A Friend Across the Way

??????????????????????I hunker down every night
A cocoon intent on permanent solitude
to never fly again
to forget the sweet nectar of marigolds and spring birth

The last time I fluttered in hope of emergence
winter touched my fragility midair
and my wings shred
amid winds of betrayal and turmoil ricocheted

But then I heard her song
crooning over snow and frozen stream
wafting vague scents
of warm butternut squash soup and cinnamon yeast

So one morning I and Titus my black lab friend
set out on our last winter expedition
over a lone bridge
to a civilized pattern of houses and streets

And there she was walking towards me
hands in pockets and a smile wide as the new moon
on a black starry night
Hello, she said, you must be my neighbor

Photo taken at Parker Jordan Centennial Park in Englewood, Colorado, February 2015

A Portal in Paia


This is something I wrote over two years ago. Sometimes her voice visits my dreams.

Originally posted on Cadence4life Imprints:

Paia door

My daughter, be patient while I remember
for I have seen this door before
and my memory is but sporadic happenstance
a forgotten love letter tucked among my photos
on paper creased by old promises
that only time can caress

It might be the door of our tiny plantation cottage
where my sister Minnie and I jumped rope in red dirt
that we washed off in the kitchen sink before Mama braided our hair
and put us to bed next to our baby brothers
near the wood stove still warm from dinner

It might be the door that brought Papa into his nightly haven
from the ubiquitous cane that sweetened the tea of the luna’s wife
in a tropical parlor that overlooks a landscape checkerboard
of fire-blackened squares and green patches of seedlings
tended by sun-ripened men paid a dollar a day

My daughter, take me away from here
The vestige…

View original 47 more words

And the beat goes on

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth
–  from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran

Me August 1954                Marco April 1981           Rocco February 2015
Kodak Brownie                      Nikon F3                           IPhone                  

Three generations.  Each baby is less than a month old.  Even cameras are generational!

When Next We Meet

Your eyes dance
oh yes they do 

you struggle to sit still
as little boys are taught
to mind your manners
to learn your lessons
to say nice things
and don’t be crazy

But I know the cadence in your heart
makes your feet tap and your fingers thrum
your veins pulse
to twirl and twitch
to leap and lunge
to resonate wih rhythms
that soothe primordial urges
of wind whirls and drums
and string waves and voice

When I see you again
I promise I shall dance with you

Yes we shall dance


for Roman Axel, a gift of a grandson