poetry & things


The night field

It is late, the sky is black slate, coal

a desolate moon glow, cold

this silent world flecked with tiny lights

diffused amid the softness of clouds

the night, only a blooming dawn

a field of stars that come.

Spring pond

White fleshed, the wild roots

cold in caves of soil, the bulbs, the tubers

burst through aged brown clay, wet through mud slick rains

sun drunk buds, of tulip leaves, petals painted pink

music, the chirp and groan of ponds, a soft bedded mossy home

of woven fern and forest fronds, built for night’s invisible frogs

dogwoods, white as moons, calls heard lovelorn

through an open window.


When I write these things

my thoughts fly with birds

sometimes grey in storms

sometimes winged in skies

so feathery

When I sing this song

my heart goes in beats, bittersweet

sometimes heavy held, my sorrow spilled

sometimes warmed, red flushed

and fluttery

When I paint this canvas

my brush moves in labyrinthine moods

sometimes shades, darkest blue cerulean

sometimes flowers white, soft as clouds

upon the page, floating heavenly

Shapeshifter of peace

Blackbird, your wings – reminiscent of ashen skies

iridescent as blue morpho butterflies

the impaling of your sharpened eyes

tricky black witch, all knowing, you cackle

shapeshifter, a Yaqui Indian

desert bird, a grackle

Stirring, you stare me down

shaking mesquite leaves to the ground

the air is a thick musk of sage

smudged for peace, for prayers

a wish to cease the wars we wage

With vision, pure of heart

this message of love unfurls

breath peace – peace

in this world

Prince – the beautiful one

Don’t make me lose my mind

you were so hard to find

baby can’t you stay with me tonight?

we’ll party like it’s 1999.

Why must you play this game?

when I only want to see you laughing

in the purple rain, purple rain

You know I won’t make a fuss

cause you don’t have to be rich

you don’t have to be cool to rule my world

I just want your extra time and your Kiss!

Don’t make me wait here alone and blue

cause darling I would die for you

you say – I’m not your lover

I’m not your friend, I am something

that you’ll never comprehend

and I would die for you

darling if you want me to, want me to

I’m not a woman

I’m not a man

I am something that

you’ll never understand

and I would die for you

the beautiful ones

we always seem to lose.

Painting of a shell

Somewhere in the red lands

thick with oils, she painted sands

clay hills of rouged mud rain

a sliver layered blue, a sun sky yellow

that broke from rust colored rain, from clouds of brown

it was found, a prominent grey, a white washed shell

stark amid the scorch of desert

a piece of ocean that from her pocket fell.

Love notes

When I can no longer discern the path

when I am seeking a seer’s looking glass

I walk miles of desert alone, travel years from home

to stand hot or cold, in a wilderness, fragile or strong

in storms, sun sweltered and windblown.

I believe in fire, the burning into ashes reborn

look for defining lines, watch for the telling signs

I listen for the music of words, spoken softly sweet

for love notes, tucked in heart, to keep.

Before I sleep

Some days I wake

in the cooling clouds and rain

float into the unknown of day

sometimes I am nearly froze

in wintry dreams of streams and ponds

sometimes my feet in forests, treading mossy greens

I walk amid summer trees, that shine in a sun path, glistening

one day with autumn leaves, I’ll go falling back to earth, so soon to sleep.

Without you

This space, of hot breathed desert

the searing swelter singes my soul

leaves me windblown and hollow

windy sands to bury my sorrows

of yesterday and tomorrow

of pain, the crying rains wash away

of storms here and gone, together now alone

of air we breathe beneath the same moon and sun.

Watching petals unfurl

Watching the budding vine of petals unfurl

all through winter I am looking for spring

the daffodil yellow greens, the lilac blossoming

of tiny star flower florets, sweet the songbird chorus

moss softly sunning, the trickle of forest creeks running

the remembrance and fragrance, the pungent warmth of rain

drops, wet and round, bounced from trees, upon my face falling down

cool splash, the startling of my eyelash

wet washing and alive, the resurrection, the cycle

of all things again reborn.

Under spring moons

gentle water ripples

snow of falling flower petals

soft the landing of your lips

we merge like clouds in dream

become one, learn to breathe in sync

This moment, with you

Verily we are suspended

to one another invisibly threaded

gold spun, finely woven

we breathe the air of summer

silken petaled, softly subtle

through these woods treading sun dappled

we come to rest, in a rosy heaven

lose the world of whirling much too fast

to gain the moment, lose the future and the past.

The woods in spring

In spring, green along the river

amid ancestral foothills, we walk deer trails

wild in the woods of scented pine

of silver sycamores, silken barked

stark, they pale against bluest skies

their new leaves green and glistening

we are listening for songbirds, for a language without words

transfixed, through this portal, reborn in this world

warm winds speak sweet and susurrus of spring

melodious they sing, leaving far behind

the cold, the dead of winter.

Of fire forged

December’s child

with fire you were forged

your eyes are liquid amber poured

always I dream to kiss

your perfect lips divinely cast

the sweetness of your breath

the warmth that moves across my flesh

your hands and arms are sculpted bronze museum art

indelibly in mind when you are far

the hot of your delicious mouth

traveling gently, slowly south.

Looking glass

In the water, some tears erased

below the surface, they slip away

only a watery grave of what used to be

a mirage, a vision of possibility

a looking glass, this moon-green sea.

I fall

For you the woods, the moon

night paths, I breathe the air attuned

treading starlit, sleep and dream

ever closer my love, to you

bright from the sky, like stars

ever into your arms, I fall

and fall.

Altar of dawn

In this desert

I touch the ocean within,

here where I abandon all plans,

I spend hours watching cloud formations

of flowers blooming violet, red.

I travel to the sanctuary of the soul

each morning, sit silent

at the altar of dawn.

Yaqui man

You are a traveler of the South lands

brown, a leathered skin coyote

desert walker of the Sonoran sands

crafty, black magic witch

a shaman, lucid dreamer

Yaqui Indian spell weaver

of visions, of paintings in the sand

mixing colors, peyote flowers

red, the melting of the aloe bowers

dark blood, the blooming agave towers

thick with snakes, the fire and hiss

that burns black of sacaton grass

the quiver and flash of flying sparks

igniting night, time traveling to the stars.

Woman of sea and moon

Ocean swimming, buoyant blue

salt encrusted hair of jewels

seaweed shimmering, waves entangling

savoring, deep her belly breath of sea

with a mermaid tail, to flash in hues of green

wearing rings and pearls, she swirls in a sea of stars

radiantly, far below the moon.

Winter Sea

Winter – your face, of ice and snow

the blowing cold, of sailing northward on

lost in a flailing storm

of thundering, blackness

bleak sea of the nearly drowned

wicked, the splitting williwaw groan

the haunting of the howl and moan

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