…Flights of fantasy (X) Mid-morning tea party…


Bewildering eyes- steam arises.
Wild light on the rise- warmth surprises.

Marking the hour- thirst as companion.
Bidden by powers- careless abandon.

Suppressed and steaming ‘neath shine and gleam
and oh, to steam – to steam — to steam!

Unsheathed, unwieldly off the banner of a dream.

To sweeten, in sorrow, pressed tight ‘gainst the veil.
What light, what power still cannot fail.
Leaping- to lark limb by stirring limb.
Stirred lightly and pressed deep within.

And so our day begins. A captured light prevalent.

Set sail by winds what rise to win.

Present at christening – naming it thusly
An ode to the thirsty.

...we do but little that we might endure


…The Middle Ground (V) Hardly the time…

20150428_141627Interesting creatures
Adorable features
Unsure of their roar
As they howl ‘neath the bleachers

Speaking of seating
wherever their reach is
Keen when in breech of the peace
Just so long as it pleases    20150428_141642

What color should the third verse be
…Are you kidding?
I didn’t write a third verse.
There wasn’t time.

…Flights of Fantasy (III) Charm-bracelet…


She bought the wrong toothpaste.
I picked up the wrong lightbulb.
She gets upset when I don’t reply quickly.
I ignore the toothpaste.

We work better with screw caps anyway.


This is where we came in.
Not the royals.
Or the unwashed poor.
You’ll find your complimentary mug in the bag under your desk.

It’s where you’ll be sleeping for the foreseeable.

Seriously… SCREW CAPS!

This inflection means that I am loud.
Not angry.
Not excitable.
Screw it.

You knew that anyway.

but welcome to the conversation…


…The Middle Ground (IV) Meta-fields of Engagement…

20150422_192904 20150422_192924

In a fallow breath she captured his eye.
Imagining in a moment, a blink in his disguise.
The sound of the drums didn’t reach quite so far.
And what of the poet – Nevermind.

Spotter at perch, etched just-so.
A shadow of a shade, of a shot.
With all she has– these words are met.
‘How could you use a poor maiden so?’

In fallow breath, perhaps your last.
Ready to act, or steal your sight.
‘Tis child’s play to seek, but to hide?
Only the mark, and the marksman would know.

— the seagull? oh, he was just there…

The words turn about the axis… (VIII) The chain gang…

The secret is that there are two routes to happiness: –

wanting what you have

having what you want

And miles of wilds all in between

There isn’t really a roadmap to true happiness

How could there be- it’s wily & elusive

You could stumble through the woods to find it

They’re building new roads all the time

They know where they want to go

As they rattle their chains

Stars charting a roadmap to nowhere in particular

Not yet

All roads lead somewhere eventually

Something to look forward to