First, inspiration

A consuming fire

Relentless and tangled


Then, writing

A tentative rain

Of keyboard clicks

Slowly intensifying


Fire and rain argue

Until sparks turn to steam

And soften into grace


To find inspiration

And write from source

Feels easy, free and pure


Baring my soul

Not knowing

To whom I am opening

Showing petals and thorns


Is the artist’s way, I suppose

Until inspiration

Ignites again

Edgar Degas


I spent the morning visiting an old acquaintance

Saw his familiar expressions and heard his stories

Captured in the madness and mastery of brushstroke


Peeking behind the wings at the ballet

I saw nervous dancers feet beneath tulle skirts

Rehearsing with anticipation moments before the curtain


Listened to a café singer in Paris while

Sipping an espresso from a dimly lit corner

Her melodies floating over the smoky room with ease


Caught a glimpse of a woman bathing

In a symphony of limbs and abandonment

From an oval-shaped tub and the illusion of water


Yet, the mystery of art lies not with technique

But the reminder that when it encounters faith

Ghosts from the past become remarkably opaque

Dream Garden

I wandered

into a decaying garden

not knowing what or who

rendered it abandoned


Tender leaves

once green with life

now shriveled and



I knelt

and whispered a prayer

this fate would not befall

my own garden of ideas


Young dreams

still needing

sun and rain

to grow


Planting does not suffice

gardening requires

persistence and



Then I saw a tiny bloom

took in its subtle fragrance

though fragile

it announced


A latent garden is

abundantly fertile

glance around and see

flowers can thrive among the decay


A bird’s eye view

washed in hues of skyscrapers

and a stream of cars


People walking dogs,

briefcases, and groceries

with earnestness


Generic agreement of

a dance

pausing, as directed

at each juncture


Some crossroads

are not quite so beautifully



Minute to moment

breath upon feeling

they appear

no regard for time


Compassion and annoyance

steadfastness or fear

gratitude with despair


We choose, often wrongly

cross the street

and being occurs

Skeletons on the Beach

Broken, delicate, and graceful shells,

iridescent and bewitching skeletons.

Deconstructed works of art and life, and

symbols of a prolific, healthy sea.

Meticulously crafted, now abandoned homes,

painted by brushstrokes of ocean.

Finally resting in a graveyard of sand and seaweed,

Broken, delicate, and graceful shells.