Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Tender Green Shoot

In every vision black consumes the mind. Defines the boundary line.

In moments of clarity I sing. In moments of despair I moan. In this moment I spy the green seeping from your eyes.

We step in the shallow pool where leaves gather in cooler days. The reds, yellows, and oranges ripen with the setting sun. Browns crunch under our shoes. Your fingers wrap around my wrist, clenching my pulse to see if I respond. I don’t. But I do.

I reach for the new growth you promised me years ago. I see it now. The tender green shoots sprout from your heart.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Times Have Changed

Starting today
as if yesterday never happened
I looked out the window to see
an ever changing silhouette
of what appeared
to be me.

You stood
beside my figure grown larger
in mind and spirit
to rest a little while longer
drink in the prairie grass
get high on ocean’s breeze
to lay down your disease.

And we watched the times change
we agreed
to linger
the dawn arrived just in time
the golden hue, subdued
limping as if to stop the world.
Posted in Art

Hurricane Winds in the City

Hurricane Winds in the City

My first time painting in a long while. It felt really good. Soul refreshing. I had to pack up my paints as the sun was setting and the mosquitoes were biting. Tomorrow perhaps. I won’t wait two years again. Praying for rain here in Massachusetts.

Posted in Musings, Photography, Soul Journal


Yesterday, so many old feelings returned. Im angry. Im hurt. The relays of old films played all day in my mind. Scenarios I thought Id forgiven.

I was triggered into old patterns of behaving. Im utterly sad. After the heated emotions, I remind myself to keep forgiving them, so Im spared further damage to my heart.

I suppose I’m depressed too. My soul is tired and art has lost all color. Damn if I haven’t fallen hard.

I know this too will pass. The sun will shine again. But I am broken and hurt and mad.

Forgiveness promises very little in the midst of anguish. In the morning I plan to rise.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Week in Review: B&W

Sometimes we have to be real
and let the chips fall
to the ground in a pattern.
Much like reading tea leaves.
Time is the only truth we have to look forward to. 

I reached into your pocket to find sand. The rock swore to hand me over what little I could comprehend.
Posted in Poetry

All in time

time sifts out voices
cycles through ages
Summer is swift
and I could give into my head

the dread exists
a storm hangs as the grass ceases
turns brown
under winter’s thumb

I dig out paints
head for the woods
with a cape draped over my arm.

There will be less flying
with dragon-winged beasts taking heed

their last buzz wakes me
to capture on canvas

We possessed breath
yet missed the purpose of earth.

Posted in Art, Photography, Poetry, prose

The Path (a pilgrim’s meditation)

Art has a way of confusing me. My mind never relaxes as I struggle to make meaning. And to make matters worse, the formation of ideas triggers my perfection.

Most of my work on my blogs is far less about perfect poetry or admirable photographs or attracting followers, then it is about releasing unspoken and buried pain and loss. Of making meaning while never knowing why.

The glitter of diamonds is rarely found without first removing the heartache and wiping the tears. —me

I am struggling at the moment. Life has become one long movie cut that keeps getting axed. Nothing feels right. There is no long term goal forming and my energy to pursue an advanced degree is waning. I look at my blogs with a desire to simplify. The blogs are as messy as my life. And still I pursue collecting and creating and coagulating the runny substances that create sticky problems.

Looking at it from a distant, maybe my artist fingerprint mirrors the uneasiness of my stumbling in the dark. I am not a prepared scout on this journey. I am a scrap-carrying, scribbler-eating, thought-crunching gypsy who is more comfortable exploring than settling into a home.

I carry my home in my heart. Even a cracked shell has some ability to keep dreams from fraying into oblivion. I may still arrive at my destination. The long and winding version of finding myself.

Posted in Photography, Poetry


You tell me this is it.
There is no turning back.

The winding down of summer puts me in a heavy philosophical mood. —Robert Fulghum

One person cannot save the world, much less lift their hands to praise the day’s cycle. The shape of time has dipped into an abyss. I drown in heavy-laden words while the complaints of many clog my veins.

At the moment, my heart isn’t enamored by art or creating worlds with color paper. I overwhelm myself with listening and feeling what doesn’t belong to me. One cannot sleep when so much threatens the thoughts. So, like the sun, I give way to the bleak. Dip my brush in ink. Splash my body invisible and spread darkness.

Posted in Poetry

In our midst

If ever the result 
of happiness returning
remains anything other than hope

the beautiful depths
of human illogic
has us trade places
with a suffering lover.