A World of Shadows in High Mountain Desert/imaginary gardens with real toads

A World of Shadows in High Mountain Desert

Twilight on the mesa

Snow covered sage

Last light of day

Slipping to the west 

Horizon ablaze with this last light

Windows reflect gold 

Lights aglow in adobe bungalows

The air cold against my skin

Last light like an abandoned dream

Tales of yesteryear

Each casita holds a life unique

A story to tell

All the way to its unexpected end

Stars made for wishes fill the darkened sky

Twinkle overhead

Twilight in winter brings back memories

January 3, 2019

A Prophecy for the new Year/the sunday whirl -- poets united poets pantry

A Prophecy for the New Year

I cannot say what your eyes see

Yet, it is very important to me

You are my viewer, you see

You finish my paintings

You come into my studio

Your eyes slip over my paintings

As if they are invisible

You take from your pocket

A prophecy for the new year 

The text declares

Two more years of chaos

This is not what I wanted to hear

I would like to begin the new year

With a clean slate

But it seems 

We are up to our asses in alligators

I suppose we could beg the gods

And ask for a reprieve

But it seems the stars

Will have their way

So, without knowing

Exactly what is in store

We will get up each morning

And live each day as if it is the last

Drink a toast to life and

To all the ones 

We have known

And loved

January 6, 2019

Wordle 385:  text, eyes, slip, kicks, invisible, prophecy, pocket, clean, barely, store, drink, beg  Note:  There were two words I did not use, I give myself permission.

All That Has Gone Before/imaginary gardens with real toads

All That Has Gone Before

January begins….

Where you ask?

At the beginning

All that has gone before

Is gone 

Gone for good

The fallen snow

Is deep 

Too deep 

For a pleasant stroll

Rather, I hurry

From house to studio

Kicking snow aside

Follow my own footsteps

Is this the plan for the new year?

Following a path of my own making?

True it is

I gather material

Make marks

Write poems

And deep beneath the blanket of snow

I remember…

City traffic as I made my way to the studio

…And I remember all that has gone before

January 3, 2019

Words:  January, deep, snow, city, poems

The Ticking of the Clock/dVerse

The Ticking of the Clock

Regardless of the space

We are in

Time is always ticking

Even when we forget

To wind the clock

Time just keeps ticking

Silence in the hall

And as time passes

We grow older

Hard to believe

We are so old

The road from here 

To there

Is forever shorter

The dangers ahead

Unknown

And yet we get up 

Each morning

To face another day

A little voice says

Make it count

It could be the last

Make it count

Few are left

And then, 

What if we could turn the clock back

Would we?

Would it make things different?

The river only runs in one direction

No need to worry

What will be/will be

The clock keeps ticking

January 2, 2019

The First Day of the New Year/imaginary gardens with real toads

The First Day of the New Year

Here I stand on the threshold

Of becoming

The me I am

The me I will be

A new year begins

With hope and expectation

I hold out my hand to you

Dark silhouettes of birds

Fly with the white flakes

An aerial dance/visibility low

I bend with the wind

That howled all night

On this morning

All is quiet

Only the silence of the snowflake

As it glides to the ground

Joining others of its kind

To form a fluffy white blanket

Of transformation

…The New Year begins

January 1, 2019

“There is no place so awake and alive as the edge of becoming.” 
- Sue Monk Kidd, The Dance of the Dissident Daughter