Im tired of the blather
long to be whisked forth
where nature knows what is best.
knots: earth rests
Tag: journey
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
Sacred Rhythm
desire
unchecked reality
preservation of sanity
he brought her down
sifting through grains of sand
on knees
please!
Art Night
this jagged heart line
avoid the cracks midst the stones
criss cross hope to die
Winter Feast
If I stopped now
would i know tomorrow
the blurred foxglove in hand
the brandished iron in the other
staking the outcome by name.
If yesterday never arrived
do your best dear friend
to remember love
the petaled feet
I swept away, one-by-one, by hand.
Fuzzy Mornings
Walk towards the far corner
trace the color of my eyes.
Vanish into the mist
and be our sunrise.
Organic
Spring has run
the drifting fragrance
smells of dark
Her mad world
a blown leaf nestled
dew remains
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.
Ever
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
