A sprinkle of sugar by a
kitchen garden gnome,
or was it frost
I found?

Next to his dilapidated shanty, a fisherman
abandoned a craft covered with colorful scratches,
inadvertently awakening my artistic sensibilities.

Somewhere between solar power from above
and the power line below, man exists and
is suckled by both systems.

Who among us hasn't concluded, 
at some point, that they are
still lost and searching
for their own meaning?

Sometimes we stand next to one another.
At other times, we are simply
beside ourselves.

Ten Brown Pelicans passed parallel
to the shore, flying in formation
above the rocky cliffs.



That which appears to be empty
merely possesses a more
subtle type of fullness.

The poet's thoughts become a poem;
but, what is its engine that
drives it home?

Buds are the baby
flowers waiting to
be born.

Agapanthus orientalis
Lily of The Nile

Consider how many among us,
unbeknownst to the rest,
are drowning in this
ocean of people.

The sun fell upon a flower,
yet the sky did not
grow dark.




Coulter's Matilija Poppy
Romneya coulteri



A sea urchin is pure art in death. The essential
qualities of line, color, and geometrical form
are embodied in a beautiful structure.

Strangers are merely raconteurs
whose every story is
a mystery!

How can we not be in complete awe of the natural world?
Our amazement must surely encompass everything from
the dark matter of deep space to the lives of tiny
crabs between grains of sand on the beach.

Perhaps we could accept the peculiar gift of seeing the
world with a hawk's incredible visual acuity, but could
we endure viewing our fellow creatures  solely
as prey ?

He sat on the cement bench, looking beyond his
bent knees at the fisherman's catch in its
death throes.  An unbearable sight.

Human beings must walk with humility,
always sharing the path with
earth's other creatures.

Perhaps those tangled strands of sand found on the beach
at low tide are fleeting impressions of some
sea nymph's tousled locks.

Eagerly anticipating spring,
some buds cautiously
begin to unfold.

Puddles are wonderful traps for pieces of sky.
The fallen are caught, but released again
when the sidewalk has dried.

Teardrops clung to the face
of the dead leaf, suddenly
parted from its
parent tree.

Ghosts of dead trees make their presence
felt by scrawling their names on
the face of the water.

Pass that empty lot with out so much as a glance,
and you will surely miss your chance to see
the grass proudly wearing new and
delicate beads of dew.

When the vessel of creativity is almost
empty, a new point of view can easily
be found by shifting right side up
into upside down.

(photo of the underside of a mushroom)

To be driftwood is its dream; unfortunately,
stagnant water denies
a log's rhythm.

Mr. Lizard is being sought after by fashion police
for shameless public displays
of his  snazzy pattern.

Sometimes a moving moon
momentarily nestles
in a tree.

American Wigeons are ducks whose name is strangely
suggestive of some clever but unnecessary
gadget invented in the U.S.A.

Oak is the arbitrator. He uses his strength
and patience to bring the earth and sky
to a peaceful agreement.

Sometimes a stone is more than an obviously smooth, hard surface.
It may also serve as an unusual but convincing canvas
for a demure self-portrait.

"Progress" and "mankind" appear on the
 tragic signage proudly erected
 wherever another forest
 has been felled.

Night enfolds the socially isolated, but in doing
so may provoke uncontrollable fear in those
who already wander the streets by day
measuring the shadows.

Delicate in appearance only, the dragonfly
can cling tenaciously to its
chosen anchorage.

What would it mean to you, if every morning you did not see
the blue bleed through that sky
that had been drenched all
night in darkness?

Wires carrying electricity are marvelously strung across a canyon,
yet they disappoint me because they are not also bearing
one or more of the Flying Wallendas.

Readers abhor the prospect of death because it denies
them the chance to experience untold numbers of
stories... and of the ones they've begun,
they will never learn their ends.

Your comfort zone is the place
creativity goes to
commit suicide.

Today the trees reached up and
intertwined their arms with
the clouds and danced
with joy.

Life is as much illusion
as reality.

An old rusted fence presents an incidental sculpture
created by the complex angles of its
tangled metal.

Tiny trapdoors hide spiders
waiting for the vibrations
that trigger a leap upon
the unknown.

Possessing  dangerous edges,
less precious gems
also stud the earth.

Beware! An army of demented metal
marches across the landscape
toward your town.

When branches are bare,
grass houses sit empty.

To the face in the mirror I say, "You are not the person I went
to bed as last night, because every morning
I wake up reborn."

Willows use their branches to brace
their reflections against the
slippery surface of
the creek.

The Golden State sun bakes
California's crust to a
flaky but delectable brown.

The cold, crisp night in the canyon was punctuated
by the high pitched chirp of a bat
concealed by darkness.