Edges of paths

somewhere on the edge
a precipice of undoing
built of memory and dreams,
challenges conspire in seconds
to tear into the minutes
of an expectant day.
The paths of most and least resistence
lay like stones beneath the will
to climb and traverse the promise
of an expectant beat that hums
like a solitary wind gathering
the buttermilk clouds heavy
we lift our soul to higher ground
escaping into the cosmos
to stare at the dreams in their eyes,
thread the needle to sew
a storybook of pleasure,
always waiting to be told.
Slip into the ether
inhaling the fragrant mist
of a future ripe
with sweet gifts in abundance
to open hands and a grateful heart.


What were they? Those words written
quiet and sloping on gentle waters
moving endlessly
in their back and forth tides,
an homage to the hanging sliver moon that rested high
cradled in the clouds?
The solitary bird flew into the distant sky unaware,
for me, his quest to be an image unforgotten.
I plucked a single feather
and dipped it in the darkest water,
ink of the world of blue.
The words flowed fast
furiously splayed out with drops,
endless supply abound,
I had an inkwell of salted wetness before me
and I wrote more and more as if in a fever of need,
as thoughts filled in like a tsunami,
the prior vacancy filling up
from the cobwebbed corners to the roof,
spaces were filled to overflowing
these words came forth frantically,
and I stopped for only a moment
as my toes sunk deep in the sand
and the waves eased their movement
perhaps waiting for the next words to fall,
and I know not what was written
for the clouds obscured the light
and I searched for the sentences
for from below and within me
places where a thousand feelings reside,
they spilled their silent secrets out,
emptying the trough that had been so full.
A solitary wave moved against my feet
erasing the moment
and slipping away in the madness,
the memory was lost.
The bird flew from view
as night called my name,
I turned and walked away
forgetful of the sentences
that had brought me here.

Thoughts on a dream I had last night.


Shelved quietly on a dark space

I feel her eyes follow me,

beckoning to something deeper within-

soundless voice whispers her intent

to be carefully held and admired.

The demeanor intrigues

in a gentle soft palette backdrop

standing and silently watching

something important has begun.

Skies alive and waters calm

she becomes a part of all she sees,

a simple soul that knows of bigger things

just beyond the edge of her world

beyond the faded wood

her protection for so many years,

a landscape of beauty

in a foreign yet familiar land.

On impulse yet not quite

feeling the warmth in my fingers

I turn her over for safe keeping till done,

gathering her for the short trip home

the blue room her new space

giving inspiration unexpectedly

she speaks to me of greater expectations

and as she watches

I try to deliver in my meager way,

a gift of beauty speaking

through the poets words.



Yesterday on my day off, I went to drop some things off at a local thrift shop and then went over to the Salvation Army store and found this beautiful image on a shelf behind a stack of misc. art. I sat her on the shelf in a brighter light and pondered her, 30% off and knew for some reason she needed to be a part of my world. The artist was William Ladd Taylor and it was framed back in Penn Yan NY at a studio that from what I could tell, was around in the 40’s. My print is a bit faded and the back paper is crumbling, not sure if I dismantle the picture, would it be brighter beneath the glass. The top photo was found on the internet and I think would have been taken of the original, mine is a bit faded but loved none the less. I stare at it and her face is filled with such a quiet peace. Now if I could only paint a sky that stunning. Welcome home dear lady.