Sandfort Road

No warmth for her on this
hot humid southern day

Only cold fear

Purpled eyes
back and forth
not understanding  the gazes
from travelers who see her

Her swollen lips
speak hurriedly
but nothing is heard,
the words carried away
in the sudden burst of wind
from a cloudless sky

She walks haphazardly
along the unsidewalked shoulder

She should not be here
where there is no guidance
to her destination

Shivering arms laden with pocketbooks
(seven cheap pocketbooks)
is all she can manage to carry
in which to pack the life she
must have to survive
away from the script
that has been her dialogue until now

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Mount Elbrus


Having remained
hidden for so long
from the glare of
misunderstood attitudes
he struggles daily
with the anonymous

for those before him who
acknowledge and confront
not letting this define them
allows healing and progress

He succeeds in reaching
the mountain summit
then the saddle
that connects the next peak
and with necessary breath
he ascends

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Padre Ramos


The storm, dark and menacing, begins across the waves
remaining gentle in their loyalty to the environment

The shells and abandoned wood
lie tumbled and broken by anger
when their loyalty is challenged

After the rain and wind the steadfast remain
scattered and shredded, yet anchored
against the next storm,
willing to settle in
and fortify the sand once more

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Ode to Gatsby


The heat beats
and beats
on my brain
like gravel dumped
in a pothole
crushing any
I envision
for the day

A victim of the
southern elements
of summer
I can only consider
what is necessary

I lie listless and still
waiting for life to
struggle through the
humid air of the season
and give me
sustenance to continue

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Broken Wings

broken wing

Broken wings

scattered on

volcanic sand,

torn apart by
the catalyst
of wind and surf,

wait patiently
through the tides

gathered together
in adoration
of their perfection.

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An obsession with conformity.
Desperate to control, to measure, to prescribe.

Life is circuitous with paths
that are ambiguous, oblique and labyrinthine.


Take a step and then take another.

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Arising wanting a revelation of the future.

Looking around wanting a manifestation of my purpose.

Plodding around wanting an inspiration for today.

The transition from rest, in reality, restlessness,

into the day

doesn’t bring the epiphany expected.

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