Necklaces!

http://www.spyroterra.com/necklaces/index.htm

Dream vacation

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It is interesting being me

Wild Kingdom
A stranded firefly
lumbers across the carpet
dressed as an alien
marooned in a too big world
sending a chartreuse mayday
to the futile depths of space
in a desperately erratic
Morse code of sputters
splashing across a nylon savanna
guarded by purring lions
with bells on their necks
as this make-believe
tableau from Wild Kingdom
plays out an all too familiar scene
to the sounds of
the eleven o'clock news
and Mutual of Omaha
would never grant a policy
for the life of this wayfaring stranger.

RYAN (Entire Film)

Watch this. Now! You won't regret it. I hope.

I am so happy I live in the country!

snapshot (6-17-09)
rivers of light
spill through
cracks
in the canopy
snagging on
the boulder
of a house
eddying
in the woods as
a butterfly flits
a jeweled dance
in and out
between
scarlet leaves
to the rhythm
of cicadas

Cute kitty

microcosmic drama (6-17-09)
tiny deaths happen
at an alarming rate
in my bedroom
because
a slit in the window
becomes an entry into
an otherworldly realm
of luminescent lust
where yellow eyes
with emerald
rimming black
dart around the room
backed by muscles
frozen in half stride
and a pink nose
sniffs the humid air
while whiskers twitch
in an unseen current
of stimulation from
frantic wing beats that
ply the murky light
in a dance as old
as winged creatures
who search the night
for answers to questions
only they know
more often than not
taking their secrets
to an early grave of glory
in the fiery pyre
of the light they must seek

silently and softy
the killer pounces
and powdery wings
flutter in the lamplight
while collected stones scatter
from the bedside table
in an inconsequential
microcosmic drama
that unfolds
under the magnet
of the artificial sun
meant to dispel
death and misfortune
from the darkness of night
but acting instead
like a siren song
of untold promise
as hunter meets hunted
and this tiny death
isn't so inconsequential
to an egg sac
that will never cling
to the trembling underside
of a tender young leaf
and the sounds of soft purring
whisper innocently in
my bystanding ear
and soft fur well fed
on the wings of moths
presses against
the crease of my neck

Geology?

Life in geologic time (6-16-09)

Strata one
The waves slap
at my tender toes
insinuating themselves
in the whorls and ridges
of the mountain range
of my skin
feeding the greedy
roots of desire
seeking entry
to grind away
and pry my bones
into tiny
grains of sand
to be washed away
into the order
and chaos
of the universe.

I pull my foot back
and watch the water
drip harmlessly
as I wonder what’s
for dinner and hop
away into the comfort
of home where Mom
awaits and pots sputter
and hiss.

Strata two
Currents ripple
across the surface
unaware of the
riot below
as eddying mountains
flow in counterpoint
to a rush of raindrops
hurtling down
in discordant chaos
gushing wildly
in the eternal
flow of progress
as each tiny
clod of dirt
melts and flows
in a water-laden
ballet of nonchalance
journeying toward
an igneous ending
or a sandstone sunrise.

Uneasy at my core
I turn in bed and
pull a pillow
over my head and
try to agree with myself
not to ponder the meaning
of infinity
as raindrops dance
a haunting tattoo
on the eaves outside.

Strata three
Lives rise and fall
encased in stone monuments
that will eventually
grind themselves
into nothing
yet momentarily
stand sentinel
to the brief flicker of
projected reality
defined by mothers
and fathers,
lovers and daughters
worn down by water
mixed with liberal
libations of love
poured into the ground
until eventually
the soil grows heavy
and threatens to dissolve
leaving a whole
in the quilt through which
all is forgotten
and names wear away
above chiseled dates
that fall off
and run away
to join the circus
of the netherworld
deep inside
the cavern of the past.

Fish dart and twist
disappearing as one
and I swim toward them
dazzled by the ocean’s
warm embrace as I skim
the surface just above
the outstretched arms
of a coral forest
oblivious to the waves
that gently toss me
to and fro
drawing me deeper
out to sea.

Strata four
Blind eyes gaze
upon vast plains
of eroded lives
drifting in dunes
of irrelevant detritus
collected from years
of living and loving
hating and mending
only to be ground
by the forces of life
into meaningless bits
of sparkling dust
that catch in the wind
shimmering with hope
and joining others
in a silent storm of
possibility
as random shapes
take on totemic
forms in the embrace
and quiet comfort
of the lulling breeze
that gathers strength
with each new grain
that swirls and adds
to the muffling blanket
that covers the hills
and sweeps out the old
and in with the new
as the winds of change
inevitably scour clean
the agreed upon reality
of our lives
and all must surrender
to the silence
of the great cycle
that builds up ranges
from individual
grains of sand.

As I sit and watch
the evaporated ocean
fall from thick fat clouds
I see a flash of silver
from the corner of my eye
as remembered fish
jump in the waves
of my mind
and infinity beckons
because it holds
the idea of you
as this world fades down
to a pantomime of grief
but I know the waves
that slap at this shore
will bring about change
and this grain of sand
with all its unique
whorls and swirls
is but a tiny part
of the mountain of humanity
and as surely as
that long ago coral
has eroded into the beach
so will I join you
in the pantheon
of all that is
and all that ever will be
for without each tiny
cube of sand
that changes back
into a mighty stone
the greatest mountain
could never be.

Sounding alike yet???

tomorrow’s amber (6-11-09)
a mosquito lands
in a sticky thread
thrashing and waving
mired in a thick
rich sap
that runs for millennia
frozen forever
in a snapshot of now

It's time for a drink I seriously think! :-)

Poison ivy (6-11-09)
old habits cling
to the surface like vines
and when the rains come
they flourish and grow
spreading in cracks
and digging in deep
tight to the wall
of the past and the old
crumbling the foundation
and taking hold
but swing that silver blade
and sever those ties
clear out the past
so the rock can breathe
and sunlight can warm
those cold old crevices
and the water of now
can wash away that “ago”
but don’t be too eager
to dig and to scrub
at the shadows that surface
like the blood of a lamb
for the sacrifice this makes
is part of the plan
and if you dig too deeply
it will stain your hand
in a way that will never leave
what marks out today
will stand out so boldly
but as the days pass
and time erodes
these bloody spots
will wither and age
and begin to seep into the stone
but if they are taken too quickly
too much of the foundation
will fall apart
and isn’t it sweeter
to gaze at a wall
that shows the mark of time
and has some history
the stories they tell are
more than just vines
but only if you are willing
to give it some time

I really am posting these as soon as they come...

The portent (6-11-09)
What the hell was that?
Could you hear it too?
There. Can’t you feel it?
Its an echo of blue.
A chasm is forming
and I must go to sleep
for it is only in slumber
this world takes me under.
What, you might ask,
is this all about?
We’re entering a world
where no one can shout.
Hush you up now
don’t wrinkle your brow.
A soft crunching munch
starts sounding and pounding
in the back of my mind.
It signals a rounding
and beckons the time
when old thoughts must leave
and new ones are mine.
Open the door
let the waves come on in
a gentle sigh falls
as great a journey begins.