Posted in Photography, Poetry

The Path

The Path

Trust not in oppression, and become not vain in robbery: if riches increase, set not your heart upon them.

Psalm 62:10

Knowledge is fickle
bending and swaying through mouths
foisted upon a dark horse
swiftly the war mounts
against innocent hearts

fervently pray for peace to return
that men of courage
break this bondage
may we rest our eyes on beauty
and smoke the sky with incense

Since January 2019 I feel a call to be a peacemaker. While i do not entirely understand the path i walk, i do focus on ways to be productive in pursuing peace among men. Differences aside, i do hope we all agree that riches are fleeting. What is everlasting is the spirit of love.

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

Meaningful Gibberish

Talk to Me (October 2021)
toward the celebration of human life 
as a path to transcendence
i skip past Beethoven
land on middle C

swing past his open mouth
dance with clenching teeth
directed at my absurdity

our meaningful gibberish
we only understand
the moans escape the metal bars
i lie down beside the piled cloth

stained with gilded tears
teach me forgiveness afterwards
when a hush descends upon bended knees
Posted in Photography, Poetry

sea glass rising

Eastport, Maine
Can you know this feeling
peering underneath blue
hollow bones trapped in bearded wrecks

seashell words
smashed beneath waves

gutted hearts
tangled, twisted ‘round our legs.

Who dare put out our fire
feet ensnared with desire
upon this sandcastle built?

Come find me washed ashore
waiting for your adore
disappearing…

yet some more
sea glass rising.

Yet some more
sea glass… rising from the dead
we dance together at last.
Posted in Photography, Soul Journal

Into the abyss

The kind of books that make us happy
are the kind we could write ourselves
if we had to.

It matters not if i am known. Or remain a mystery. The matter is that i am wholly me.

Not wanting accolades or seeking a tribe. The tribe always moves on to bigger houses and better views. I choose to stay in my shell.

And in my space, i read the kind of book that stabs and wounds. If the book doesn’t wake me with a blow to the head, what am i reading for?

We need books that affect us like a disaster. That grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves. Like being banished into forests far from everyone. Like a suicide.

A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief.

Posted in Photography, Poetry

Fleeting Floats Beyond

Is it Spring that welcomes you?
Or Summer heated blues?

Nothing stays long enough to know. —Mary Szybist, Incarnadine: Poems

My head aches with worried words
the squirrels chattering all day long
it is “nuts” i say
to play this way
so i venture on.

And in the view
I capture two
spaces, far and near
my heart feels lost
the cost too much
and time wonders why.

Is it Spring
that welcomes us
dancing in the street
where no one drives
the coast is clear
your feet travel far.

I loved you once
and tried again
to be brushed aside
rushing for the sun
where all darkness hides.

I forgot green runs too
so long they last
the brown songs past.

We once walked single file
holding beaded pearls
and slowly

I let go the rope.
Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Lady Slipper

Atop the rocky hill blooms one exquisite Lady Slipper. She, a Spring passage to Summer, and I haven’t switched over my Winter clothes.

Lady Slipper 2.0

Three days later pink color appears. Her cheeks ruddy and weathered from sunlight. She glows. A rare sight to behold. A lady has her ways.

The intricate life of the North American orchid ‘Cypripedium acaule’ fascinates. The flower lures bees with smell and color. Once inside the pouch, the bee realizes the store is empty and has only one way out. With such news, the trapped bee scurries to find the exit sign, whereupon pollen deposits and collects. https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/cypripedium_acaule.shtml

What do people know about us? Separate from what we have told, how can others know us? What symbiotic relationships do we pursue in order to fruit?

Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Abandoned Voices #2
I can’t keep the magic
happening
while the sky peels
back the gray.
Instead, I make an appointment
to speak to Dr. Such
and so the moment
melts away.

Same scene. Second glance. A vision that keeps turning my head. To walk the valley is difficult. To rise above circumstances, a feat.

The answers to life are buried deep inside each of us. It is the voices we tend to hear that promise love or hope or gifts that steer us off course. We tremble at conflict and derision and loss.

What magic do you hold inside that keeps you moving toward a goal? And when do you become an enemy to prized dreams and visions? What setbacks or traps have you allowed to sabotage your destination?

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

W.B. Yeats