Thursday, December 31, 2015


i tell you of my day;
the turning of rain to frost upon twilight's windows
the fierce duality of my contentment
the friction of bone upon sinew
i tell of the taste of field honey on my tongue

i ask you things temporal & temporary
things eternal & of dark mystery
things rising & falling
things unspoken & chanted under stars
i ask for morsels of your ordinary

i sit in patient presence of the sublime
transcendent love
transcendent simplicity
transcendent songs
i sit with you in the secret garden of evermore 

legacy drifting

i had the heart for circus tents
stripes & poles & elephants
building up & tearing down
riding trains from town to town

i slept in garrets castle walls
wrote by candles thru wars & falls
wearing lace & leather vests
secluded, deluded by nature's scent

i had the legs to scale great heights
breathe the air of mountain's starry night
spread these arms to vistas high
feel comet's rush and touch the sky

i toiled in fields on soldier's thick
patching, repairing--holding the sick
ancient wisdom in hands small
what lies in men i knew it all

i had the soul to change the world
to step off edges wings unfurled
fearless & flying & comet bound
to leave the earth more green, more round ...

instead life lies ordinary
tucked & tended--hardly legendary
yet each moment holds opal-chasms-delight
each breath cradles day's twilight

we strive to leave a mark, a talisman
of our solitary time here passing
each thread, each hand, each song is spun
to connect us all to the path of the Sun

i had the heart for circus tents ......

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

where it takes you.

in the white-late-december-almost-there-almost-not sky
frosted gray blankness rising
a secreted waning winter moon

between them
miles of stark cold nothing-everything
two panes of glass
smoothed of want
pressed in transparent pain
wakened to knowing
love resides
snow falls silently residing in
the smooth corners of
whispered delight
cold becomes the night
becomes the glass
darkness the great equalizer
we stars

Monday, December 21, 2015


there is something about the light at five o'clock that
moves - transcends - transports
to some ancient mind-place of aquamarine-glossy-greenness
peeling from a 107 year old hallway smelling of cinnamon, shalimar and cherry pie.
this five o'clock twilight shimmers in wakefulness as toes skim carpet
lined by narratives of purpose and tomorrows,
while from a window violet-mullioned,
a single skeleton-elm beckons thread-bare and eager
for a butterscotch-honey connection on the corner of
11th and this cold moon
wake me to this light always ...
wake me to winter's slumbered quest to gaze out the
frosty windows to the ice highways of the plains where river valleys sing of loneliness
sing to me of soul laid hollowed and milk-yellowed to the lily-green of spring
this light … 

Wednesday, December 16, 2015


windows hastily opened
apple cider afternoon
dipping to cool words inked
black on white
cut-out in ice perfections slice
in five/four time
cool me ....
so neatly the burn lies folded under the tabernacle pillow
gray velvet peeking
broke open by words
black on white on wildly beating hearts
five/four time crashing about the overcast day of gray
frost forms upon the glass
cool me

Monday, December 14, 2015

hollowed ground

figs lay there upon the ground;
marzipan & acorns
a fairytale of scattered words
to the fallen frost
a promise
a night
a light
spoken charms & curses
steam rising from fermented dreams
bundle up tight
tangle the wool-weave tight to your heart
stand with me
upon this sacred place
broken whole
tokens of mystery
shaken from
your fist--sugar-dusted figs thrown
offered to stars
as talismans
a promise
a gift
to a winter moon shrouded by clouds & expectation
hidden from sight
ringed by particles of golden light
this night

Sunday, December 13, 2015

brew . . .

Wolfsbane, salvia,saffron thread
3 breaths of moonlight encircle the bed
Polaris softly beckons on galaxies shore
Venus brightens & sits at my door

Copper & bone true mordant tight
pain sharply nudges to awaken our flight
sage & bittersweet plucked, tightly bundled
PatrĂ³n & melissa measured & muddled

Drink it up!

Happiness waits on edges of teal
as we punish self for crimes temporal or real

Let go

acknowledge the toll on your heart
all glory, divinity
raw missing parts
humanity is born from shadows & light
happy is worthy of this soul-saffron fight

drink the cup of forgiveness steeped in stardust
raise your glass
taste the thunder
and step closer to trust

Wednesday, December 9, 2015


... brushes against me
like violet tulle upon skin left in the sun too long
startling in its edges, wakeful in its harshness
i am poised on the late day cusp of nearness
closer to the fire of being
resonating to the beat of living
waiting no more for the knock upon my door
upon my heart
i am the door
i am the one i've been waiting for ,,, 

Tuesday, December 8, 2015

....from the other side

the view vast
soft blue cold
with wildness upon my tongue
tangled contentment
soft blue contentment
this winter's afternoon
restless yearning
held in by the hands of time
hands of my own choosing ....
palliative amusements linger over licorice tea & marzipan tempests
sweeping winds carried on the backs of nuthatches
soft blue cold
wrapped wool knowing  
sing to me of water and dreams
sing to me of winter's bite
hold me in golden arms that smell crisp & ripe
sing to me of home
of ancient fields folded
soft blue cold
this view from the other side ....

Monday, December 7, 2015


There was a time
when i was content to be suzy-chapstick-shortcake
butterfly pink
pretty polished shiny
as the chrome on that 1958 beige rambler
that sits idle in that driveway--
there ....
smelling like my mother's tabu & pendelton sweater
pearls & bonanza all wrapped up like a present ...
your present
waiting to ferment,
simmered .
age does that....
this time
i am gypsy-crazy
intently wandering for something dark & blue
my core of pierced truth
draped in broken fragments of my eternal pixie-vision
the desire
to stand awash in the blood, bone & breath of all that has come before
and all that lingers
pulsing beyond the borders of
this knowing
this time ...
awaiting only my own blossoming
dragon-blood fire thick & ethereal as an approaching thunderstorm
not content
not pink
but tangled in blues
greys ,,,
yearning into the far empty corners of my want
as i intently desire .....

Monday, November 30, 2015

on waiting ...

before the blue-glass wall of you
unrecognizable i've become
perched upon a walnut branch
deemed muse
by your tongue, by your hand

let's talk about your hands for a minute, shall we?
how they are all i see when i close my eyes
strong, oak-molasses thick
i shall miss them most of all

i am weary of waiting

gather all my perched
     watchful minutes
alchemy them into ten thousand sparrows


for a thousand years i have waited for you to see me here
waiting behind the glass
watching stars, dust & shadows shift
to dance, to alight, to spark, to fuck, to collide

snow falls heavy today ...
and i will fly away from the blue-glass wall

Saturday, November 21, 2015


the cut of sorrow lies endless
azure tempered to the tilt of the sun
as it illuminates
grains & gravity
nothing is permanent
nothing is permanent
say it loud and forever long
the salt taste stills with water
water bright upon tongues too weary to speak of color
holding to songs rising , orange blooming in the west
love flowing unbridled by the tight harnessed tempest
yesterday's news
reborn in the soft turning of leaves
aureolin to gold to carmine to gone          
daylight tempts expectation
kinder tide
a gentle nudge to dreams of
thursdays and cellos
pushing past the simple friction of time & breath
to wrap oneself in the depths of
moonlight, melody
to remember 

of nearly twilight

putting down the colored pencil
she took up the
cotton sock to darn a thousand years ago .... thread
falling between fingers alight
eager crisp persimmon possibility poured out of her folded
enfolded borrowed and stolen
she became the one holding the sock
the one holding the red thread
tendering the hole
counting the minutes until his return
forgetting the colored pencil
forgetting the open trees open sky smells of pine promise
pick up the saffron salmon pink
color this twilight
wait no more

Monday, November 16, 2015

buffalo plaid

that dream again;
cowboy bonfires
under novemeber moon's lament
laced & lingered
twisting to tumbleweeds
sweep me into the ash of hope
soothe the whimper of winds cold cold
touch the wool wet from promised snow
I curl into the smoke from your dreams
always dancing to the song of stars

Friday, November 13, 2015

winter birds

the dismantled song of rusted broken things
standing solitary amidst the canary corn
bent, leaned and listening
to songs overhead
use swallowed by weather and worry
linger there awhile ...
until the November sun gleams
a bursting golden metallic promise
furrows of love
songs of birds
winter whispers such sweet undoing 

Tuesday, November 10, 2015

time signature

upcycling the empty hollow places to reverb with extended joy
into the parked-particled corners between sky & bone
heart thrumming to timeless 3/4 rythms
beat on
beat on
the sunshine of this day
this day
hearing the faint echo of some part left stranded upon a lichen boulder
face-up to the sun
as the whisper of wind & water empty me of all regret
i am full of aspen leaves, sorrow & impish possibility
this day
fragility melts in the current ..

golden becomes me

white noise of an afternoon

perhaps it is the fly buzzing in the next room
against the dimpled glass
the echoing
buzz of the speedway 3.7 miles to the south
undercurrent becomes the undertow
distraction to pause;
pause in the paisley steps of the day
pause in the presence of breaths
pause in the wonder of gravity
lucky is the lost

Monday, November 9, 2015


i should have woke you at the dark of three
to see if you still smell of woodsmoke & whiskey
to see if the warm of you radiates in your sleep
and if your hands can erase the doubt of me

i should have called when the leaves turned red
to hear that note of 1977 in your voice
to feel the static current of now pressed against my cheek
and to let my mouth go dry with the words you said

i should stand in the sunlight naked & fearless at two o'clock in the afternoon
to listen for the blue jay's call
and the rumble of being
to breathe with the westerly wind as it waits upon the moon

i should know if you taste of cinnamon & morning 

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Alice & the Hatter

Alice lives in a room with no windows and doors
safe from her dreams, she can't think anymore
too caught up with pages and decisions bred
too unremarkable to know where to lay her head
anywhere she chooses
anywhere she falls
eyes closed upon the morrow
eyes closed forevermore
Alice hides her face from all the swirling motes
safe inside her own life
Alice dreams no more

The Hatter plays the game 

with the smoothness of a king
all believing he is foolish
he is nothing what he seems
he turns his gaze on Alice, there locked up in her womb
he toys with her affection
he steals a kiss and
Alice peers at starshine, there between the cracks
Alice feels a stirring, and pushes something back
pushes with a strength no one thought she had
     except for the Hatter 

who knew down in his heart
that Alice was his truth, light-keeper of the dark
sent to tame his madness, sent to still his tears

Alice and the Hatter--forever in the mirror
stashing all tomorrows, with dreams as old as time
tending their own madness
coloring outside the lines 

Monday, October 12, 2015

the smell of leaves burning

Can a hole become art ?
to become not a hole, but something transformed
full & complete ?
refashioned with found objects; that silver monopoly dog,
blue bandanas, the sharp cut of sorrow,
cornfields & meadowlarked loss
autumn hued & weaved with blood-orange thread
to shuttered gasps & ooo's of admiration
can a hole be not a hole
patched with time & tender & song to mend it's fibrous fragility
looming itself into Indian sunset ribbons of amber richness
who am I to love so well, yet so wrong ?
but not wrong
more like that hole
strangely, ironically
the startling realization that it has shifted
quickened & sharp
the forecasted boulder snow
self lies in the punched surrender to the puppet masters demand
listening & dancing to the bubbled needs of others
steadfastly refusing to howl at the moon & shine a light into the need
rake the leaves reverently into the
revolution is where ?
in the crumpled pages of secret whispers & timeless sureness
in the ability to recognize strength in weakness
and in the turquoise gleam of happy hanging in a thiefed reel
fighting for a heart-path is a wicked & quixotic endeavor
tempered by the accepted - righteous is not always so
loneliness carves it's own mask
as the struggle & pull of need creates red
welcome the rhythm of this night in
bits of story & stars
dance & celebrate the patched hole
gather up copper, bronze & scarlet-dragon leaves
fire it up
trust it's light

Wednesday, October 7, 2015

the space between

in the swollen space between crickets and cooling
comes the moment
of crystal presence
briefly glimpsed
we catch the flick of it's vanishing tail
like some humminbird-comet darting across the dome of day
then gone ...
such beautiful quiet 

Monday, October 5, 2015

hand print

objects have always emanated a particle presence :
warm to cool 
porcelain cup to weave of linen
hands that trace the curve of a wall 
wood & weather 
the rusted thin wires of a birdcage 
counters cracked with age and baking as 
heat & time 
wraps & welds 
fingertips roll across the corners of books 
dusty with captain kangaroo morning stillness 
tick tock tick tock 
the air we breathe
secrets locked ….
hold …

0 degrees ( deux )

Mercury in retrograde
drained of everything but elementary desires
.... eat
drink me ...
my smallness intrigues me.
i am invisible
orphaned from the moon and you ....
untethered and unbalanced
drink ....
searching for definition
ANY definition !!
against the yellowed october leaves
of the
curly willow outside my glass walls ...
outside the definition of me
is it cold ? is it past ? are we there yet ?
this vacant inability to feel .
Mercury at 0 degrees .
pierce this numbness ; pull me closer ...
fill in the void with colored pencils, indigo and the scent of pumpkin ...
bounce me back to Jupiter
and the hope and
pinch of something true ....

Wednesday, September 30, 2015


Aubergine mums
exploding in the shadow of the japanese maple
holly debuting with random pop-orb berries
something . . .
time snaps into the rusted clockwork of possibility
steamed open
with no watermark of completion
no crimson waxed seal
tinkering with windmills & wildcraft
visibly stripped of warrior strength &
sage gypsy purpose
my tongue writing Monet visions
while my body leans into the stitch & knit
knit one pearl two
imagination felted & warm replaces
saffron heights of wonder & reach
marveling over the aubergine
but all the while, wishing for
the marigold ...

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux

bird's eye view: history lesson re·dux: Oh Columbia!  -- imagined history of our ancients -- where is our emancipator of despair? bison spirit rising ,,,, compassionate libera...

Monday, September 28, 2015

half moonstone's throw ...

That coral-vermillion moon half ....
shuttered light-well to Oz
captivated me all night: 


upon a ledge that has become comfortably edge-like
 . . .   what is it ?
is it Fall ... ?
ding dong the witch is dead fall ? 
it is more
this otherworldly tincture of days
this moonglow spell of night
casting ancient dreams from yellow school buses & winged horses
constellations shift shadows into suspended seconds
laced to underwear & footballs
casting visions
A longing to be 15 .. ok ... maybe 16
lanky & full with secret words of lace in my pockets
we kiss

in grass, on beds, on bikes, in rivers . .  because we are young
you are 17 with tamed arrogance & mahogany bones
the milky way & every nasturtium belong to us
I know what you look like in mornings and can smell you on my fingers
innocence seeds trust long fired in the bowels of mordor & mirth
bodies are lithe & limber twined naked and easy
our tongues play cribbage against lips pink & curious & sure
paused on backs flat upon earth sumac-red-deep 

 ,,, softly
suddenly. . .
the electric panes of glass slide

the moon 

Saturday, September 26, 2015


Tepid, this day ...
hanging garden of fissured possibility
inked in spaces left by who i was
who remains …
fractured mist rising
an ancient cigar box
smelling of longer days
the hands of ancestors scoop under my skin along my bones
touching the hollow places
where i choose to linger
for the righting of the moon 

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

equal night

crickets break the stillness
as dawn's mist settles between thick branches
heavy with the weight of you
somewhere to the west
         a dog barks
then stillness returns
morning's are like this --
sublimely tilted
desire tips verdant leaves toward
winter's imaginary respite
soon ....

Monday, September 21, 2015


sensation sometimes disguises itself as sophomoric sentimentality
candy-apple brightness hurls along causing the hairs to stand
on your forearm
to the distant sound of crickets and cellos and bees
what is authentic movement?
the downward dog of you
glass crusted
crackled with the dust of unknown origins
reach beyond the tactile first responder
reach marrow deep to scrap the soul fibers of Jupiter
from your tongue
oh petty benign graze of presence ....
sooth the night wrinkles
draw a warm bath
sing to me
waxwings & marigolds


you are an equation of fire + blue
components missing
lost in the rivers of your storied rye attention
you are of will and red rock
as somber introspection frees me from the cage

Friday, September 18, 2015

camped beneath the moon in september

somewhere . . .
a fire sparks
snapping open to the belly-sound of
moonbells & violins
dust spins crystalline
porcelain thins
willow sails lowered to
the drift & roll
wind out of the north, north-west
vellum held under my tongue
to melt into honey & rye
felted transience pressed between newsprint
pluto's apples . .
ladders of bone rise from the wallow & swill
sleep .... rest
gypsies dance upon your grave
and call you home . . .
call you home

Saturday, September 12, 2015

americana loneliness

walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
hands wet with dark molasses

steps are wild sleepy
hazed with dust & brine
coldness cuts straight to the heart
as rain & mercury-will collide

heavy seems the parceled bones
tender is the dream
gathering stories of fierce trembling light
nothing's ever as it seems. . . .

walking in a wild place
gauthiers & glasses
oil dripped from silver pots
hands wet with dark molasses

Thursday, September 10, 2015

rain like this

thunder becomes my blood in the thirteenth hour 
rolling without pause churning, angry 
rain my breath 
released to this downpour 
relentlessly vertical 
the only refuge under the shadows of trees
even when it fades 
the storm remains 

Monday, September 7, 2015

grasp and go .... on

i steal wonder from things
thiefed from transparent moments 
between ancient vermillion hands
hummingbird to honeysuckle
butterfly on blossom white
small drops of water delight
from copper to cut
silverwonder presses down-down upon fingerstips 
stretched -- raised 
in rebellion to distant moons 
how can this electric thread be tamed? 
can this tempest be soothed? 
sun dripped through to spectrum's bone  --  
eyes to hear a cello's lowing pull 
ears awash with a thousand colors 
September smells of important things 
the taste of wind docks upon my tongue 
as lips blush in constant anticipation 
breath sparks fire shadows 
to light to light 
heart's thunder thief 

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

the middle way

caught in tiny imperfections
stretched tight over inked narcissus pressed
                  old panes of glass
on a summer noon tide
... the rushing waters to smooth the stone fields
hell bent
glorious ride upon the backs of a thousand songs
carry on
carry on


blue of the soft wild open
fill bones hollow'd
as violet hides in spectrum's shade
beneath the oak branches
illumination softly tethered
sparrows ...
pull the sun into corners cut by time
everything sways to some silent melody
as the neighbor's roofline
steep and treacherous
morning's anthem
wakeful rising
things empty & seeking
before the darkness of the night 

Friday, August 28, 2015

suddenly at three o'clock

sheets hung on a clothes line
tethered, tucked
in this august breeze
grasp the corners
bring to your nose
this fresh-linen-sunshine
all that is held there
eyes close -- moment held  
perfection found
fresh summertime
ice tea on the back step
dog barks
sounds of children around the corner
breeze rising to the top of the hackberry tree
grass under feet bare
grasp the corners
one, two, three ....
three minutes of this moment

grasp the perfect corners

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

defining time with color in August . .

I was made to paint this porch

shades of gray & turquoise
melt in the summer heat
trimming in 
beadboard to panes
brush stroke
the rhythm moves to the sound of sunshine
as blood & decision pump
in my heart

under skin

August hot 

sweat at the back of my neck feels like
time turning back
stilling the days
drenched in lucky 

I was made to paint this porch

Monday, August 10, 2015

Sturgeon Moon

storms of earth
blue-heron seekers
what fractal fragility lies under
this sultry haze of August nights
here on the prairie grass
from thunder
the dust of bees
dreams rise from
the dance of the moonshine warriors, peacemakers
we paint ourselves naked
frolic with the monkey-wrenching tight-rope walkers
shifting into love activists
thick & plush in woolen kilts
mighty our rose tongues
and sharp the bite
with softness
secretly tucked
between the blood folds
below freckled skin imprinted by sailing ships
and ink trails
replete with sorrow


buoyant and lucky
the cursed ones
squeeze that misshapen fractal along the palm-heart-line
and tender it's story
with a circle of stones
wild birds

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

half past fearless

 will begin today
at four in the morning
on the heels of this full thunder moon ....
in a
softly, sublimely appointed chamber
with 4 walls of padded
pink & orange-paisley-dragon silk
wrapped with ribbons of blue sage
this will bind you both
to this moment
in this moment
you can turn it all around
before it's too late
is it ever too late ?
shove aside pride & ego & your worm-hole of doubt
love has faith & fireworks
smells of
cinnamon vanilla & feels like flannel on
a winter night
before it's too late
promise me you will try & burn the candle bright
clasp hands & jump into the fire
love will heal your wounds, mend those scars & brighten your days ....
youth will linger & stay
here, drink this . paisley-dragon nectar ,,,,,
now ....
hold tight and
make of your love a bowl of sweet-secret cherries
forgive all & remind  ,,,,
you will last.
it is never too late ,,,,