writing thought life real happy breath poem rune-verse

Mount Holly


                             A Moment Captured and Remembered

Golden hued tresses

Swept crisp

Dancing, twirling

Open mouth fog


Cottage of books

Avenue of remembrance




Edward Weston Photography; Model Charis

Wilted under the weight of arid heat the Caliegratha lies low.

She nests under branches and the air moves.

Warm breath expelled and returned.

Caliegratha knows this season.

She neither frets or fights.

One lies down in this season.

One drinks when it can.

One waits for the thunderous shaking of air.

When it stirs Caliegratha rises to meet her new mate.

With hot passion they create.

Then comes the dry time.

Caliegratha knows her place.

(About writers block.  Featured Images are photographs by Edward Weston)

Ybor City

at night


Chasing the moon.

The ghost of Havana.

Scent of Cuba, hand rolled.

Tropical night song.

Old spirits.

Poetas de Cuba.

Dancers in the night.

The color of café con leche.

Cubano bourbon street.

About Ybor    Ybor Ghost Tour   Ybor Museum


Arrows and tissues flung into the vast universe.


Meaningful meaninglessness.


Prayers from the lips of poets and authors.


Curses from the lips of insane hearts.


Goat Cheese

The sweet offering.
Goat cheese.
To have with coffee.
Lovingly placed before my waking.
Love shared in the morning.

The experience of being cared for.

Love shared in the morning.


Sleep is good.


I lie on my bed.

Summer sun in the morning.

I am content.

Soft breath passes from my nostrils.

I contemplate thankfulness.

I feel the floor beneath me.

My sheets are cool around me.

I need nothing else.

I tell my Deus thank you.

Coffee is good.

Cat eyes me.

It is enough.




Locked out and waiting on a rainy day.

A simple place for simple things. A place of thought. A place for me to come when I feel like it.

Alice Blue

I heard a phrase, and wrote it. Then I went to search for  Alice Blue and found an art site.

Alice blue feathers do not belong on achromatic flight.
Alice blue feathers crushed  in solid hands.
Achromatic stone, to make chromatic gems.

Alice Blue

Illustration Alice Blue

All rights belong to


It isn’t absence of motion.

Silent rain.

Waiting peace.

Being still, in the storm.

Tapping rain rhythm, sleepily.

Rocked in earths arms.

Contented calm.

Natures child.

Hushed by sleepy crooning.

Stillness in the rain.

Near Death

Time tolled five as I stood on the edge of the universe.


With all it’s disappointments, the pain that sometimes travels with it, failure is something I would choose as a traveling companion. I read the question, “What would you attempt if you knew you would not fail?” and I cannot deny that the first urge was to soar the heights with possibilities. Yet, I paused and reflected on my life, on the things that I failed to do at times, failed to understand, failed at in life. To attempt to go without failure would be a kind of murder, to cheat life of it’s dues.

She looked at me.

Accusatory finger pointed.

Would I deny her?

Shame on the one who forgets.

Lest they become void of promise.

Failure, the beauty that dashed me to the ground.

Failure, my twin who twined herself to me.

Her cruelty gave me breath, gave me compassion.

I will not deny her due service.

Prompt was gleaned from Sunday Scribblings

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