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The stream (all workshops)

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The Moon in the Well

The Moon's reflection
fits in a brick well,
taking me back to the
original question.
I dream that I'm the first mortal.
I walk barefoot
gazing at galaxies.
The solitude of primitive earth
numbs me with unbearable cold.

The breath of our Creator
blows the tides of the oceans
and I feel the first awe.
Creation unfurls into a mathematical universe.
Space generates stars,
the Moon is a platinum oval.

En Plein Air Painting

I have seen the desert sunset
glow in molten lava hue;
each new setting of the sun
is more striking than the one
I had seen the day before.

A miniature tornado, the dust devil
rises on a hot late-afternoon,
then tears through horse pens
and shakes the barn.

Diffusing daylight, it proceeds
to haunt the open desert, twirling
tumbleweeds along its path
and pins all to the saguaro
cactus, the butcherbird’s
larder that displays small rodents
and birds fastened to its spines.

Drunku Haiku

Continual boozing -
Next year's prognostication:
Liver with bunions.


Thank you COVID
Because now we sit three in a cab
Thank you for the light
They would have choked us with heat
And make us pay for darkness.

Thank you for bringing us together
Thank you for the Air Conditioner
Thank you for the whips
The Everyday battle with hunger.

I know you have better plan of succour
I know of the palliatives
But like the evening sun it wasn’t made to shine
For the poor man.

Great Aunt Kitty...

Great Aunt Kitty was a flapper
The twenties were a blast
Short skirts and beads were the fashion
The mini-dresses of the past

Charleston dances and jitterbugs
Were all the latest rage
There was a ban on alcohol and drugs
Take a lead from the temperence page

Aunt Kit drove a wood-frame sporty car
She danced in many a hall
There was no drinking in a regular bar
Speakeasies hid behind a wall

The Will To Fly

Don't clip my wings
for I've just learned to fly
to a soul that is restless
don't ever ask why

A fool I'd be to let this light grow dim
I answered the voice that cried from within
the hunger is deep the flames rise high
it calls out to me
let me fly ,let me fly

Give me the freedom of a bird in flight
let me take all he darkness
and turn it to light


Defined as:

Yet, in the back
of the brain,
the dust
with the
need to know:

in our struggle
for survival,
choosing between
or love,
which will

An “End of the World” Vision

Behold, there was a great earthquake,
and the sun became black as sackcloth . . . .”

Thunder reverberated above the crest
of Mt. Vesuvius; glowing embers swarmed
like fireflies in a Louisiana summer night.
Someone approached through the ashen cloud.

A bearded man in sackcloth led his ass
down the trembling mountain’s rock-strewn slope.
His face, ridged with hedgerow eyebrows
above deep-set eyes from which the light
of wisdom or advanced insanity shone,
captured my attention.


I am no fan of this material progress
where brain has supplanted the mind,
belief held only in touchable things.
(The humanities not being required
where physical science sets the rule.)

Feels cold without, a bit sterile,
the wind screams, and the frost,
with a smile, loves to crack bones.
(So I sit within, feeling secure
before my fire's womb-like glow.)

New World (May Contest)

There's a deer outside my garden gate
just staring at me with his soft eyes
from beyond his wooden sanctuary
where he usually hides from the shooter

I see the pheasant has come to greet us
he is just walking on the main road
minding his own business
he looks relaxed, as we greet him

Gardens unspoilt,
the rubbish that is usually left on the ground
by people who care for nothing
is invisible today
so pleasing on the eye.


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