my Love Affair with


once, I read from cover to cover

waiting for things to discover

of  late this is not the state

for  my mind needs an update

once, the pages were the main meal

something real, exploring diel

was that the appeal or learning to be genteel

when one is young there is no need to conceal 

the love of teal or reason to kneel

once, is now past for everything feels fast

quick plays from a cast performed to the mass

eyes feel glassed, purpose surpassed

thrown last from the blast

feeling die-cast or miscast

now, my pages are tasty treats

of pickled beets and other eats

to feast upon the sheets

or walking down the streets

there are no cheats with smiles from meets

would be no completes without our cleats and pleats

for we are not athletes or numbers on spreadsheets

we are not deadbeats that work on Bradstreet

for we own our heartbeats and parakeets

now, I cover myself with book and page

discovering many a stage without wage

for I adore my age and the smelling of sage

july 11 2018


The Line Of A Pencil

If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawings speak to me
free of shame
or self-imposed blame
Not all lines speak
from memories deep
from staring at our toes
to echoing early years of ‘nos’
If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawing lead me through the trees
to follow the path hidden by the shade
to raise my pencil and sharpen its blade
for a pencil can lacerate
or draw a line for bait
causing us to think we are frauds
in truth, we are just a little flawed
There is no choice or well-conceived plan
for when the crow calls we run to where it began
some call it having the mind of a child
I prefer to believe, we never gave up being wild
even if it means being exiled
IMG_8873july 9 2018

State Of Mine




4:05 the room feels awake
restless after a week of excessive heat

restless from concentrating on the positive 

natural hot yoga

movies in front of a fan

birds at 4:45am

singing their songs

parade of dark clouds 

feeling the tailwinds as they pass

clouds moving east and south

each taking different routes

hummingbird flying into the wind

surrounded by trees

the sky is open, the sky is free

wind chimes play their songs

soft pink line sits on a dark violet horizon

crows chatting in the forest

I miss the ocean, the sound of the waves

yet I am thankful for the shelter I am able to provide

for trees, tall grass and milkweeds

by letting nature be we can witness
a walnut seed grow into a tree

or listen to frogs singing an opera

it’s fine wishing for different things
if we still acknowledge the moments of beauty

the same sun rises everywhere

beauty is how we view and relate to our life

5:48 coffee tastes better when greeting the dawn


Runaway Thoughts



Everywhere I look 

the day tries to get my attention

a bright square of morning light

a silhouette of cup and vase 

bounces off the kitchen cupboard

a streak of light

lines a chair and corners the table

highlighting the contents of a cut crystal vase

light glowing from every window

screaming to get in

to wake me from my sleep

a beam of light throws itself

across the floor with intent

abrupt then fades in attitude

the kitchen, beautiful with life

walls and ceiling surfaced with patinated wood

nothing buckled or splintered from age

if we could only access its memory

turn the tape back with our fingers

and play the days again

topics of conversation would consist of

inches of rain or evening frost

schedule for seeding and field rotation

everyone having a job to fulfill 

feeding chickens, milking the cows

or delighting in the birth of a new calf

politics would not be a circus act

perhaps the walls are speaking

giving their opinions 

technology has taken the lead 

no one can say its totally wrong

perhaps just perhaps, we have grown blinders

tunnel vision for progress

such a rush to inhabit other worlds

while we disregard and disrespect 

the world we have been given

the imperious attitude travels much quicker

monstrous companies rape the earth

then stand on pedestals 

dropping pennies to the poor with one hand

while they rub their fat bellies with the other 


this house of which I am so privileged to sit 

built long ago, of and for a family

it stands tall, straight and proud

built as a home for generations past and future

kitchen of seven doors and two windows
if only they could speak

these walls hold thoughts and time

they grew alive and still they breath


two roosters calling 

their voices can be heard through the walls

wanting the gates to be opened

grains and water to be served

joy rushes through my veins

for their call will make me walk

out across the yard and witness

another sky saying good morning to the sun

and goodnight to the fading moon

june 9 2018



IMG_8241 (1)

If I stand on the point of a needle
the wind will not be altered
raindrop will not glide down its surface
no shadow will be cast
if I stand on the point of a needle

will I be able to tick off each day
will I be in a meditative state
will I still see the sun rise and set
if I stand on the point of a needle

will I need
or will I just be
listening to the bass cello
drifting over me

will I be music
will I be colour
or change the sky
to something duller

if I stand on the point of a needle
will I be able to see
all that surrounds me

june 4 2018

Early Morn


I rose from the warmth of my bed

to the early morning rain

seeing the mood change across the open fields

the sky a soothing grey

rain, soft and warm

feeling it dampen my head

then soaking my shoulders

I did not run for cover

for I felt I was witnessing a miracle 

standing with my face to the sky

my arms extended

welcoming every drop

greeting them as if I had never seen them before

in life we can get trapped

caught in barbed-wire rope
venomous of global news

if allowed, it will kill us all

I say, look to your sky

your fields, your waters

this planet that continues to try and forgive us

that is the only creator I can get behind

the holy trinity,

earth, water, air

for without that trinity

we have nothing





in life, there is yin and yan

the anticipator, the reactor

a leader, a follower

two sides of a coin

day, night

hot, cold

good, evil

wet, dry

rich, poor

happy, sad

extravert, introvert

must there be 

balance of all that is

so all may be


what if the rain rose

took to the sky

would we hear it hitting the clouds

would there be pools of water floating in the sky

with prisms holding rainbows

what if the season change

is actually the world in flip

for when I look at trees

across the fields in the winter

they look a lot like exposed roots without the ground

could our world be

made of two

living each day connected by the soles of our feet

always having the opposite living at the same moment