Posted in Poetry

boredom

who wants chaos?
yet we invite the virus
to our homes and schools
we beg for mercy
from "the man"
and dangle off his chest hairs

what if we changed course
kept rhyme ‘n reason the game
played straight
no cheaters under the table
left the fable in books
changed our looks

became the people
we were created to be
not bowing to fame
overrated success breeds greed
compliance with the germs
faked victim mentality

I originally wrote this in 2018. I have no recollection what prompted the words then. Today, they could be applied to Covid. Yeah, I follow society’s mask code. But not when Im out in nature, breathing in and out. I refuse the mask when I am true to who I am. Fear is nothing I subscribe to. When I pass from this realm, it will be with courage, wrapped up in my free-flowing hair.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Sacred Rhythm

Intellectual Honesty
Hips shifting. I hang a sign
“My soul is not for sale.”
around my neck.
People approach his upholstered chair
strategically positioned,

it remains vacant
in the consignment store.
I seat my language
upon the landscape vapor
a desert, embellished with torrid tears
helpless hearts, we are.

These frozen moments tucked indoors
you read me as tea leaves
floating swiftly towards the forest floor.

Embellished with a beady smile
you pour favor from a thousand rainbows
upon this ocean corridor.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry, quotes

Ever

Ever Forest, 2020


It’s the same story i tell. Because the book wont close, no matter how often and long i beg it, to lock itself away.

“Perhaps when we find ourselves wanting everything, it is because we are dangerously close to wanting nothing.” —Sylvia Plath

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

My View in the Evening

Autumn 2020
Morning overture
trek shore of eternal soul
don the evening’s shawl

Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul. John Muir

People. We are complicated and simple. We are shy and rowdy. We are there in the city and here in the country. We are seen and invisible. We exist and then die.

We are, in the quiet pause, an eruption. And will always be the star.

Posted in Art, Musings

Painting with Scissors Matisse Style

Life is a dress rehearsal. Every day reminds me of yesterday’s failures, today’s possibilities, and tomorrow’s reminders. Today, my biggest question to myself centers around my faith that someone greater (for me God) exists beyond my imagination.

What exists in my view is awfully short of some angelic heaven.

Are we creating a heaven on earth? Who is out of bounds with creating such a horrific world? Why do we go from bad to worse with every new year? Who is winning this never-ending battle of wits?

Politics is no answer. The spirit of love must overcome the drought of not seeking others or understanding them. Forgiveness is more necessary than ever. Anger and bitterness, when allowed to take root, pave the way to destruction. Hate drains the blood and leaves us tired of life. The consequence of despair is a hopeless dance.

Are you doing your part to create a beautiful world? Are you spreading cheer? Loving your neighbor or finding fault? Blaming race or religion, using both as an excuse to further harm life on earth? Hiding your love under a bushel?

There can be peace and goodwill. And we do not have to cancel God to achieve those ends. We must cancel our fleshly desires and embrace our neighbors as ourselves.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Month in Review: B&W Style

Autumn Diary

Weekly is too often
while apple blossoms ripen
and words choke the heart.

Above, geese rise skyward
putting behind the folly
of man’s aimless trails.

I ride my bike for the first time
since spring
with November winds trailing
the spokes cutting through falling leaves
and smile-crowned pumpkin patches pass me by.




Posted in Musings, Photography

Snow

I love snow. The beauty mesmerizing. The dancing flakes lightens the air.

The child in me awakens every time the colder breeze sends rain twirling into laughing drops. I leap into my coat and boots to head outdoors to form another soul from the white stuff.

Unfortunately, the wet, packing snow is destructively beautiful. Snug in the house, roasting by a crackling fire, I kept hearing branches creaking and breaking. So I jolted outside to find my beloved birch looking like a willow. And on the opposite side of the tree, three hefty limbs broke in half. Not to mention a stately, 50-foot tall white pine in the way back, leaning heavily towards the earth. I will need a potent night cap if Im to make it through the dark tonight. And lots of prayer.