Riding the currents

sleeping through storms

treading water in the dark


sparks of harmonics

fly from my pen


my hand

the sentient animal

of my heart



An older poem …. words float and land. improvisational rhythms. their own kind of precision. different relationship each time. they’re just there….perhaps have always been


Artist: Turner


In a clearing

Ice dreaming


In a clearing

the ice covered pond

reflects the cool sun’s glare


sleeping   dreaming   waking

The green light at the bottom of the pond is kept on


The writings in books

are like skates on the pond

Cutting figures in the ice

while staying

on the surface of dreams


 Mermaids come as night falls

 cutting holes

from the bottom of the ice

 singing their siren songs

 to awaken the sleeping minutes

of hearts and minds

keeping time


While hurrying clouds congregate

rebellious against the moon

and I sit here alone

in dark wonder

watching the glow

from the warming fire


The bright moon

My breath in the air

All I hear is stillness


A living journal,  my poems are weaving and circling around themselves…puzzles unwinding in a clearing…a dialogue now in waves more than starts and fits, editing me….



photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/gomattolson/3238276252/”>gomattolson</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;