I’m reblogging this post, not because I felt it was particularly well written but because I have added a substantial number of photographs since I first published it.

Runaway American Dream

IMG_4192 The Battle of Princeton Monument.

This great State in which I now live, was the crossroads of the Revolution. More battles were fought over New Jersey soil than over any other of the thirteen colonies. Places like Trenton, Princeton, Springfield, and, Monmouth were the sites of some of the most crucial battles of the struggle. Trenton and Princeton are where the tide finally turned in favor of the patriots.

Not four miles from where I type this, is a place where Washington stayed while his army was camped at White House, just down the road (sadly the house burned down in the 1960s but a commemorative sign still marks the spot).

Six miles in a different direction and you find Solitude House, High Bridge. This was another house where Washington (and his wife Martha) is known to have visited as well as General Lafayette, Colonel Charles Stewart, and Aaron…

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Strange fascinations






You were the Moon

And I the ocean

Your gravity pulled me in waves

Around the Earth

Inexorably towards

The point in space where

Heartlines cross

You pulled me upwards in tiny drops

Until the all of me

Hung in the air beside you

There we shone like polished silver

Until all the stars went home.



Words and image are my own.






I hope I



as above 3


As above


Sometimes life is just a dream

Of life

The air shimmers and sparkles

The sky takes on mysterious depths

And we float

Past russet shores

In a self-induced trance

Our boat is made of all we think we know

And it’s taking on water

We apprehend that it may soon slide between the surfaces

Those deeper shadows have an irresistible gravity

And already have a grip upon the mooring line

Rudderless, lacking oars with which to make a shift

We drift

Across the mirror

Never looking into the glass

For fear our world has been upended

And that the water around our ankles

May not be water at all.






Words and image are my own.





Kind of blue





All unwitnessed


Crystalline reflections

Glitter like diamonds in the deep blue

Skeleton woods reach up with twisted fingers

Towards the waning moon

The night is silent


No bird calls

No fox bark echoes across the surface

Of this virgin snow

Only the occasional crack of a branch

That has given up the ghost

Disturbs the cold serenity

Of these midnight barrens.



Words and image are my own.





Straight lines




Strange theodolite


His eyes saw the lines

Where they met

How they bent

The world was a series of angles

The intersections

Of contradictory beliefs

A complicated web

Drawn by invisible hands



He traced the line that led

Through endless course corrections,

Acute angles, and parabolic curves

From his heart

To hers

In the end, it was easy

Theirs was the red string in a grey sea.



Words and image are my own.



When the leaves come falling down



Come Fall


I can feel its fingers

In the morning air now

The frequency shift from green

To gold


Leaves that set themselves on fire

And leap headlong from the trees

The frantic, erratic activities of squirrels

Who (all at once) feel the clock ticking down


It’s in the faint silvered mist

that is gone by eight

In the dew that catches the rising sun

Just so


And in the evening’s twilight

There’s a new heaviness to the air like

Gravity is increasing to pull the leaves to earth

I love this time best of all


Soon will come the scent of wood smoke.












Words and images are my own.