No More Sad Songs

A breath…
The first breath, in a truly virgin body
Painful and harsh
As an infant, who, until this moment
Took only viscous fluid into their lungs

To be…
To inhale oxygen given by the trees
Reciprocating my carbon dioxide
And in this way feeling content
In my placement of Things

This chatter…
Incessantly prodding, pounding
Seeking to drown my inner dialog
With the need for whiter whites-
Be damned

The soil is strong
Verdant with decay
Feeding epiphany
Where those sleeping seeds
Sing songs I have forgotten…

Though I’m learning to remember


#me too

My response to the movement happening. I’m not on twitter or Facebook or any other media outlet other than this blog so… this is what I have to offer

Not a sob story but a reminder that woman have been fighting this quietly for a long while, and Ani just… says things honestly

So here


You are never broken my friends

The Memory Of Trees

Broken hearts?

Don’t make me laugh

A soul cannot break unless you refuse to bend

Love is only a whisper in the roaring river of possability

You say you jumped from that cliff?

Did you think you could fly

On the wind of weightless words?

Did you never learn the topography of another

Requires four wheel drive to navigate?

Were you just going to stroll in here

Plant a flag that says “MINE” because

Nobody else had done so?

A lack of face reflected in my heart

So you thought I needed someone there

Like I would not be able to complete myself

As if I needed the crutch of sympathy

Read my poetry so now you’ve got me figured?

So the fire of my spirit didn’t burn you?

Doesn’t mean you’re fire proof


No, hearts cannot be broken

One person cannot know another

I’ve had friends for years…

View original post 185 more words

Thoughts On Poetry

I want to share this o e again just because…

The Memory Of Trees

What are words but formless wind, given weight and shape only by the meaning attached to them? If I were to send my breeze rustling into your boughs whispering of ancient stone pathways, would your bare feet feel the cool kiss of Spanish moss? If I blew into your sleeping ear the call of a night bird by the light of a waning moon and the sweet breath of night blooming jasmine, would you swoon beneath the wheeling stars? If the rhythmic breath of Mother sea could encompass the mere scratching of my ink pen, would you swim with a naked heart into the depths as Cassiopeia danced above you and currents of my thought pulled you deeper into the ocean of pages?

Me and my whispers of wind flit about the jungle shadows of this island, twining sensual fingers in the boughs of a banyan tree and stroking the blooms…

View original post 55 more words

Backyard Reflections

IMG_0679Back yard reflections

Of a squirrel’s scolding

Or the painted crown moldings

My hands and knees black with earth


Wages paid in callouses

Long stretches of back road

Poetry, my heavy load

Each step a drum- beat rhythm


Alone, I was a mountain

Beaten by the wind

Growing thicker skin

Storm dancing, in solitude


Those are the moments that make you

With heart wide open, wanting

At all the world’s beauty flaunting

Leaping from your own peaks, to soar


A good place to learn your power

When silence begs introspection

Noting the fractal, the inflection

Teaching your ears to see and your eyes to paint


Yet I shall never return

To valleys of red cedar and pine

That passive state of mind

I would rather be a Tiger, than a Rose




*this was my view on the back porch today, and the reflections of the Lilly and the sky shimmering slightly with the wind made me… reflective.

I wrote this about my childhood in the Cascade Mountains of Washington

To Jim Roberts With All my Love

So cold in the shadow of woe and loss

Struggling to pay the daily cost

How many took with selfish greed?

Every green dollar and it’s hopeful seed?

Not you my friend, whom others spurned

Your company so firey, it burns

Of what you uttered, too scalding for most

The sinuous dance, the wild boast

But I knew you then, and loved you well

Thourouly, beneath your spell

And you should know what you meant to me

How friendship then was rarely free

So what you gave in your simple way

Means more that trite words will ever convey

Thank you for being so fiercely youself

Despite all those who have you Hell

And thank you for being there so late at night

When storms were raging, as I went seeking flight

For drying my shoes, my tears, and my babbling streams

For hanging your hat on the myriad dreams

What a person you are… what a spirit, what a man

What a friend I am so lucky, to hold in hand