their game

inspired this afternoon observing my mom and three friends enjoying a lighthearted game of canasta

“ball is life”

our children start moving away
our parents begin moving closer
the circle of life is a shape
that falls flat on its side
with no dimension
just one 360
and your time is over

I prefer a sphere
the sphere of living
the globe of going
the ball of bounty
you may go ’round
and around again
so let that dazzling ball drop
and roll into
a blessed and hopeful future

maybe sport advertisers
do know best
“ball is life”

Little Tree

Little Tree

art published last Christmas season

he whispers amen

thank you he whispers
like an amen
the broad smile on his face
I’ve seen somewhere before
his bright marbled eyes map
world destinations traveled decades ago
both light and dark
those hands, trembling and warm
once gripped killing machines
with cool unshakable confidence
back then

they wore their brand of patriotism
like a second skin
back then

there was no doubting
now there is
and today he whispers
thank you and tips his baseball cap
to my young son
who has just held the door
for the elderly gentleman
wearing the navy blue cap with the meticulous insignia
that reads WWII, US P-51 Mustang



previously published, I have no fighter plane art

I wonder

I wonder if she would’ve been braver
had her heart outrun the difficult years
her courage once supple and new
now evaporated by decades of living

I wonder if she would have been at peace
had she found the time to look ahead
knowing the past was what got her there
and primed her for a long detailed life

I wonder if she will find time now
to admire the heavens
inhale the sunset, exhale the worry
and relax in the beauty
of an eternal sky
sunsetphoto taken yesterday while standing on my front lawn

Aged Smile

Aged Smile

art previously published

they enter

they enter
through the revolving door
twirling in and out so quickly
dust flies up behind them
they enter
running up the down escalator
energy so palpable, smiles so bright
we can’t help but do the same
they enter
off the elevator
one primped, polished toe in front of the other
gazing endlessly at reflections
they forget why they took the ride
they enter
through the back entrance
sometimes they stay
but mostly they leave
they enter
through the front door
hugging hello
embracing goodbye
’til we soon meet again
friends til the endteeshirt art previously published


I can think of many things
none quite right to say
nothing is the same
nothing at all
the clock chiming in the background
is a sorry replacement for your voice

something that happens
when our eyes are open
and time can slip through
the sockets

five cent pump pencil
art previously published

this time of year

may I call you out
it’s time
the nights are growing colder
the mornings chilly
leaves are weary and falling
the trees want to sleep
their shadows have cooled
and something is pressing in the wind
like a secret around the corner
this time of year
the minute hand seems to
overpower the hour
stepping through that next door
another calendar to markup with activity
summer is worn out
it’s time
for the harvest to begin
every time you change
I wish they could stay the same
and play with dolls just a little longer
Gallean with ragdoll
Galeen on a ‘shroom painted on paper a few weeks back

the swaying top hat

“What is it you believe in, Sir?” She asked the old man in her most dignified voice.

From beneath his top hat, he gazed at the brim. “Maybe the answer will come to me tomorrow.”

The next day she would search again for the familiar swaying black top hat. It would not be difficult to find. Its owner swung back and forth like a metronome arm–every step his old feet landed marked eighth notes on a lumpy bar measure. But the next day, the young girl could not find the melodic top hat. The moon had risen and the only thing swaying were the stalks of wheat Mrs. Norty hadn’t sold. Though the very last loaf of her hearty bread was gotten for fifty cents.

The young girl’s head was intoxicated with possibilities. She could barely contain the exploding dreams. The sandman had eaten Mrs. Norty’s dense bread and was bouncing off the old town’s tiled roofs. Sleep would not come. What did the old magician believe in? What would a person of magic wish for when he could conjure up the world and eat it with a golden fork?

The next day the anxious child balled the bottom of her ruffled nightshirt into a pair of loose burlap slacks. She tied a thin red sash through the belt loops so they wouldn’t fall down. She ran onto the cobbled street barefoot in anticipation of a glorious answer. Her little nose angled upward as she sought out the shiny swaying black topper. This day she was not disappointed. Up she bounced, tapping his old stooped shoulder.

The elderly gentleman magician turned around. He looked squarely into her bright brown eyes. “The answer has come to me, child,” he said in an elegant, spectacular voice as befitting a noble magician. He removed the near-perfect top hat from his head and placed the satin stovepipe upon the youth’s corn silk hair.

She became petrified with excitement, beneath the magical top hat. “Please Sir, today is yesterday’s tomorrow,” she timidly put forth, “Kind Magician, what is it that you believe in?”

He placed his crooked hands on her diminutive shoulders and for a moment thought of delicate hollow bird bones. “My child,” he gently answered, “I believe in the magic of unanswerable questions.” He pat the top of his old top hat and said, “For luck.”

“But most generous Sir, you should not be separated from this treasure-”

“I’ve no need of it where I am going.”

Her brimming eyes begged one thousand questions but, “Where?” was all her trembling bowed lips could manage.

He pat the top of his old top hat once more.
“I do not know that answer,” he said with a smile, then he turned and walked away.



this is my only top hat drawing and I do so love this quirky little fella though the gentleman magician described in the above little tale would appear much more elegant

the five mountains: a little saggy humor

as you saunter down the road of life
skippin’ down arbitrary routes
some planned, others not so much
there’s gonna be five mountains

you’ll notice after comin’ round that first mountain
some of the sun grabbed at your skin while you were playin’ outdside
there are a few epidermical things you didn’t start out with
continue on passed the shadow-casting, grandfather clock
ignore him, he likes clangin’ abruptly

you’ll notice after comin’ round that second mountain
the moon tugged a bit too hard during those deep nights
gravity’s mojo is wearin’ off and things are lettin’ loose
continue on passed the sexy, glass timepiece modeled after Sophia Loren
even she can’t stop the sands from pourin’

you’ll notice after comin’ round that third mountain
the last two mountains are now obliterated from view
there are boxes and jars everywhere with taped promises of renewal
along with heavy-duty inversion boots and a thick pamphlet:
how to minimize life’s lines by hanging upside down just ten minutes a day

you’ll notice after comin’ round that fourth mountain
the journey has been exceptionally difficult
you’ve been tryin’ to walk on your hands
while wearin’ your heavy-duty inversion boots
you decide it’s time to retake control of your feet

you’ll notice after comin‘ round the fifth mountain
you shoulda stayed on your feet round the fourth
you start laughin’ at yourself with teeth that may or may not be yours
and then there it is, the reason you made it round all those other mountains
your old friend

a smile
the one you were born with… 🙂

Sexy Skeleton

Sexy Skeleton

Born months ago with Prisma pencils, I’ve shown this gal a few times, she always makes me smile 🙂

…and now for mountain six…

the ride

it is difficult stepping away from those tracks
against a crystal skyline
pillars of graceful loops and effortless curves
are intriguingly sexual and artistic
we approach without planned caution
when in tactile position
become overwhelmed
with complex magnificence
our senses fire off
excited for limitless possibilities

the engine pulls up
with its H.G. Wellsian glow
Dalí inspired cars follow
enticing soft-shapes open up
we board
as sure-footed as the person ahead of us
the ride begins
at a drugged snail’s pace
we plummet down
upside over
we stopped appreciating the beauty
ten wrenching loops ago
our stomachs lurch forward
our hearts race upward
something catches in our throats
but damn if we’re letting go
we chose this ride
thrilling as it goes
we know
it can’t last

Zoo Balloons

Zoo Balloons

didn’t have any art remotely roller coaster-esque, hoping balloons get me close –
zoo balloons created a few months back previously published 🙂