Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Murmuring and moving dreamily,
the creek seems almost asleep
in its bed.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

No living thing has personal experience with its ways.
Its artfulness lives in death, a blending of loss and

terrible beauty. We know it only as decay.

(photo of the underside of a rotting mushroom)

Friday, September 23, 2011

The restricted nesting area of the Terns
is like the gated 'bedroom community'
of the human beings

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Milkweed seeds have perfect little
gossamer parachutes made
milkweed silk.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Psychics are deluded individuals with 
the peculiar notion that they can
serve as spiritual correspondents.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Silvery sun brushed blades of grass
and whispers of a breeze

tempt you out into the open
from the darkness of the trees.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Made of solid stone, an epic poem is composed by a
size XL ego; but, there is hope that with exactitude
the wasted words can be dislodged and a
small stone left standing in its place.
My past is present when memory
is scented by the perfume of Spring
lilacs and the smokiness of
burning Autumn leaves.

Friday, September 9, 2011

Something about the sound of a solitary automobile
passing down a deserted rain slick street
in the middle of the night
speaks of desolation.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Curiously sweet meat can come
from creatures whose lives
are lived in brine.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Gaunt reminders of time's passage
are caught in the sere grass
at the edge of the path.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Silent, drifting, insulating, crystalline, white,
wet, and cold are only some of the aspects
of the fast approaching