roadkill

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it’s a wonderful life

Aroma and bubbling of a Seattle blend
Dark splitting open by jagged blue
Promises of the sun
Soft light dusting treetops–only treetops–magic beyond miracle
Squirrel’s ass bounding to safety
The red barn where he once sculpted in metals
Old white house, black coffin shutters where I imagine Poe sailing on a brigantine in a bottle, the ancient bottle forever resting upon an antiquated sideboard with missing crystal glass pulls
Lanza’s voice at any volume
Moon roof parting like the gymnasium floor, Charleston revelers diving in
Gold sparkles on my fingers from latest spray paint project
Son adjusts side view mirrors
The mere possibility of these glorious events repeating
Tomorrow, while driving to school

wood nymph

thinking of Christmas movies on this warm, sunny day 😉

warrior of the asphalt

hawk talons grapple the dense power lines
an eighteen-wheeler speeds over the underpass
he’s flying more than the raptor right now
wonder what the driver is thinking
traveling alone
heaving semi propped up on massive tires
trailing long, behind his sun-bleached Kenworth cap
burning a day’s rubber
friction not exclusive to the highway
is he fatigued
in need of sleep
in want of the broad bed where she lay
milk-curved skin and pink perfumed
the way he likes her to wait
shouldn’t have left like that
anxious for the heavy payload and burning light
regretting his exhausted voice
bellowed like his semi’s Kleinn Triple Horn
he soars again and again
cranking his hand to move the big lady into gear
her gentle touch lingering on his skin
honeysuckle freshener and hand-rubbed leather
he’ll get the haul done
always does
this warrior of the asphalt
dreaming of flying highways
that speed him back to her

you sexy things

seven am
returning from a school drop
two older gals
walking, striding, smiling
sun
yea, it’s shining
not as brightly as these two powder-fresh sprites
their white Sketchers impossibly polished
like their well-seasoned eyes
almost see facial twinkling from my car
I’ve lowered speed
decelerating
crawling my Ford tires
slow the rushing axles

beaming at these living cherubs
while I sing along with Sirius ’70’s

wouldn’t you know
you sexy thing
starts playing
too freakin’ perfect

exuberant I’ve grown while observing these fine ladies
damn, still buckled in
I wanna get out and dance
run, sprint
stride step with these great smiling ladies

I picture them shakin’
moving their tried and true derriéres like they were 25
and in their minds, they still are
easy to deduce by their meandering glitter trail

I bet these 2 beauties were live wires
the kind that stretched and sprang back
knocking all them young lads for a loop
and a tongue tie

with their bedazzling smiles
and fine fighting features
you go girls!
you sexy things!

 even more perfect ’cause I love hot chocolate especially after wine;)

Ice Mountains

I sometimes, well who am I kidding, I often reread my words thinking exactly that
what am I thinking
what am I trying to get at
sometimes
I don’t appreciate the kind decades
generous, in fact
as I’ve had them
to write angst when I’m happy
create euphoria when I’m blue
mold dream sequences I dare not live
in both words and colored shapes
often content in my ability
to be discontent
moody
spoiled
the excuse
the “creative” mind or spirit
instead, the reality
human with the privilege of life
I write this with the clarity of a gorgeous sunup
and a cool affirming breeze wrapping my fingers
now set upon my pricey laptop

the local paper this morning
a continuation of an accident report
three died in a nearby town
driver’s ed car and a tractor
an intersection
teenagers
two at the scene
one this morning

beyond grief
is loss
young loss
beyond that

turn the page
ice mountains high as the Rockies
chasms six times deeper than the Grand Cranyon
Pluto artfully sculpted

may these young souls
touch beyond ice mountains
their vibrant spirits
forever reside
in the living
with the privilege
to do so

hearts out to them
families, friends…
wood hole nymphwoodhole nymph breaking from birch tree bark
created over the last three days – mixed media

Trash Tossers

Dear Friends,
Driving down the road last week a window rolled down, an arm casually descended out, then came the chuck – the all too common paper cup chuck. Why? Why do some folks think it’s okay to chuck their paper cups? Driving down the road today a window rolled down, an arm casually descended out, then came the flick – the all too common cigarette flick. Why? Why do some folks think it’s okay to flick their butts?

My horn honks each time trash gets discarded onto the road. It’s an exercise in futility, and now, I’m polluting the atmosphere with noise. The folks doing the chucking and the flicking don’t care. Sad really. Sad for them. Sad for us. I’m working on a giant cardboard hand.

Driving down the road next week a window rolls down, an arm casually descends out, holding a cardboard hand with the sassy finger proudly extended at the cup chuckers and butt flickers…

Dream Catcher

Dream Catcher

Thank you. May you dream of a sparkling planet and people who care to keep it sparkling.
Earth Chain created yesterday after witnessing a garbage tosser…