Posted in Photography, Poetry

2022

Wind Swept

Im really looking forward to 2022. Wow! Can you believe how far we have come?

Wind swept
my hair in a bun
half-naked neck exposed
getting cold
perturbed by my lack of sense
holding onto a love
having been long dead
The chief beauty about time is 
that you cannot waste it in
advance. The next year, the next
day, the next hour are lying ready
for you, as perfect, as unspoiled,
as if you had never wasted or
misapplied a single moment in all
your life. You can turn over a new
leaf every hour if you choose.

Arnold Bennett
How to Live on 24 Hours a Day
Posted in Photography, Poetry

I look out the window, unto a world unknown to me. The colors vibrant and beautiful. The stillness broken by song.

Come sit with me a while. Let us stare into the distance a little longer. And wonder what went wrong.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

xxxxxx

Cant say i believe 
the words
spilling
from contraptions of reality
more digital than heart

the love is farce

and wounds bleed
while you step in line.
To listen to you
akin to the first

fire
shot.

Love has become cheap tequila
in an unsalted rim.
Posted in Photography, Poetry
A season in Maine

The summer
sails by
swift on the wind
too fast
to hold the petalled lips.

Too hot
to absorb the days
the sun sinks.
Posted in Art, Poetry
Grandpa’s barn — pieced fabric
With home in the distance
and the dandelion chains grounded,
i jostle my memory again
dream of days spent carefree.

Watching butterfly wings grace grasses

—grown, in a star’s twinkle

home.

Seeking out salamander’s rock ledge.
Finding fox’s buried bones emerge.
Dipping toes in granite pond.

Stirring grandma in the kitchen.
Windowsill of blue jar pickles.
Pies and noodles baked delicious.

As the cow’s path erodes.

Yesterday, trE posted a challenge to write a nostalgic childhood memory in five words, on her blog: A Cornered Gurl . I took it a step further and wrote a poem as I recalled the magical summers on the farm.

Life is bittersweet. Under the layer of happiness is another layer of grief. And we build the mountains steep.

Posted in Photography, Poetry
Who can love ever so sweetly
the fragrance of a lilac bloom, midwinter
when the scars of summer subdue
and the fog of autumn morn,
cover the lips forlorn?