Tuesday, November 24, 2009


"Wolf" is still unfinished and I will post him here when I am done with him.

The strength of the pack
is the wolf. . .
. . .and the strength of the wolf
is the pack.
--Rudyard Kipling (Author)


There are mists that grow
about the spiral
of the trail
Standing tall above the
silent forest
Where the eagle slides
At the crook of the river
and the river falls. . .
Is a cliff of crystal
and a silver wall
Here the eagle flows
beneath the planet's halo
And the stars that glare
and die in the water

And lifting wings
I join them there.

Chickadee, Chickadee
Don't you cry
for me.


To My Nieces
Golden hair flying
She dances for me,
her blue eyes intense
      like the heart of the flame.
The youngest is four
and she will not accept
in her macaroni and cheese -

--and she wondered for me
why I married that man--
her small hands pat my
knees as she tells me
a joke
which she gets all wrong
But I must laugh
or risk a wrinkled brow
--I tease her
when she knocks over a chair
and she worries
because she is not sure-

but she cares...
We drew chalk pictures
on the driveway,
Her sister draws
dark blue hopscotch patterns,
I draw ladybugs,
butterflies and kites.
She draws intensely,
a geometric shaped
like an Escher print,
all wrong
My house - she claims -

With me on the roof
and a lamp -
          Our chalk drawings
          in the rain
     - We used all the chalk -

We play games
her sister and I
And she falls asleep
On the floor
Her face serene
to the sky
like a princess
in a fairytale. 


I cannot resist sharing this album - I love these sweet voices and these great Irish tunes:


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