Fields of Mars

War is rape

And mother’s tears

Blackened skies

And the dissociative brain

War is a forest of crosses

Or stars

Or crescents

The mixing of mud and blood

It is fierce

Hotter than flames

Colder than winter

War is the rage of machines

Don’t look into its eye

Lest it notice you

For once it does

It will steal your children.



Words and image are my own.




Change in Mood




Life reflects


The russet tones of a naked spinney

Skeleton trees under a daylight moon

Cold nips

At the tips

Of fingers and nose

Harbinger of something on its way


The finger bones of trees

Grasp at the clear, heavy air

While frost


Their former gowns

Diamantes for the newly dead


This is my brave new world

Land of my endless yearning



Extreme as its seasons

And as beautiful as a late Autumn morning.








Words and images are my own.







The Prince2.jpg


Tales of Princes


He makes his throne of pillows

And sets himself atop

Master of the bed (and all beds)

Lording it over the room with

The best views in the house

One window overlooks

His dominions

The other affords sight-line

To the domain of his

Neighborhood rival

(That insolent cur)

From this vantage point

He may loudly voice his displeasure

Or sleep away the afternoon

Entirely at his discretion

You’d think him Emperor of China

Not second dog on the totem pole.





Words and image are my own.










Something coming, something going


The leaves that caught fire

Now lie in hosts

Every one

Edged sharply in white


Frost becomes dew

In the spill of a beam

Morning’s sun

Melting crystal cathedrals


The dogs stick their noses

Through the door

And quickly determine

They can wait a little longer


I stare into the steam

Of my coffee

And wonder if I’ll ever again

Find something to write about


Guess it’s time to go rake those leaves.




Words and image are my own.




Take it on Faith




Remembering to forget


That deeply satisfying c r u n c h

Biting down on a triple folded chip

A roil of cream

In a freshly made morning coffee

The slap of the cold walking out the door

After a night of red wine and easy laughter

The way the dog’s hind legs go out like taut ropes

When you rub his belly just so

Feeling the down of her nape beneath her hair

When you’re both snug in the bubble


Life is that smell when you walk past the bakery

Or that first scent of ocean as you drive to the beach

Cut grass in summer

Silence in a snow-covered wood

Children engrossed in making a drawing

Life is not the long wait for death

Life is forgetting to wait for death.




Words and image are my own.