Not quite night / rolling mist / Not quite day / shining dusk / Bark hangs a noose / swaying corpses / Leaves drip their load / raining grief / ...
and I like the tree I grew up with stand’s still
night walker.
...high above, the moon was a shimmering silver apple. Almost full, it had been nibbled by the Goddess of the Night….
...ah, the joys of city living eh?
I can hear, and then I can’t / I am here, and then I’m not / I dive deep…
I often take mind excursions and they always feel like I’m diving in a grey lake, falling deeper and deeper, deep in my thoughts. Grey because nothing has been set yet – all my thoughts are still raw and unshaped. I am aware there are people around me and sometimes I want to make a connection with them, but I am too distracted. But I’m still aware of what’s going on around me. When I am ‘woken up’ from my drifting state, I always feel like I’ve just snapped back into reality. I wrote this in 2001, originally in another language.
Have you ever been to a place where beauty cannot be described?
The first poem I ever did, made in late ‘06 / A big piece of imagery broken up as it should be read… / No changes have been made to it since.
Hidden smolder lying dormant yet revealed. / Pensively perched, the Fox perceived my approach.
Sometimes it’s good to listen to those voices in your head.
hall of mirrors – reflections – / where’s the dark glass? hall of idiots – glass hearts / devoid of feeling he thinks you’ll be eat…
Mostly stream of consciousness.
back to back / 3 a.m. / bookends of breath / breathing together / a sum of love
love, sleep, anxiety.
The heron moves gracefully like an Alvin Ailey dancer / It’s long, thin legs carefully wade forward / It’s long, neck curled and poised to …
A poem i wrote about being in Glacial lakes state park one summer evening in west central Minnesota.
I wonder what it looks like, / this forest that is too far in the distance / to distinguish the shape leaf or / number of trees. I wonder w…
Thank you so very much to the wonderful hosts over at the group Owl Artwork for featuring m…
From out of the night, the black butterflies flits through the air / Landing on nocturnal flowers grasping the light of the moon / From pla…
Just something someone calls me from time to time.
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