a sentence

The almond-eyed nymph
plucked the wailing child,
from the criss-crossed clover and poppies,
when the sun was tinged with bruises,
simply because she had nothing better to do.

 

 

(here) & then there

air, thick with wet

 

soggy, limp, leaves, twist, twirl break free

brown, like toast,

veiny leaves, the lines criss cross,

rivers to oceans

oceans separating

spaces

 

 

spaces

 

hotel in bejing

glaring orange,

 

sweet brandy, sharpens sight

smoothes outlines

until you’re all i see

 

he doesn't mind

the spaces between

 

and then it's just me

It was only a walk.

                                                                               I've driven by this house a dozen times. It's only a few blocks up from my house. I'm unsure how long this naked cabbage patch doll sat in the yard, but it started registering as a memory a few months ago. Everyday I saw it, I thought, I've got to get a picture of that before it is reclaimed. Went on a walk last week with the intention of taking this picture. When I decided today was the day, I actually became a little nervous, began wondering about the owners and how they'd feel if they saw me traipsing about their yard, snapping pictures.I wonder about the story behind all this. The couch on the porch. The little girl who lost her doll. Lost it? Left it? Who knows the story...but the despondency, the bleakness, the hopelessness- it pours through, saturating my being with a sense of sorrow.

 

When inspiration fails to seek you, seek it.

"To live a creative life, we must lose our fear of being wrong." - J. Pearce

I saw that the other day, and it seemed to reach out and wrap itself around me.

I've been struggling with so much lately; it's been so long since I've felt any sort of inspiration. I've sort of just fallen into these daily, mundane routines. Work. Caden. Work. Caden. Grocery store.Work. Sleep. Work.

I miss....I miss. I'm not sure what I miss. I miss meaning. The inquisitive glance. The opening. The words, tumbling out, swirling, falling like leaves, in random places on a crisp, orange morning. Sharing my views, my writing, my thoughts. Getting feedback, giving feedback. Leaving a conversation, knowing it wasn't over and yearning to pick it back up, and finish it. No...not finish it. Add on, let it build and build until it reaches a crescendo and the pieces crash down around in glimmering, iridescent shards, piercing the ground and creating even more conversation pieces.

I've become the person I used to vehemently proclaim I'd never become. Predicable. Lazy. Uninspired. I picked a path...based on what? I'm not even sure anymore.  I'm just not sure.

For now, I think, I'll just wander around with my camera until things clear up a bit.

Love affair with the Rat Pack

Me & Bing

sit with feet hanging
toe in dewy blades
digging in mud

radio serenades
enchanting lull
of big band
jazz and blues
lazily drift and mix
with lemony eucharis
and flaming dahlia

plump splatters
pound the side
of my 1954 travel trailer
once silver
now primed to
a rusty sheen

close my eyes
drift to the smoky bar
hidden tables and dusty glow
illuminating that
freckled girl
with Crosby
on her arm

memories

Old. Memories. Glad they are only memories.

First Night

lift my head off the pillow
lids don't wanna cooperate
stare out unfamiliar blinds
window was left open last night
early air pinches my face
strains of strawberry, orange
tease the gray, heavy sky

he is next to me
face buried in a pillow
i blush
thinking

but we slept with the windows open

so we did something right