Im tired of the blather
long to be whisked forth
where nature knows what is best.
knots: earth rests
Tag: creation
Month in Review: B&W Style
Frida Sage or Fenny Hope? 
The first egg 
First season’s snow 20/21 
My first snowshoe walk 
Fruitlands 
Narnia 
Bare Hill Pond
Art Night
this jagged heart line
avoid the cracks midst the stones
criss cross hope to die
Before Time
one sideways glance right
was it methane burning low
ice crystals froze tight
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.
Sacred Rhythm
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.
My View in the Evening
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.
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.
Hush
On a July morning, in the height of summer, the ants are busy on the sunflowers. Today, I wake to the same routine regardless of the weather. The coffee poured, I light a candle.
Glistening green in the sun’s heightened shadow, I wonder if i should write a letter to a friend. The thought fleeting. I don’t want to add my emotions to his already pocket full of pleas. I let my mind settle into this opened space. Drum out the crinkle of autumn leaves and find solace in my reverie.
When we return to the land, will our hearts be able? The hours bend into baskets, carrying our troubles downstream, where the beavers damn us for wanting freedom. Will we ever furnish a house with all our plans?
You see me. I love
my love in thought.
Can you know
the waiting fires the bones?
Week in Review: B&W
