your rancid skin
makes me quiver inside
come closer dear
no need to hide
my dreams are filled
with you only you
just ask me once
and i’ll say i do
21 Friday Oct 2022
17 Sunday Jul 2022
Tags
dog, dogs, happy birthday, poem, poems, poetry, terriermix
have you ever had a ninja dog
a dog the color of snow or moonlit sand
who appears and disappears by magic
who’s under the bed one moment
to materialize on the sundeck the next
who defies both space and time
to show up wherever she pleases
that’s the essence of skye
a quintessential ninja dog
(happy birthday, skye)
31 Tuesday May 2022
Tags
creative writing, dogs, kiss, memory, photography, poem, poems, poetry
she came for a kiss
that’s the first thing that comes to mind
when i look at this photo from long ago
i was trying to create
a formal portrait of her mother
when suddenly there came
little dora asking for a kiss
which her mother bestowed with
a certain forgetfulness of my presence
for such kisses were usually secretive
i would chance to see them only
when looking on from another room
the second thing that comes to mind
when i look at this photo taken long ago
is how fortunate i am to have captured
this everlasting moment of forgetfulness
13 Sunday Feb 2022
the sky was a revelation of colors
amber violet and a golden hue
i couldn’t put a name to
the word miracle came to mind
as if that could describe a color
we mortals give names to colors
artists know them all
but i think only the gods
know the true names
and perhaps miracle comes close
to what i saw today
23 Thursday Dec 2021
20 Wednesday Jan 2021
Tags
black and white photography, dna, knowledge, photography, poem, poems, poetry, spirit
don’t you love the starkness
of a black and white photo
of color stripped away
to show the underlying essence
of whatever you may call it
a soul
a spirit
a suggestion
of something long forgotten
that nevertheless
remains encoded
in the depths
of our knowing
26 Monday Oct 2020
the last thing he gave me
was a small jar of honey from his beehive
this is it in the picture
the sweetness of honey the sting of bees
not a bad way to remember him by
though i exaggerate some
it wasn’t like we were lovers or even friends
he was someone i almost knew
it was just the promise that was there
i suppose like a flower
in keeping with the honey bee metaphor
he was a flower i gazed upon
his beauty was that alluring
and his body and his regard moved in concert
with a warm spirit so like the sun
his name was george and wherever he is
wherever the sun finds him
for the kindness he showed me
for this jar of honey
i wish him well
31 Wednesday Jan 2018
22 Friday Jul 2016
Tags
26 Sunday Jun 2016
Old images from long ago held at arm’s length –
there was something comforting about those images,
something perfect.
In 5th grade on rainy days in Los Angeles
when we weren’t allowed to go
outside and have a proper recess,
out came the board games and puzzles
from the moldy closet and out came as well,
as if from the past, those strange cardboard pictures
with their viewing device.
The pictures were yellowed and blurry
to the naked eye and even confusing, but when
placed at the far end of the plank-like device
and viewed through the tiny binoculars
at the other end, a world of beauty
suddenly engulfed you.
Forested mountains and rippling lakes,
trains winding down tracks, speeding out of frame,
farm workers and haystacks from horizon to foreground –
these and other scenes snapped into view
and in each the visual planes were layered one upon
the other to create a 3-D effect.
Such a vivid memory I have hunkered down
at a desk in a far corner taking in image after image,
getting lost in someone else’s frozen memories.
While outside the skies darkened and rain pounded,
sluicing through our forsaken playground,
I was submerged in a bright distant world,
where everything was decided, unmoving,
put in place as if by an angelic being
telling me this is how your world is meant
to be seen if you take the time to really see.
Everything is fully dimensional, every view
can embrace you and not let go.
Now, when I look back on those days
in Mr. Rich’s 5th grade class, when the rain
came down and we remained inside, as if marooned,
I cherish the memory of those magical lenses,
and of my youthful clarity, which made the world
so comforting and perfect to behold.