She Lay Waiting

she lay
curled in upon herself
more spiral
than fetal
more sudden stillness
than feral beauty

the forest floor
was damp
with decomposing
birth and death
may-shine slipped
through young
summer leaves
danced across her
naked form
adding light
and shadow
to the streaks of dirt
and blood
painted on her skin
as though
she were nothing
more than a canvass

and so she was

a sleeping
art form


17 May 2018

Shamrock Forest
Shamrock Forest, Decatur, Georgia

Thinking of Ferlinghetti

Because I find myself


Of stars

Of night

Of dark nights

Of the soul

And eternity

And struggle

And the embrace

Of life

Of love

Of movements

Not in our control

And San Francisco

And City Lights

And books

And bookstores

And all bookstores 


And Beat Poets

And all Poets


Of you

Of your poet’s soul

Of your words

Of your great heart

Of oceans

Of time

Of heartbeats

Of drifting Ley lines

Of your love

Of your desire

And Waiting

And Ferlinghetti


The Plough of Time

Night closed my windows and

The sky became a crystal house

The crystal windows glowed

The moon

shown through them 

through the whole house of crystal

A single star beamed down

its crystal cable

and drew a plough through the earth

unearthing bodies clasped together 

couples embracing

around the earth

They clung together everywhere

emitting small cries

that did not reach the stars

The crystal earth turned 

and the bodies with it

And the sky did not turn

nor the stars with it

The stars remained fixed

each with its crystal cable

beamed to earth

each attached to the immense plough

furrowing our lives

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Monday 22 November 2010: Shadows, Colour, Waiting


Look round and round upon this bare bleak plain, and see even here, upon a winter’s day, how beautiful the shadows are!

Alas! it is the nature of their kind to be so. The loveliest things in life, Tom, are but shadows; and they come and go, and change and fade away, as rapidly as these!

~ Charles Dickens

In photography there are no shadows that cannot be illuminated.
~ August Sander

Impossible to escape
the shadows
this time of year
They come earlier and earlier

Afternoon barely exists
or rather exists lightless.
However, the eye continues
to look for colour
and sometimes finds it.

This day, a pale, bleak, watery
colour settles over my dreams
And I cannot help but wait

And hope that in my waiting
a kind of magic is born.
A light thought hidden
in darkness
is uncovered.

Once again,
I am waiting
for illumination.

The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson