleeting sparks of fire flies

or in the night waters, a ghostly glow

of phosphorescence, a transient trail

of luminescence that soon

fades and reappears to light

the deepest depths

of sea

Tlingit man

In Klawock stands seven totems

and a madman, chanting under ebon skies

he is embedded in the cedar wood, he is connecting worlds

a master carver, of language without words

of the raven clan, he is tracing ancestry in the wood

seeking the old ways of eagle, wolf and bear

born of water, amid the realms of earth and air

his spirit runs with salmon.

the wall

decorated, concealed

whitewashed, peeled

years of little earthquakes

will shake you

she is framed art hung, unsung

unknown to anyone

jilted, wilted

a still life flower

hanging ever crooked

upon the wall

dedicated to all who struggle with drug addiction, especially to a certain person in my life

the night garden

In the night garden, star flowers linger

long before dawn, before the sun

vines climb, with ivory flowers hung

bringing light, where the moon glows pale

flowered jasmine is sweet beneath the air of fire

with lanterns lit in floral scents

glowing through diaphanous petals

here, where the earth shines like heaven

and blooms not unlike the stars.

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

Scroll to top