Poem: Four Chambers


painted on a four chambered heart

each room an echo

a synchronized sharing of the apex

The fluttering climax

upon squeezing beats seeing beauty

And the hiccupping hitch

when gathering moments of newly formed love

Or the sudden thud

of rock dropping grief when its gone


Oh the silent tap tap

when at peace

hand upon your breast


that what you feel

is the artist

who paints your life



Poem: From Within


carrying scars

picked at by fretful fingers

The loss of heat


vacuum suck of cold

(interwoven at times)

left on integument ripples

trying desperately to hide

bone wrapped melodies

played on organs

finely tuned by fingers

fretful fingers

of the merry minutiae

on drifting cells as the float by

Song of the soul

Hum of the heart

Picking at a piece of the part

the smooth skinned shell

to hear the singing chorus

from within this finite enclosure

its voice secretly serenading:

I, too, am here

Poem Art: The Sentry


Years of giving

torn from the skinned Birch

to carry others

across rushing waters

while naked the Tree remains



as the world walks away

Not listening

to the endless clawing on Jesus arms

the sucking tendrils

that have grown up

twisting themselves around

the age-old rings of Her heart

Move on! Move on!

whispering through the thousand hands

waving goodbyes to those

that left her standing


and siphoning life from

dirty earth thrown down

around Her


a sentry seasoned with sight

the beacon to set others

on their way

But forever bound and grounded

in the place she chose

to be born




Poem: On Waking



a butterfly plucked

from flight by a

4-eyed entomologist

tacked and hung forever



askew and filled with lead

pumped dry from

sleepless climbs through endless starts

with dry breath and thick lips


swollen marbles unseeing

remembering lilting dreams


tears dried from cracked blinks


beneath fathoms of murky sea

bubbles squeezed nitrogen pop

as spiny creatures swim

too close


chipped down to pebbles

swallowed by a bird

it beating too fast

in her chest


to the slab

by the nightly joy ride

that crashed upside down

leaving the driver


with the seat belt

still on




The Watchful Eye


I kiss my hand to the moon
Watching over souls
So far from me
Shedding strawberry light
After the longest weary day

They come nonstop
Their limbs askew
The victims of war
No place of peace
Dying in fear

But the brave persist!
To care for these torn
Those sworn to heal
Though they have no supplies
They stay
And touch
And do what they can
And watch their comrades die

It is their oath that keeps them
Some remember it still
As the moon looks down
With Her watchful eye
And I look back
Knowing there is good yet
In the world



For those of you who regularly following my blog and have been wondering and care, I saw the orthopedic doctor today about the tear in my rotator cuff. He showed me the MRI pictures and it is a  pretty decent injury.


He had me do some movement with my arm and saw my pain level and mobility. Luckily I have been an athlete for so long because I have good musculature around the joint to compensate. Plus I’m stubborn and tolerate pain well.

So he said for now I can get away with a cortisone shot to decrease the inflammation, which is causing the pain. Plus he gave me some exercises to continue strengthening the arm. He also told me what not to do which is just as important. Guess I’ll never be a swimmer again. Unless I get the surgery.

And they’ll be no doubt that I will know if it tears completely because then the pain will be excruciating and I won’t have use of the arm. Ok, I get it, no lifting heavy objects.

Funny, being an athlete probably hurt me in the long run too, causing a lot of the injuries to the arm. But it has protected me too. This is somehow ironic.

But I feel like I’ve hit the jackpot for now and won’t be laid up for months! And in the meantime I’m working on becoming ambidextrous!




I woke up missing a feeling, that of touch — the beautiful sensation bestowed upon us by nature. Our skin and hands are amazing gifts that when use them to feel the world in a sensitive and caring way, it’s a magical thing.


So on my walk I reached out to the world around me. It’s texture rested in my hand. Lifetime of standing rooted long before me, we shared a moment in the morning warmth.


My hand held color a painter would be hard pressed to paint. Pulling spectrum of light to create such sweetness its innocence smiled shyly.


I held coarsely draped strands of vines so like a horse’s tail, bringing back memories of days gone by of mares and ponies. All in our hand’s memories.


A rest on the picket fence. Not the one longed for around the perfect home that never came… No, just on the daily walk, long and straight, where squirrels scamper and vines grow.


And hands that love…


And love…


And love…

So use your precious gifts, our special tools, these feeling fingered features to touch someone you love today, human or furry.  Or even shake hands with a stranger–for passing on that you care through a touch is a language we all understand.