Here is where my deepest heart lies. These writings emanate from the many times when my passion hits the bottom and other times where it seems to fly on wings. To solace myself, I go to the woods on deep forest trails, pray to waterfalls, look over valleys, and dip my hands in the waters of springs, hoping to soothe myself. Forgive me if I get angry; for at times I’m just plain mad at the world.
The shape of our sculptures The flaws in their forms The brittleness of their glaze The density of their mass The allure of kilns Click on image to enlarge. “Formation”
Snippets of blue and clouds Poke through rafters That once held meaning. Still, something walks Within the ruins Weathered old boots…and Ashen hands, brushing Stone, steel, and rust Feeling along debris As if it were night In the summer shade. Outside, where tourists… Continue Reading “Ruins Near A Waterfall”
Ramona’s whisper requites us to ourselves—our fires extinguished, our thirst sated. That voice, a pact between mountain and moisture, is a quiet call to us The stumbling pilgrims, forest wanderers, wishful sages who suffer from acute chatter. Its language—slow—near wordless, near nothing, paints upon… Continue Reading “Ramona Falls’ Mist”
There’s a burning inside her and you can see it when she’s holding in her voice. You’re lucky she holds it in, for when it hits air, it cuts you. These cuts cause you to fall inside her furnace, scald you, sting your heart… Continue Reading “When Josephine The Singer Leaves”