Wednesday, January 29, 2014


A Dave Brubeck ride
neon and yellow lines
dissonance of winter against the pale
echoes a fractal rhythm
ba ba da ba 
strong to weak to shine to bone
a strangely familiar 

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

this just in ....

these fallow places the hollow spaces
between the rise and the fall
the fire and the glacier cool ...
between the snowdrop ditch and the smooth mesa of fullness
we ride through on painted ponies with ancient names:
placidus, gleam, viola, faic
we ride
awareness dimming
struggle to sit the saddle as tension sits for tea along
the femur, the gracilis, magnus and the brevis
hold through these unsown regions
hold tight
the rise
the fecund melt
taste the wind
lean in

Monday, January 27, 2014


It is with ease
I slip
the bell jar
Trapped & separate from the tangible
Wired into currents sublime
Flashed with the hope & sorrow of millions
Star-dust pleading for ascendance
Does this bead of brokenness transcend skin ?
Do we become what we see, what we feel
What we feel is nothing
What we see is the chasm
Is that the rubaiyat ?
Can I dance moonlight woven & talk to horses ?
Does Jupiter sing to me of epic tales ?
Is the living-giving-taking of life to be felt as mercury - silver & unforgiven ?
Sensitivity pierced with the hollowed thorns of dreams
Grasping for the physical, the pull to earth & sun
Rescue me
With the weight of your hand
glass . . .

Monday, January 13, 2014


life surges
thru tendrils of tethered tenderness
ambered terra rosa pulsing with the need for sun
bolstered to earth by gravity & axil tilt & speed
we ride 
life surges
across our aging, freckled & pale skin
the furrows & rivulets of passion & presence tremble & taunt us to rise
despite the swollen tubers of tissue & undergrowth
gasping for air as some newborn with pink silk folding
we greet the first strong rays of Spring's promise
standing upon cold ground -
soil & life beats beats beats along filling the narrowed cavities of our bones
with lightening, solitude, knowing, desire, youth, fragility & forgiveness
we fill
we breathe
we ride
tasting of morning & the solar flares of our own Spring

our own green life 
surges  ...

Monday, January 6, 2014

Dante's dart

i remember quite clearly the night i took on the worlds sadness as my own
pink baby-doll pajamas with ruching of blue flowers
8 yrs old gold
kneeling on a canopy bed
leaning upon the open window sill
gazing into the world
twinkling stars
unable to fend off this as yet unnamed despair i tasted on that blue moonlight on snow night
a parade of heartache, loneliness & pain leaked under my skin leaving its burn ...
. . . an ancient, folded & forgotten mahogany woman pacing to & fro across some cracked damp floor
. . . a solitary soldier cold & wet loosing his humanity with every step,
there -
. . . a frightened child with dark eyes hiding from the sharp sting of thoughtlessness
. . . a small boney white dog homeless, not understanding how gentle hands can be
a stolen life
a fearful task
a lonely death
dantes dart landed upon my heart
no amount of pink groovy psychedelic sunshine could stop the march upon the fabric of my soul
so began my ritual, my telling mark:
kneeling upon my pink groovy bedspread in my pink groovy sunshine life
every nite
gazing out & up at the stars wishing for strength
wishing for magic
wishing for enough love to shoulder
dantes dart

Friday, January 3, 2014

the feel of things ….

Tight crinoline of a dress - starch-unyielding
gingham bows bold & blue
the softness of one older & plumb with everything good and enfolding
warmth of hands holding
embracing …
a walk down paths - trails forested
the feel of unbidden dreams and stolen things :
objects of no poetic meaning,
june sunlight on the backs of wee hands
marveling at the tenderness of violets
the smooth manipulation of grass, glass and ideals
freedom gained by acquisition and wheels
always feeling the wind  . . .
the solitude of things
corners dark
camouflaged by vision boards of
mad hatters and meadowlarks
electric sexuality rising to command the gamma rays of the sun
color of night
the feel of contrast :
your skin on my skin
sunlight tighness, crinoline poetry, electric freedom, star rides & open spaces
the smell of grass
the feel of wind  . . .
the stolen gray of tenderness
in the feel of things