poems and writing creatiVeLy

paint has always been a poetry to me

not thumbs

in this there is our great defining

Take care and


Don’t take something unless you know the place for it

The world speaks in degrees of appropriateness

The string of my eye plumbs from its center

And I lashed as if spinning twixt unequal orbs

Am flung in spirals amongst spirals

And spirals within spirals

Art for Arts Sake


It was upon the rondo

The composer believed

Seeing it as it was made so


I’ve seen a man think

To engender love

With enthusiastic adulation

And gone either way

In my heart

In a litmus test for genuinenes

Conversations with the Sphinx


how we shall pass 

holds the question

to where we find ourselves

. . .

a social contract


Anger is a poverty of breath

sucking is not to suckle

the air on our bodies

swells with our heart’s tide

. . . 

being the same


in the look of

a stare

that I see what I see

is it you in me or me in you

. . .

hang it up to cure


I forgot how old I was last week

and then I was reminded

a year older than I thought

. . . 

 lights without source



I’ve rung in the Easter bells of Notre Dame 

And sloughed by damsel wings in the gold of a pond

Some marks are made by knives, some by lights

The façade was impossibly ornate

Senseless contrast with the dust and debris of the road

He entered in spite of it

Definitions do the work of being for us.

So many pains are wrapped upon

the beautiful origami

and we stand ready

with shears in hand

to test ourselves for right

a folly

is the frame that gives a view its picture

The magic of romance

is to make us feel the world is real

The second treaties on


Imperatives are followers from

Going or not is the doing

Speaking is always almost meaning. 

The book of clouds and shadows


Asking asks

In the shape of knowing

Saying; unknown! unbecome yourself!

Indirection has an appetite

And consumes to hide from itself

Because we aren’t accustomed to tasting with our eyes

Or nourish from the scents of the world