Gathering of the muse

Ceiling high filled with imagination

running wild through the pages new and old,

a gathering for muses to dive within

to find the inspiration

to set free in delightful ways

pages to be touched



to open the heart and mind

seeing beauty in between the covers

of another’s masterpiece,

another’s gift to mankind.

Magical mythical beast sit side by each,

filling small heads with wonder

making dreams alive

to reach out and touch

to believe in the truth

of the infinite.

Pages turn as eyes open big

the wonder of the world at their touch,

the happiness of life and escape

if only for a little while,

but long enough to start a fire

a spark

that someday, their words may be found here

where the muses gather.




Thoughts of now

Crisp morning air

like the crunch of a bright apple

sweet to the lips

the taste of a summer sun

captured within the flesh

of the fruit.

laying back to take in the day,

thoughts like dreams

behind closed eyes,

dappled clouds let the rays move

in and out like a welcome inverse shadow

to fall upon the face

spreading warmth

much desired.

slip into photos in the mind

memories of years past

places and faces

and songs that drift like water

foot moves in harmony

with the winds of this second

this dream

this thought alive

in a peaceful mind.


The opulence of patience and dreams


under pressure

beyond control

a dream calls sea blue

nestled like houses on cliffs

waiting to swim

with the ocean waves.

patience finds me impatient

cannot do

the simplest thing

till today so easy,

now a terror fills the heart

why I wonder, now?

smooth days flow

no longer,

a slave to the system and ghosts haunt

the machine that had been a friend,

I need to speak of dreams

of stars

of suns that rise on those that sleep

above the water

that sings to them a lullaby,

the siren song sung

through centuries

as they sit at their tables

supping on olives and cheese

dreaming of those who have grass,


Or maybe just lost in thoughts

of here and now,

simple dreams

their truth.


A simple fig

“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I read the words,

Those she spoke in her mind to the world

so long ago

before she was gone

and I fear that I understand the truth

of the dream, the fear she holds.

She speaks the words of want,

Overwhelmed by abundance,

of ultimately not deciding

from fear,

and for some reasons her words make me sad.

To feel that way,

to reach out

yet pull back unsure

indecision the hardest cut

as she starves wondering which

is the one to pluck,

and which shall be the chosen one,

deeper words reminiscent of a movie

that sparked fear when I was young,

Sophie’s Choice ,

in the depths of war to have to choose

between one or another,

I hate choice therefore

I chose something as opposed to nothing,

I reach out and hold it in my hands

appreciative for the chance

to have it all.


World elixir

Round glass filled
Elixir of the world
Swimming in the goblet
Hope and love
Wishes and dreams
Blends of colors
Earth people united.
Cultures swirled
Like a melting pot filled
With heart and soul
Rainbows of goodness
Together twined
Like ribbon of silk
Crayola shades beyond a dream
Of something not created
Yet seen by all
Common understanding
Drink up
A toast
To the world that spins
Unfelt by the body
Sensed by the inner soul
Changes of time
Stars above move
Sparkling like ice cubes
In this fine crystal.
A toast to friends, family and strangers of this orb
We call home.



How did you sleep
When I slept it was good
When I wasn’t , I was awake.
Thought played in my head
Chasing cat instead of stars
Wishing I were asleep in bed.
In the dark
Like a psychotic ghost
Rushing about
She scurries away
Grasp of softness
Door open out goes one as
Another rushes in.
Crafty little beast
Who lives to steal my sleep,
Walking on me
Mommy doormat
Yawn at three am
Off kilter slumber
Each noise awakes
The not quite asleep.
Alarm goes beep beep boop
Thoughts of words lull me gently
I dive into the depth of dream,
Weight on my head
Eyes peering at me
Big wet tongue
Wipes my face
Are you up yet
Forty six pounds of glee
Dancing on me.
Ode to a morning of wishing it were
Night once more
Heavy lids
Bid you good morning world
I breathe in coffee,
Is this day over yet?
I’d rather be counting stars
Not minutes till day comes
Too early.

Shadow flight

Shadow world of night
Flying on chariots of soul
She searches for the solace
Of tangled thoughts.
High through night
Amongst stars and hidden spaces
The crevice of the mind alive
Just suspicious of the laughing moon
Who shines the light
Who exposes her flight
To the fancy whim of fickle Mars.
So far away a poet sits pondering
And reads books by those who have been
Long gone, but touched by words that still ring out
Like a solitary church bell beckoning
Come and worship.
Through worlds of music and fine pieces of art
She gives her heart on paper
Another poet whispering words
Touching someone today or maybe
A hundred years from now a child will read
Lost in wonder of the soul that could produce
The image that lies at that very moment
In that childs mind,
How could they know,
How could they have seen the secrets
Of their soul.

“I thought the most beautiful thing in the world must be shadow, the million moving shapes and cul-de-sacs of shadow. There was shadow in bureau drawers and closets and suitcases, and shadow under houses and trees and stones, and shadow at the back of people’s eyes and smiles, and shadow, miles and miles and miles of it, on the night side of the earth.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar


Dreams dancing

Somewhere in the night
Between morning and dark
Life’s dreamscape flows through
The mixer of the mind.
Randomness of images
Play on screens behind tired eyes
And cool breezes blow
Over damped sunned skin,
Thoughts of a dancer
Slowly unwrapping tired toes
Walks to the edge of curtains that blow
She disappears to her room
Sitting by a window
Eating a small slice of lemon cake
And pondering the day.
Citrus notes fill the air
And the mood is light
Like a chat amongst friends
Sweet and endearing.
She lifts her head to see the birds beyond
They swoop down and dance on air.
Her neck long and delicate like a swan
Curving hair falls in waves
And the wind comes and lifts the tendrils
She closes her eyes
Dreaming of far away places
Of another life
Of a day of dancing so freely
And dreamlike.

Photo courtesy of


Crystal smooth

Words flow like rivers
Underground blue crystal
Filling the healing heart
With a balm
Blue world alive
Cave of the universe.
Held for but a bit
like life,
always slips through open hands,
Leaving a memory behind
Of the feel
The touch
The satin coolness
Of yesterday.
In caves there are no stars
But then a fissure moves
Opens up
A tiny crack to let in
The night sky
And sitting on the river
Down below the earth crust,
Still as a whisper never spoken
The reflections come down
Lighting off a ripple
Spreading into multiples
The pin like drops of loving light.
The world shifts as night evolves
And the same light never hits twice
But many visit each night
The laughter and bliss
Like a carnival alive
Water runs like a river
Carrying the images of today and tomorrow
Wrapped in a raindrop
That became whole
When it slipped through the crack
Of a broken heart
And became one
In beauty
In this new world.

Thoughts on friends, tears, healing,nature, and the stars above.
I love the blue of this cave
A gift for a muse the blue of grateful tears.


Home in memory

One hundred years
Babies born
Child after child
Love filled cramped home
Walls held up with laughter
Memories of
Another time
Another place.
Gatherings of relatives
Seasons and holiday
Generation after generation
Handed down
The home that stayed in a
Family’s hands
New memories
How the years have changed
Rarely happening these days
Transfer to stranger
Who sleeps in the rooms
Who looks at the walls and wonder
What magic and love dwelled within
Before the keys transfer
Once again.

Poem inspired by my husband and I conversing on family homes where 13 kids had one bathroom and shared rooms, home handed down from parent to child to next generations.