Rose colored hallways

quiet and alone
times my mind roams memory’s
rose colored hallways
idle thoughts walk there
holding close recall’s warm cloak
against winter’s breath


Don’t need more parking lots

did I misplace it
or did some one erase it
my pretty drawing
of many colors
tried to pave it over for
one more parking lot


I ride the dragon

cross night’s black velvet
I ride upon the dragon’s
back of golden scales
fiery breath my guide
shooting star to those below
mythic tale begins


It’s the journey

no destination
is the key it’s the journey’s
steps from me to me


Taste the rain

taste it on the air
the mother’s ungent perfume
even deep in dream

smell earth newly damp
by rain fall on parched brown ground
grass and flowers sleep


Lead is gold

knew lead’s atoms gold’s too
belief is the thing


This old shirt

once new this old shirt
frayed but still a favorite
weave of memories

sand between my toes
cabo sun and moonlit nights
perfect summer love


Seasons come and go

simple notebook pen

soliloquy on the page

journal diary

a day once removed

to march cadence on blue lines

fill each empty page

siphoning angst hurt

experience clears the mind

for new adventure

summer’s page turned

winter now takes center stage

spring waits in the wings


Golden rain of leaves

aerie, eyrie, perch

leaves float on unseen breezes

I sit pen in hand

wanting to capture

it all on the page but words

cannot hold the wind

My aerie is my place on the second floor of a 4-plex located in a colorful Southside neighborhood.  It is a small town within the larger town that is Birmingham.  My balcony as well as my studio/office have a view of the street below.

I write here, paint here and yes sometimes I just watch the parade of life below.  My desk sits in front of a window, so I can ignore the mess as I work and look out at the view.  My view is a large tree whose branches are a stone’s throw away where birds come and stare at me as much as I stare at them.  The street below is quiet with the occasional.  Squirrels run from neighborhood cats; occasional joggers run by morning and evening, young children and university students come and go from school, cars leave for work in the morning and come home in the evening

From my aerie, I watched the leaves, a golden yellow rain fall in flurries from the tree out front.  Nature parades past my window, seasons come and go, rain, snow,  trees go from barren to green to a rain shimmering autumn leaves carried on the wind leaving them bare once again.

No words of mine can do them justice.  Catch the rain and the wind, try without end.


I’m walking again

9 days to NaNoWriMo.

“Why are there trees I never walk under, but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?”
-Walt Whitman – Song of the Open Road

Today is Monday and I’m grateful to be off on Mondays.  I’ll have four 3-day weekends in November to write fast and furious to make up for the days I know I might fall short.  I’ve no doubt I can make it to 50,00 words, but it’s hard to keep up momentum after a draining day at work.

That’s why I mostly write in the morning after my walk.  Walk – Yes I’m finally back to walking in the mornings.  Not the 5 miles that was my habit, but first 1 then 2 now 3.  I didn’t think my knee would ever recover it’s previous strength after the meniscus surgery, but I’m back.

That fresh air fix on these newly brisk mornings of early Fall do amazing things for me and my writing.  I carry a small pad and pen in my pocket, because Walt was right – ideas seem to fall from the trees.

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