Sunday, April 26, 2015

April 16, 2015 Sunday's Wirligig/Butterflies and Honey Suckle /Poets United Poetry Pantry #249

Butterflies and Honey Suckle

i travel the shady side of the street          a stain across my chest

lace peaks out of my sleeves                          covers my hands

my dress diaphanous                     the hem drags behind me

my body ink stained             the words can be read 

through my clothes                                every secret of my life

scribbled upon my skin                   the weather hard to predict          

and changes often                                nothing stays the same...           

without you              empty              i put a clip on the dark clouds          

make way for a little sunshine     often the weather is as dissonant

as my mood                             i search my purse for a reminder                

a handwritten note        folded carefully             the day iridescent              

the air filled with the sweet scent of honey suckle and butterflie                 

the future is not  clear               instead mottled...often blue



April 25, 2015


Friday, April 24, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge April 24, 2015 / That Moment

That Moment

that moment                was a defining moment           it was not a surprise

i knew it was coming       could happen anytime               in hindsight

i see there were many moments                        that lead up to that moment

perhaps all the moments before             were preparing me for that moment

the words you spoke         are seared into my heart                he just died......

the night before was hard to leave you                              i was called back

by a voice i did not recognize           or perhaps i knew somewhere deep inside

when i arrived                       you would be gone                         this moment

has shaped all of the other moments                             that are to come in my life

from that moment on                                   nothing will be the same

April 24, 2015





Thursday, April 23, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge/ A Historic Poem

A Historic Poem

you came        we talked         but still so much was left unsaid

                          i guess i thought you knew              you asked about me

i came here when you died                           i lived until i could live again

i rented a house on half moon        this house was for sale                  i bought it

i came here because              my gallery was here                   my dealer was here

i came here                  to morn your loss                                    to learn my new life

the years passed          there were money problems             everything was in a hairball

one day became another         at first i did not realize          it was the far side of the world

a good place to work              i was aware                                  i was not too connected

to this place                  but soon enough my roots grew                           i buried my heart

in the desert                 it has become my home           people have come and gone in my life

some have stayed             i have guarded my privacy                        then you died last year

i have tried to remain up right                      i am trying to accept your loss from my life

                         some days is it more difficult

i remain with the world of trees & clouds & birds           with the flow of the world

i know what I know           there is much i do not know                    i try to accept change

i look at nature             it looks back at me                i am sad                 nature is sad

because i am part of nature                           i try to see through the illusions of my past

you asked why does the artist continue                       i replied it is who he is &

it is all he can do                                         the artist believes what he does is important

                        the world needs him


the artist is like the monk        who preys everyday      he believes what he does is important

                        the world needs him

April 23, 2015

Note: I have tried to write honestly about the last 20 years of my life. I want you to know.






Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge / A Nature Poem

A Nature Poem

That quiet place one longs for         a walk in the woods           birds alive overhead

the stream that flows      & all that lives in the stream                       the sun rising

tracking its' path across the sky       setting at sundown       all the colors of the rainbow

sleeping out doors under the stars                    rain that moistens the earth

& snow that transforms          all things out doors        ...still        nature is everywhere

all things that exist in space         things that cast shadows                     things unseen

the air we breath                                & the wind that moves the windchimes

nature is where we live          our little part of the world                   nature is you & me


April 22, 2015 

Note:  I am thinking nature is not just 'wild things' but all things.  Men build cities and they become a part of nature, in New York, the hawk builds his nest on the ledge of the buildings, wind blows through man made canyons, some live in the shadow of the buildings most of their lives, never to see the sunlight, we are all a part of natue, constituently changing.   

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge / I Am an Artist

I Am an Artist

and you say             how do you know        i show myself by my actions

oh it has been a lifetime          i have pursued this career       i go to the studio everyday

in the studio                 i go to work            i am a painter                         i paint

at the end of the day my station is left in order                no time is wasted in preparation

my brushes are ready           in the morning         i may spend time at the computer writing

then i paint              at lunch time i take a break                            the sun is high in the sky

then back to the studio to paint                               my life is spent thinking about color

looking at color                                analyzing color                                 speaking to color

i cup my hand to my ear i listen                                           i try to hear what color tells me

i ask the question          what if            color answers          do not be afraid              use me

i show you my work            i lay all that i am before you       the work comes from my heart

it is honest               i hope to speak to your heart                                & you will hear me

i await your answer...

April 21, 2015









Monday, April 20, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge/ My Sorrow

My Sorrow

like an old pair of jeans      easy to slip into        once in & zipped

it is like being in a dark room        familiar                     yet uncomfortable

the night couples with other nights    no real difference       like a long lonely journey

nothing to distract my mind              as it travels the rails              memories flood back

everything sharp                 nothing fuzzy you                       slip your hand into mine

we hold on               not knowing what to expect our                   tears collect on the bed

you tell me through tears             you want to go home                      i stumble in response

i spoke with your then                 & and i continue to talk with you                 i wonder

where are you             can you hear me                     it this the way it is supposed to be

April 20, 2015



Sunday, April 19, 2015

Writers Digest PAD Challenge / Faded Memories / Sunday Whirligig/Poets United Poetry Pantry



Faded Memories

my world seems askew          the flowers have fallen from the pot

hard edged moments too real                 to forget

nightmares are never sanguinary...                     just sad

i reach for your furry absence                    you are but a memory

i am pulled into your cage of sorrow          my legs unsteady

often i am a guest                        in an unhappy guesthouse

while the color behind the color is crimson       the color of my heart

my world is often blue                                no longer bright

faded into memories of                 you

April 18, 2015