Ancient Gasoline: a gallon
Decaying wood: a ton piled high
Ten inches of freshly fallen angel white snow
Light winds, perfect for fanning the flames

I love a good burn!

Wrapping cloth soaked in lamp oil around a stick
Standing back, the smoke will be thick
A simple flick of the bic

Flames burst from the pit!

Once the burn is established
Everything collected—useless—and old
Goes on to be turned to flames of gold
That is when

The memories burn!

I stand in dirty snow
Letting forever go
What I once loved
My hands are gloved.

Ashes—far they fly!

Wind ripples surging rows of heat.
I hold my breath. I’m beat.
Pieces of rusty metal bend
Nothing but coal base in the end!



The first instant I listened

to a man playing the piano at sunset

on a long sandy beach

no one but me and my dog

prancing in purple waters

and him playing.

So sad.

So powerful.

I stayed, listening.

The second I saw a pillar of sun

shoot to the sky

while walking over granular snow

during a cold sunrise…

I heard his music.


He’s still…

I am writing a novel.

A friend of mine, who has been reading the chapters as I write them, asked… ”I’ve always wondered about the writing process. Now that you’ve started and gotten a good ways in, how much has the ending changed since you started? Or has it simply become more defined?

I responded…

Interesting to be asking me this question at this exact moment when I have been contemplating killing one of my characters that I had not originally intended on killing.

Everything becomes more defined.

I create an outline to guide me where I have been with my minds thoughts.
I scribble on thousands of little pieces of paper what I imagine.
I test things for reality in real life, (this can be very fun)
I ask questions and questions and more questions.
I listen.

And then I go back to the outline. At times moments change on that outline, but not the truth of where I was going, because that is where I have already been. The first time around (the outline) it is like being at sea in a storm, all is fast and furious, and then it is over and you know everything that happened, but the details are missing until you go back and really look at them, really think about what went down, then you have a story.

When my best friend/partner read my response to this other friend, he started laughing. I looked at him questioningly. He explained, “No, no, I like it. It makes sense, but…” he tried to control his hystirics, “it’s just…” and here he made his voice sound like Yoda, “The truth of where I was going, I know, because I have already been there.”

He still has not stopped laughing.

The Late Works

Having already suffered the early loss of his wife and three of their children, Rembrandt’s later years were burdened with bankruptcy, acrimonious legal proceedings with a former lover, and the loss of his common-law wife and only remaining son. However, far from diminishing as he aged, Rembrandt’s creativity gathered new energy.

From the 1650s until his death in 1669, Rembrandt pursued an artistic style that was expressive and radical. His bold manipulation of printing and painting techniques and progressive interpretations of traditional subjects inspired generations of artists, earning him a reputation as the greatest master of the Dutch Golden Age.

Through famous masterpieces and rare drawings and prints, ‘The Late Works’ examines the themes that preoccupied Rembrandt as he grew older: self-scrutiny, experimentation, light, observation of everyday life and even other artists’ works; as well as expressions of intimacy, contemplation, conflict and reconciliation.

The Falls

First a cloud hovering over the lake
Or a fire billowing smoke to the skies
Closer still—thick, misty fog concentrated
Water beside the road traveled—moves fast
Waves hurtling, lifting over rocks
Open window brings in hissing froths
Walk beside the sound
Outrageous power
want to
be a bird
droplet down the fall


Ever since the first time I watched Star Wars, I have wanted to see another Galaxy with my own eyes.

This year I have!

I read “365 STARRY NIGHTS an introduction to astronomy for every night of the year” written by: Chet Raymo. On November 18 in this fabulously written, easy to follow, and a pleasure to read book, I was directed to The Great Galaxy in Andromeda. I went out and lay down on the frosty grass, looking up at a moonless sky, and with my own eyes, I saw a galaxy 2.5 million light years away!

May the force be with you.

Moon Frost


Writing by moonlight on white paper, red pen
Out the window, black trees grow in a frost field sea

Simple silence to this early morning glee, broken
By fog horn regularly warning of the dangers to be

Yet, I, safely surrounded by glistening white lands,
Hear the horn sounds,
And desires are for the ocean’s calls.

Out the clear glass pane, where
A yellow feather clings,
After the bird hits and falls;

I watch the cloud change colors passing by the moon.