Saturday, April 28, 2012

sketches from the poetry file....

Ah we are complicated
We are nerve endings of skin caressed
And we are the ghosts of the shipwrecked
The bitter Sunday
The blank clay
In the music- dance
In the dance-sway
We move we glide
All tortured lament
All child’s play
And heaven sent
All opposites and alikes
All transmogrification and raucous delights
How do we do that?
How survive?
How regale the depths with our sweet song
Then bounce back to earth achingly alive
Our natures’ at worst
Fraught with lust for the dark
At our best like a poet
With a broken heart,
Waking at morn all tangled and fresh
We roll over and gaze in each other-


  1. Love the poem, and really like the journal pages that you shared.

  2. Thanks QuilterBear. Your feedback means much to's good to get the creatures out into the world.

  3. Love them, always. BTW I have a new blog -