Monday, May 31, 2010

Fractures Through Time

 A Fractal - My First
"Footprints of the Dragon"

Self Portrait - "Pollen"
She saw the flight of sorrow
it spread its monstrous wings
and soared above
the whitened hills
the skulls gleamed starkly
against their purple shrouds.. .. ..
sorrow like a vulture gliding
watching for the first betrayal
She saw the sweep of sorrow                                                                                                              

as it slid down heated currents
descending slowly, menacing
her breathing - quickened
as she rejected
time worn phrases,
curses against her fate
denying anger, turning fearful
turning hateful, turning sorrow .. .. ..
Sorrow's talons, sorrow's beak
biting deep within her meat
she never screamed
she only wept
she wept
and then she died. . .


(this poem is completely about depression . . . a familiar demon of mine in days gone by)

(this next poem followed immediately on the heels of the last one)

It is so lonely .. .. ..
The roof over my head
      is so low
I could reach up
and touch one
      of those
      dancing lights . . .
      its cold tonight.
They flash messages
to me
in a code
I cannot read
They sing, I know,
In silent voices .. .. ..
        empty noises.
It is so lonely . . .
Once, I had heard
    their song
    which swept within me
    And all my heart aches
    gone . . .
    on winged flight
    through burning space
    there is no place
And now I read
their empty messages
cloud my eyes
and pierce my heart
with fragile crystal
and if today my song is sorrow
maybe  . . .
                      not tomorrow


Third Fractal - Tail of Dragon

There is a clear call
A message
In the early morning air
A multitude
of bird song
against the walls of trees
Their husky morning voices
their approval
of the coming day
the damp mists
curl around bent beak and
bright eyes
the clouds for change
a flutter
a dash of sunlight
a sailing wing
And there in the blue air
flows the ghost of a dream.



Moths step their feet
on newborn leaf
Horses cry
over yesterdays' valleys
gone now
broken down
birds flew there
laughing into the steam
gone now
broken down
Sunlight slid
West on the wings
of an eggshell sky
gone now
broken down
bees mated with
daisies on
yellow fields of
basket grass that danced below
the rolling love
of wind touch
gone now
broken down
The turtle stretched his neck
to watch a fly
gone now
broken down
The pond
The stream
The field
The forest
Gone now
broken down


Second Fractal "Dance of the Turtles"

Saturday, May 29, 2010


What fills your moments,
your dreams.. .. ..
an upturned face,
a pensive look,
a certain quixotic perspective
standing at the cross roads of illusion .. with no return,
no restitution,
no appeals for a redo,
you move on . . . and
the dream is often all you hold
seeping through your hands.. .. ..
and while you stand amazed,
at that moment
you stand alone and ponder,
that choice so like
the rainbow . . . a quick hello
and then goodbye . . .
ephemeral as a dewdrop
a point of egress .. .. ..
the door is closed
and all is lost
so much is gained. . . 
a kaleidoscope of ambition
you never realize the reason,
the purpose
is not within your sight
but all the glory is there .. .. .. for
with spirit wings
you fly above the crowds
and see . . .


Wednesday, May 26, 2010

A Day!

The rain continues to roar proudly,
as if the skies resent the idea of spring
morphing into summer,
and to keep the sun at obedience
the gods of weather cause
white sheets to hang
across the wild blue heights.. .. ..
and I walk into curtains
of water
drenching my toes,

my heart
poured through.. .. ..
by the tides of storms
day after night .. .. ..

night after day
the oceans of earth
flow over the mountains
and onto my spaces .. .. ..
I walk through the blur
along my roads and I see
death marching
ahead of me.
A long black cape
and deep dark hood
of velvet night 

unembelleshed with singing stars
or dancing moon .. .. ..
tall and dark and ominous,
death marched on in
ebony boots, and with
a little dog in tow.. .. ..

eventually a revelational
turn,  a sparkling blue glance,
a golden curl, an upturned smile.. .. ..
so then 
I wonder,
what demons possess me,
enticing me to call
"O' Death, where is thy sting?"
though mockery
is not my way, nor embroidery
my road to travel
along the muddy way

I smile brightly at Death
and Death smiles back at me,
and I walk by
brushing her cape lightly,
as the walk is narrow
and the way is dark.


This is Duncan, our Wednesday's dog . . . he didn't mind me laying on the floor with him . . . and only blinked once or twice as I snapped his picture . . . he is used to antics of all sorts . . . in this insane asylum called Grout School.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Her Garden

She surrounds herself with beauty,
the queen of the garden,
and all that flows in loveliness
which graces the world in her care.. .. ..
the tenderness of the rose petal
and the fragrance of the lavender
swiftly calls to the butterfly
as it angles by.. .. ..
she sees the details in every little thing.. .. ..
the growth of grace as it is applied
to the sides of the willow tree
delights the breezes
as they swing through the branches
like invisible children.. .. ..
and the crystal blue of the sky
smiles into the pool
within which she bathes .. .. ..
as she strokes
the liquid magic,
elixir to all life
she creates melodies.. .. ..
and the little birds whisper of
these sweet mysteries
throughout the valley.. .. ..
while life fills her courtyard with
abundance and joy,
the golden stuff of sunshine
drips from the trees like honey.. .. ..
and the angels come to witness
the varieties of color as it
pushes through the planet's skin
wherever her graceful foot has touched.. .. ..
for only in the farthest reaches of heaven
is such a beauty reached. . .


This is dedicated to my Step-Mother, Patty, who has been blind all her life and yet has been such a dedicated gardener and creator of colorful flower gardens.  She is an inspiration to all who know her.

Friday, May 21, 2010

The Reason .. .. ..

You came out of your house
       so startled to see
               the day,
                       yet, once more . . .
Your face so pale,  . . .
stark, against the bright
red of your hooded coat,
which you put on just to open the door for the dog,
and he runs to the corner of the yard
to bark at a passerby . . .
you remind this person of Little Red Riding Hood
only you are no longer a child,
more like the grandmother .. .. ..
and the big bad wolf
is your little dog
still barking
behind the tall wooden fence .. .. ..

you look into the daylight
which glares through the white clouds
clinging to the sky
like white rags on a blue table
seeping up the languishing spills
of life's occurrences

The shape of things
that came into your life
are fading slowly away

some sepia photos
in the dusty albums on the top shelf

no longer speak of family

but retrieves only
ghostly faces
whispering away into the emptiness of long ago
         yesterdays .. .. ..
no longer recalled

Are you eighty-five yet on that train ride
through life?
has that date come and gone yet?
you cannot remember the day to day
locked away in your home . . . with no objective,

no solidity to your life.. .. ..
the corners of the rooms
beckon to you with a lure
of cobwebs and incognito crumbs
where you can hide from the terrors
of your dreams .. .. ..
so few are your days and yet they stay and stay
as if recalcitrant guests . . . refusing to depart

when no longer welcome . . .

Visions of childhood flash
through your mind .. .. ..
the tv blaring in your
kitchen tells you of

today's uninteresting world
        but you leave it on for

it is all you have
to remind you, that you
are still alive . . .
clinging to this painful flesh
and you wonder if you
have over stayed your leave
and why the door hasn't slammed on
your existence yet?

dalliance it is to continue .. .. ..
and yet you know there is a reason .. .. ..
hidden from you,
and you wait quietly
while the passerby disappears down the road.. .. ..
the twinkling of the misty rain clicks against a pot
of flowers, just beginning to bloom,
and your little wet dog
returns to you
wagging his tail in joy
to see your wistful face.


Sleeping woman rise
Dance away your tears
In orange skies .. .. ..
See the white bird winging
In the mists
In your tears
He's skimming
Through mountain passes singing
Away your fears.
Sleeping woman rise 
Fly on broken wing
through ashen skies .. .. ..
Hurting bird is falling
He's calling . . .calling
Out to you.


An old poem of mine -  

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Pine Siskin

                                                                                                           Pine Siskin

A pine siskin flashes
strips of yellow green
as he lifts his small
body around the gray fir tree .. .. ..
a question mark in the 
air, and then he vanishes
into time.. .. ..
and space has a gap
where once he floated
unaware of silver eyes
in the dark green forest wall .. .. ..
nor does he witness the color of the sky
which leaks when ravaged on the edges
with grays.. .. ..
and the midday sun
above the clouds,
touches flesh with amber heat
and warms the flanks of the mountain,
where talus piles reside
and loose gray blocks
escape, sliding away from the heat
and mass of others of their kind,
and create a
clattering roar which mingles
with the smell of granite
and left-over snow,
which crispy and lacy as it glitters in the light,
melts without a whimper
or complaint
but leaving behind the crushed blades
of grass and small plants
slowly rising again, breathing freely
of the mountain airs
and pointing upward toward the heights
of the lonely gray pine
as the siskins flock and chatter.


I saw the siskin outside my window in the tall pine tree - and I just wanted to honor him with a poem - the rest is memories of warm summers in the Columbia gorge and mountains which reside in the North West US.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A Stream of Thought

Truth is Requested .. .. ..

I see, as I walk
   by them - all the people
in my universe - they are there,
populating my world -
these flesh and bone and blood,
not much different from mine .. .. ..
yet -
we don't trust each other,
we glance quickly, and then away.. .. ..
we look for full answers
to our questions
and whisper our hearts' thoughts,
is she thinking this or that?
oh, who is the person I
see before me?
the same as I witness in the mirror?
the raw materials say so little.. .. ..
mean so little.. .. ..
                 just a thin 
                           layer of dirt
                                         on us all.. .. ..

as we walk by each other,
we try to project what we feel,
and think, perhaps our philosophy,
our respect, or dis-respect
for the others around us.. .. ..
What are we trying to say?
                   "Love Me?"
is that the cry of all humankind?
from the infant to
the great grandmother
wrapped in a lonely shawl,
       rocking her days away
                    on her solitary chair . . .

we walk into the unknown
when we reach out to the other
with no defenses except retreat
from destruction through despair.
why can't I see into all the hearts
of the lonely people,
for we are all lonely,
turned in,
           trying to understand .. .. ..
                         trying to find 
                                    some meaning to it all . . .

I look at the man with the face
    so malformed
   the others stare in fascination,
      or glance quickly away.. .. ..
who is this man behind the painful
Where does his heart live?
and why do we see
him as one of the punished?
         are we?
                  to see?
                          the rawness?   
                                           in that one?

turned inside out we are all
          the same . . .
demons and
unsung heroes live within
        our pains not visible,
our scars
our treasures .. .. ..
         a faint smile on our lips,
but who could read
           such cryptic messages?
                                         who would?
                          who can see 
                                         the secret hurts?

turn aside then
      close the doors to your soul
        reveal no thing!
I can then only guess .. .. ..
as a witness to life .. .. ..
                What more can you 
                                   expect of me?

we look for clues,
like fish in the shadowy
      depths of the ocean
look for crumbs,
while hiding from the dangers .. .. ..
darting out .. .. ..
occasionally fooled
by the predator
and then all is lost .. .. ..
is that the fear we realize?
when we hide 
    have our secrets,
but what is new under this
     sun or
         that one?
we protect ourselves,
                       for the predator 
                                  will consume us
                                                and all of our progeny .. .. ..

yet, if I can know
the deepest - deepest
          heart of you,
if I can find that
most vulnerable
     member of the community of you,
will my heart not be
                and in love
                            with the human you are?

are we not all vulnerable,
    each of us alone on the
crowded reef?
     that crumb that floats by
do we not all long for it?
    we lunge for it
           or rest in complex shadows
as the light floats down
     in streams
   and darkens our abstract dreams
                         revealing significant
                                                          from within us .. .. ..

will we ever really know the other?
are we so destined to remain such
mysteries to each other?


what does it all mean in the
end to me .. .. .. ?
for I am the center of my own universe
the impact of the other on me
is profound .. .. ..
as is mine on them .. .. ..
yet it means nothing
to anyone else .. .. ..
                      for it is only shadow play,
                                           in the depths of the reef,
                                                                  a vivid flash, and
   then all is done.. .. ..



Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Into the Unknown

Early morning as I walked
the air was redolent with the tang of smoke
               from a fire near my home.. .. ..
it had saturated the warm damp
         atmosphere, creating a slight haze,
and the peacefulness of the early morning
was shot through with the clatter of
           helicopters angling for the best views . . .
I walked along the ridge above my house,
       the ambient light was a dark blue mist which
        precluded sharp vision as I
daydreamed about the turns and twists
            my life was taking.. .. ..
                             never seeing far ahead .. .. ..
                             never seeing beyond the moment.. .. ..
                             never seeing how to prepare .. .. ..
My foot hovered over an object in the wetness of the road

          I stopped to look at
          herds of snails

          headed into danger,
          like a race of un-swift steeds
          in a misty dream . . .
          all focused on reaching the other side
          of this sometimes busy road . . .

Unaware of their future
and what it may bring
they still had the faith
in the adventure,
and the outcome.. .. ..
for who knows
unless you have tried,
it may be that the pastures
are greener on the other side.


I took all these pictures this morning on my way to work, and the story is true, all those snails, it was so cute,. . . the pictures are too poor to enlarge any more than the size they are . . . but the semblance is there to be enjoyed.

Monday, May 17, 2010

A Feather in the Wind

A Feather in the Wind

My morning cup of coffee.. .. ..
I watch a feather in the wind
while the dead grass grows slowly
and a small seed blows through the open window .. .. ..
a distant telephone ringing
slices into the morning air .. .. ..
a spider creeps slowly across the wall
diagonally toward the sagging ceiling.. .. ..
and a dragonfly swims in the hot sun
       of the courtyard .. .. ..
the free air swirls about the
      patio, lifting up the ancient skeletons of dried leaves
     and rattling them
     across  the floor,
A hidden bird sings in a stifled voice
while insects buzz as hungry beasts
they move
the whir of crystal wings are
a draft upon the summer memories .. .. ..
of sun burnt shins,
adventures in the backlands,
scraped raw from the thorns of the blackberry vines
encroaching upon the civilized
houses, row by row,
and the long lazy days .. .. ..
I see a child
back to me,
thin and hunched
ribs jutting,
long black hair, flying, like crow's wings,
blowing back from her brown forehead,
she gazes into the wide horizons
at futures and possibilities

flowing past her like a lazy river
haunted and steamy,
sparkling in the light,
as she dreams .. .. ..

the roll call of hot summers clutter
my mind.. .. ..
the dust of dry winds
clog my nostrils
and I see the crows
harassing the red tailed hawk

over the black peaks of the fir trees.. .. ..
A cicada sings from the
telephone pole like a
loose wire . . .

hello, hello? Anyone there?
Each summer rolling into the next, blurring,
as if they were the tumbleweed of the high desert
clutching each other and become one .. .. ..
That child, with drooping shoulders,
slowly begins her long march
against the tide
          of the lazy river
And she
disappears into
the memories
of that distant horizon.. .. ..
The air of breathless august
is like a blight, with flies
on a bloated carcass
and the stench clings to the inside of my fingers
as I try to write my stillborn thoughts
on the bits of dried leaves
which crumble under my
un-feathered touches .. .. ..


Sunday, May 16, 2010

Be Prepared to Stop

                             as you walk
as you run

along at the speed of life            
be prepared to stop
to read the signs along the road .. .. ..                   
                                     Pause to watch
the children play .. .. ..
                          or paint the drooping rose
with your rainbow colors.. .. ..
                           open every doorway
and step into                          
the exotic or mundane,
experiences un-lived 
until now.. .. ..
lift every sagging wing
and fly as you walk
as you run
facing every horizon .. .. ..           
give the lonely fish wings
and the wild bird gills
watch them meet at that

on sun dappled seas.                                      
                      As you fly along
                                  on the roads
or run
                        in the skies
be ready to stop                                
and make love in the spaces
provided.. .. ..
                                                  lifting up the fallen      
and the broken hearted
but always
looking for those signs along the way .. .. ..
you'll never know
                               until you read them
what gifts they will impart .. .. ..
but as you walk along at the
speed of life
be prepared to plant a few


And to a certain friend of mine, I know what you are thinking - and you are right - as usual! The idea came from you, this time! -  ;-D

Saturday, May 8, 2010

A Treasured Moment

Such a beautiful day . . . with sun
the warm air brought the song of busy birds
along with the happy chatter of people here and there.. .. ..
the check-out line at the market
was sparse,
and the clerk sang to me with a sweet voice.. .. ..
His music was full
of wonderment, seasoned

with joy.. .. ..
surprised, I asked him
about this treasured moment,
this brightness in such a place.. .. ..
his recent past was tortured.. .. ..

He said,
with a broken skull and

his brains smashed,
he was dead, he commented

with an air of wonderment,.. .. ..
but he yet lives,

oh yes,
a miracle .. .. .. 
he lives to
bring joy to those around him,
and he revels in
every second he has .. .. ..
and I stood and wept in awe
at the wonders of existence
and the marvels of the human spirit!


We Must Look Into Each Other's Eyes!

In the End
We must look into each other's eyes
to find our truths . . .
our final hell .. .. ..
Our last look at what we have done
to.. .. .. to.. .. .. to.. .. .. to.. .. .. to.. .. .. OUR WORLD .. .. ..
We do not leave it unscathed
by our existence
as we exit
do we see it .. .. .. ?
what do you see when you look
into the eyes of the child
in the camp
resting on the dirt
of this plain earth .. .. ..

Our mother's breast being depleted .. .. ..
starvation has become the future
because .. .. .. because .. .. .. because .. .. ..
her resources are scraped to the bone

What have YOU done?
.. .. .. unravel the thread
back to the gate
where have YOU been?

What do you see when you look into their eyes?
Find your own pain there .. .. ..
and your seed
sprouted .. .. .. sprouted .. .. .. sprouted .. .. ..
will it grow towards the sunlight
and produce seed of its own?

WE are all connected
WE are not alone

and the final hell .. .. .. hell .. .. .. hell .. .. ..
of all the fucking wars? .. .. .. ? .. .. .. ?
let's just go kill each other outright .. .. ..
and whose GOD approves of that?

The creator .. .. .. do we imagine a creator
rubbing his hands in glee
over the tortured burning bones of the dead?
the dead in this Damned House of Horrors
that we built
all by our puny selves,
in our misdirected pride,
with our destructive tools?

WE are done .. .. .. done .. .. .. done .. .. ..
We must look into each other's eyes
In the End .. .. .. the End .. .. .. the End .. .. ..

Friday, May 7, 2010


There is a serenity
here in this place,

Peace.. .. ..
But first,
you must look for it.. .. ..
like a dauntless adventurer
questing through unknown lands.. .. ..
you must look for it
from the deepest depths in
the darkest caverns of the sea
to the brightest and highest of the heavens
you must seek.. .. ..
But first,
you must wrench yourself away
from the raging masses as
they have nothing of what you
need or desire . . .
for you, they have the acrimony which burns
like acid feeding
the pits of fire
in your heart.. .. ..
and imprisonment which keeps you
bereft of freedom.. .. ..
But first
deep in the dungeons of your prison
you must seek a portrait of the enchanted lands,
a vision you dream of, a dream you hope for
and the beauty and love
that is there.. .. ..
But first
start in your heart by looking for truth
and you will discover the magic and grace
of serenity
and in serenity you will find peace
and from there.. .. ..
If you want it . . . you will find it
eyes up
look at the sky
and then
just fly
and find
freedom .. .. ..
freedom to love
But first,
you must realize
that there is serenity in this place.. .. ..
that there is Peace.


Thursday, May 6, 2010

A Moment

The early morning scent of fresh greens
and damp river sand drift in on the
plump pillows of cool air 

which strokes the faces of the three deer as
they sail down the hill
single file
toward the valley,
the tall grasses ripple around
their chests
like ribbons . . .
shiny and silky,
the strands
twisting and turning as alive as
the breath-smoke
wafting from the nostrils
of the animals . . .
a nearby robin's rich melody is
like a feather stroking the ears
of all that listen,
and somewhere water drips and plops . . .
a sound gem
uplifting and sparkling from the distant trees . . .
which are growing like a hedge along the heights
and stretching up toward the
visions of blue through the clouds . . .
their branches bend beneath the weight
of air,
and the hawk bends low in his quest for something
to fit the belly of his baby
resting in the huge nest high atop the dead snag
whose silvered wood reflects the early morning sunlight,
and blackened resin
coating the holes on the sides
are visual groans in
memories aching from the bones of this long dead tree
standing solitary on the heights
looking out toward the valley,
and the breezes brush against
his dried leafless limbs

as the deer disappear into the shrubs on the valley floor.


Saturday, May 1, 2010

The Dance of the Trees

At the top of the hill,
in the far of the north,
in the cold and the dark
lived a tree
tall and straight
as the comet's bright trail . . .

and the story is told
that she danced in the dark
in the still of the night
she would dance for the stars
as they circled the sky . . .
she would dance for the moon
as he would sigh . . .

and some would whisper
a tale they say
is as true as the cool
blue waters are deep . . .
as true as the sky
has no end to its height . . .
she danced alone
she had no one to touch her . . .
she danced with no one
standing beside her

as fleeting birds flew
to cover her boughs
in harmony they calmed
her heart with their song
and giving her hope
as she hummed along . . .
with her seed she fed them
with her arms she warmed them
giving them home and a sheltered  bed . . .
the tale tells true
the day came by
when uncounted
birds darkened the sky

with their feet they held her
with their wings they lift her
through the clouds they flew her
o'er the sea they took her
down to the endless woods
they brought her . . .

root touching root
bough brushing bough
there she shares
with her kin the gift
of the  waltz
swaying and bending
to the breath from the sky

and the trees dance forever
in the dark of the night
they dance forever
in the sight of the moon . . .
they dance together
'neath the starlit sky.

Cats eyes
                                                     have a look of intense surprise

and yet a serenity                     

that belies the attention
                                                                              they pay to their environment. . .

but they never have excuses for 

they just do.