Sunday, January 27, 2013


if I press myself between the fern and the lemon verbena
petticoated & folded to linen white
measured in fragrance of rose gimlet
well, if I did press myself there,
so arched & tight ....
would there be a marigold trace .... a ink orb of light ?
hallway forested in fields of wool & water
rippling pink
smell that ?
a trace of cigar, sunlight & 1967
a mirror taffeta-gilded
reflecting the paper-white hesitation of the day's polished redemption

Saturday, January 26, 2013

of grief and blue . . .

of what purpose is sorrow
why are there spaces that feel so ripe with its weight & darkness ?
are we merely to discover how to rise ?
tracing back to our bone imprint of feathered things ... ?
how do we honor indigo stories without taking on the wound
gathering to soul-fast the shavings
molding our vision to see thru to other side
folding & unfolding
gather, release
to experience the quest
learn how to rise
on feathered things  . . .

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

of a january afternoon

A secret carried
Dusty & Forgotten
Yet wrapped in the thinnest gauze of cloud linen
Folded and folded once again upon itself
Dark corners becoming shadow-velvet
Gray is intangible
Ethereal in her personality & along her edges
Does she portend good or evil ?
She is but a fog of paused belief
Exquisitely laced along lines delicate & tarnished
Gray is comfort tucked into Winter's stark whiteness
Woolen naps with old books and promises timed to the moon
Few are allowed to touch Gray
Understand her or
Know her scent of ice - minted & melting

Saturday, January 19, 2013


sometimes ....
when one is not looking, not paying close enough attention
a shift occurs ...
a shift in the earth beneath your feet
a shift in the focus & light gleaning into the circus kaleidoscope ....
the colors mute and bleed, leaving one
less full .
shapes can not be determined, purple becomes blue becomes green becomes
puzzling .....
over the events that could crash about one in puddles & shards of emptiness
the fog rolls in cold & hollow - veiling the light
the indigo bubbles fail to rise and your soul is left
in a labyrinth of regret & desire
circling as a thin, grey wolf 
would hunt
solitary & famished
how does one keep striving in the shift ?
how does one believe in the power of .... love?
darkness suckles on the wound in the soul
and yet ..... there is a smell .......
a smell of earth & moistness
of something alive and new .....
really ?
or is it merely another trick of the kaleidoscope ?
shake it.
close your eyes and listen ....


Friday, January 4, 2013


baby boom daughter of a movie queen and a medicine show
juggling moons and carnival masks
between the blue waters ....
tonight  ...
snow comes on
heavy & thick as black as a walnut's thigh
turning this lament into a great horns cry
the sharp daggered pierce
of a cut to the core 
bruises & wounds
each intake of breath
every mistake and regret
as i live with the pain
yet there.
move that picture of dragons & orbs
move it
to reflect even more upon the veiled faces
veiled with secrets accomplished
and golden beauty stolen with whimsies hand
sparkling & golden ..... 
rain melts all regret .