what makes us live as if transfixed

frozen from the insides

breathing slowly

sitting,,, still,,,

no one thinking of you

where you are

what you are doing

you manifest into a white light 

what makes us unable to function

frozen within our steps

breathing blackness

sitting,,, listening,,, waiting

no one speaking of 

where you have not been

what you will do

you hide within the walls

of the shadow

every breath you take

thins the atmosphere 

shrinks in dimensions

who is this alien 

absorbing all the oxygen

squeezing out all of life 

we have come to know






A Complex Creature

Photo on 2018-05-10 at 7.23 AM #2

I wake and for some moments
possibilities of the day
speed through my mind
unravelling my body from pillows and duvet
proves to be more than an easy task
how did everything get so twisted about
I can see impressions embedded in the pillows

If we could only scan each impression
retrieving thoughts or dreams left behind
would that be good or not

With some bits of fancy legwork
I managed to free my body from the octopus bed
a small jump and I raise my arms
as if I had just completed a gymnastic routine
I can hear the crowds cheering me on
for a quick moment, I bask in my achievement and victory

Spinning back into reality
I follow the path of most mornings
I unscrew the espresso pot
pour water in one part
two scoops of coffee with a dash of freshly ground pepper
into part two
tighten part three
then turn the burner on

I walk back towards the bed
hand picks up the iPhone
I raise the phone and take a picture of the bed
same angle every morning
a project in process

The artist is a complex creature
eyes are like a camera
framing  and taking stills of nearly everything I see
being so aware can be exhausting

what if the artist is just a complex fleshy computer
our eyes connected to the clouds
allowing others to access everything we see and feel
being directed by more than one
could this be why?
when I look at my door
I see it in three  black and white stills
then I can visualize them framed and on a wall

skipping over to a short poem

then again a short film with feet walking
on a wooden floor towards that same door
watching it open
a shadow walks through it
The End  


Is it just me
or, are there others
punching keys
giving me directions

Am I an artist
or just a
complex fleshy computer

Sitting here looking out the window and open door
hearing the birds trying to speak
above the sounds of commuter cars
my left ear has caught the sound of the refrigerator
it seems to sing like a voice in a tunnel
than abruptly is stops

The light in the room changes
as the clouds cover the morning sun
I take a breath of relief
for it’s the grey clouds that I seek
they calm my soul
like a memory embedded in my DNA
travelling clouds and crashing waves soothes me
listening to the rain
feels like home


All of this with only one cup of coffee and only 9am.

Asleep,,, ​Or Awake


AT some point

I slipped out of bed

I can still see where my body laid

soft pillows of down 

each holding an imprint of my head

different moments of time

the duvet has adopted a body shape

am I still… 

lying in my bed

or ….am I dreaming

dreaming of being awake

IF we could see time

would our world be full of remanence of where we were




may 3 2018


Photo on 2018-05-02 at 10.49 AM

When life throws you a curveball

you can tilt our head

be aware of how time slows down

watch and observe

the wind

notice the colours 

………..take your time

breath………… watch it come

don’t panic

stand your ground

spread your feet


slightly bend the knees

line the shoulders

look at it

show no fear

when life throws you a curveball

you must stand your ground

or you will shatter

like a glass on tiles

or a windshield upon impact

you must focus and plan your move

reacting will only deflect 

you must now 


when life throws you

a curveball

may 2 2018

MAY 2 :18 copy







Chickens and Violins

Photo on 2018-04-17 at 11.18 AM #2

little white rooster
stands so proud

throws back his head
and howls real loud

violins play
as feathered bodies
begin to sway

one by one
they all huddle around

not a single beak
producing a frown

no wings flap
no horizontal spread

no bobbing
of  little heads

calm and adoration
the chicks are showing
for this creation

filling the corner
of the coop

standing quiet
no one stoops

eyes and ears
all opened wide

feathered chickens
filled with pride

music adoration
has begun

for these chickens
are having fun

violins and cello base
seems to touch
their inner grace

Photo on 2018-04-17 at 11.26 AM 2

Today’s experiment was to sit in the coop with the chickens and discovering what would come of it, in terms of writing. It’s common for me to have the cd of Angele Dubeau – La Pieta playing on my laptop.
I walked in with my little stool and sat watching them hassle about trying to figure out why I was just sitting since the eggs had already been collected and they were already fed. The smallest is a white guy is a rooster and he started to do his stuff showing me who was really the king of the coop. I decided to video him and his voice and then take photos.
When I flipped my computer open the music started. Within minutes no one made a sound. More came in the coop and they all gathered in the corner with eyes open and heads tall, ears aimed in my direction. They were listening to the music!!! I photographed them countless times and they did not move. Some of their heads began to lower and I realized that they were so relaxed that they were falling asleep. I could not believe it.

I then decided to put on Glen Gould playing some Bach and they slowly started to wake up and start cleaning their feathers. This was fascinating and could be the start of something. Possibly sitting in more chicken coops hehehe. Who knows.

This is what happens when you have storms hitting the countryside.




“Let’s​ All Get Crazy”



Lately, I am becoming aware of mini-universes that we all cohabit with.

I, therefore, bring to you the world of the washing machines.

Yes, you may look upon these boxes of metal parts sitting in some obscure room in your home only as things of convenience, when in fact that might be the furthest thing from the truth.

 Years back when I threw my clothes in the washer and walked away, I walked away from witnessing some interesting things.

Like the sounds that clothing makes when shushing about with gallons of water.
How different clothes makes different sounds.

Oh, I know you think I may well have lost it
but I ask you
when did you last sit and listen to the machines?


Laundry time has become an exercise in the development of the creative mind, and a release of conforming allowing the outrageously kookie to be explored.

First of all the uncomfortable chairs which had to have been installed so you can’t get comfortable.
There will be no falling asleep in these towers of pain.

I have my book, of which could or could not grab my interest.

It’s obvious they often don’t compare to the sounds of the machines and how this activates my mind.

I have come to the notion that machines do have personalities and they do relate to each other and have fun.

This is demonstrated in my drawings today.

Their names have been withheld to protect the innocent.

sometimes we just need to give our heads a shake and see what comes up, or down.





What is there to say
that has not been said so many times
till our mind goes numb
knowing something will happen does nothing to ease our sorrow

First, your body feels relief from months of tension
then you wander about looking for something lost or misplaced
it’s not a button or a book or keys
it’s something so much more
your husband no longer needs your care, your time, your love
you will be told time and time again
we all knew it was coming and he is in a better place

but what of your place?
even if you have enjoyed total freedom with your love
you will still look for the other half
parts of you feel open and raw
only time and the sea breeze will heal your wounds 

many may want to rush you
wanting to see a smile on your face
a new step in your walk
people are afraid of grief
afraid to touch it or be near it
sorrow is a stage of love
true, we do not want to live forever
with our feet in the wet sand
but only you can say when its time
to shake off the grains of sand from beneath your feet
to cleanse them in the ocean
to feel refreshed enough to live on
for you my dear friend


A feather falls from the sky

no one ever wonders why

two hands reaching

touches a blue flake of light

floating but never falling

music created by a breath

pure sound 

not manipulated 

not contorted 

essence of a soul

one that was needed

one that was rewarded

two hands open in the sky

giving comfort to one that’s died

blue flakes floating high

till they disperse into the sky

no one truly knows why

till its time for us to fly

someone else will reach for us

when our feather falls from the sky

flakes of blue falling

will tell us why

Life is but a feather falling from the sky


april 9 2018 ©

I find its good to hear music while I write.
I often find it easier to write in poem form for difficult times.