Posted in Art, Poetry

Midnight Blue

Midnight Blue


The heaviness of hibernation has me wiggling out of my skin.

I want to experience again
the day i first met you
on display
the layers of tongue
wagging through philosophy
lifting life.

Us finding midnight blue.

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

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 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.