My photo
Cape Cod, United States
__I see with young eyes, an old mirror. Here, I hope to offer... as I see.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

__We... had so counted on the old skills and crafts that had built this world, and yet today from so many corners, those arts of providing life... have been re-labeled as lowly functions.
__I ask you my friends to visit -Bicando- that link to the right... and I, back to the sands and the beach... with slight changes.

this sea
we placed in sands
footfalls that traced our path
as tides rose to erase each step
we are

Friday, February 25, 2011


new winds
from this clouded vapor
words spring

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

The tides rise, and fall.

these sands of time
a beach

Monday, February 21, 2011

President's Day.
__I'll never forget two years ago... my granddaughter asked,"Papa, this is Presents Day, where is mine?" Then, she was 6 years old.

As seen through this morning's light snowfall, 2-21-11:

the changes
I am as I have been
buds redden

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Silently, 'moonface' moves to other limbs.

it chooses another tree
this voiceless owl

Friday, February 18, 2011

Half sleep.

a muse
collects in rem
that collage awakened
may carry to an empty page
this pen

Sunday, February 13, 2011

A 'Twofer': something about the -melt- of time, and the -unseen- speed with which it passes.

as it flys
counts spent snowflake years
a crow

weighs this added tempo
on the wing

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Such a photo, 28Jan2011, at Devica's -Abstract Deductions- so real it seems contrived... the dream of artistic photographs.

naked limbs
scratch this cold sky
my mind's leaves

Monday, February 7, 2011

Thanks Lorraine... these few words were pushed out by one of your recent photos.

these snow hills
more hills

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Fog and Flute

Departure #6
__From the summer of 2005, my fictitious legend of a central Connecticut Native clansman.

__Sunset had taken the day's warmth, and cold slid down the mountainside, out and over the pond's water where a fog was born, layering itself low and close, and filling the pond's hollow... resting in this bowl of trees. The song of a flute pierced the fog, and as I gazed across the water toward the music's heart, two fires peered back through the formless haze.
__As sunrise came, I slid my canoe across the pond and cut the water to the pond's far side where we Tunxi knew our spirits gathered. There, I walked this ground of the fog and flute, and I stood at the place of the night fire's dance.
__No traces of fires spent, or gathered wood, nor ashes or sooted rocks... nothing spoke of the fog and flute at this site of the dancing fires. There were only a dog's footprints in the sand among the stones, a pace trail that mapped its night's restless roving... footfalls, claw marks pointing outward into the fog of the night that once was.

seeped into a sleepless dream
this spirit called

__An instant's haze claimed the stony point, and piercing through that moment's vapor came the song of the flute, and the dance of the fires; quickly the music faded to a song of silence.

__Then, there came a black dog, and it sat at my moccasins. He rose to his haunches... and in his eyes shown the dancing fires. His forelegs were thrust outward, and across them lay the flute... his offering to me.
__I grasped the flute; I knew the fires of this dream would join me.
__In one motion I launched my canoe, and rolled to my knees in the canoe's bottom. I pulled the first paddle stroke above the stillness; on the second stroke I looked up... and there the black dog's spirit had joined me. He had become my image. In the trust of my mind's dream, I am the song of the fog and flute, I am in the trance of these dancing fires.

becoming one
the dream and the soul
a paddle stroke

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Yup... snowin' again, one must smile!

bends the night trees
an icicle