Category Archives: Poetry
the rivers are by these storms made mud red — gashes at the feet of mountains raging westward — the life of the land bled into the sea.
I awoke in the Nectar Hours before dawn. Outside the bright face of the moon gazed down — just below it Jupiter dangled like a diamond earing
toyon berries lambent flames in winter dun — tears of Diogenes
long blond grasses in canyon fog strung with crystal pearls
smoke from the stovepipe — whisked hungrily away by a greedy wind
a poet is one who welcomes even demons in truth’s name alone
Though it’s a modest bit of work, I’m happy to have had a haiku published this week on the Haiku Foundation web site. This month they’ve been doing a playful series on work place haiku, with weekly topics. The subject … Continue reading
Let dreams be dreams but through their windows see Vistas over wondrous landscapes of soul Where you in all your native glory are free — Then let the image be a growing seed invincible.
There is a blog on Goodreads built as a forum for authors to introduce their work. It appears to be frequented by writers who publish their own work, a choice I also made with Gathered Rain. Here’s the link to … Continue reading
ANNOUNCEMENT: Gathered Rain, on Kindle, now available for $0.99! Read more about Gathered Rain on Goodreads, including reader comments. I know that everyone reading this has had the experience of the relaxation and good feelings that thrive in the glow … Continue reading
Crescent moon, bat, and tattered cloud — rites of Samhain.
A sepulchral cloud ceiling closes over the shadowy tomb of earth.
Clouds, marching specters against the fortress moon.
Promises of this crescent knife moon — luminous samhain intoxication.
I feel that many who visit Flowerwatch and find something they enjoy here will likely also appreciate the following book, as described in a review* I posted awhile back on Goodreads. *See other reviews and books here.
“In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.” ― Jalaluddin Rumi
luminous autumn leaves ascend in fiery silence fleeing ghosts of winter
Lake Tahoe under a stiff morning breeze — rough blue marble, foaming veins of white
Robert Bly, who’s work I deeply appreciate and enjoy, has been heard to remark with scathing criticism upon the tendency he’s seen in much modern poetry to list, catalog, and otherwise dryly describe the mere things of the world, rather … Continue reading