A blogging friend passed away before Thanksgiving after a long hard fight with Cancer. He liked this poem I wrote about the life cycle of depression and it seemed a good one to say goodbye with. My prayers of comfort and peace for his wife. RIP Dennis McHale. Earth dropped away from feet long gone…


I stand like a tree Wearing my storms As the seasons Break and mend me Sometimes naked Vulnerabilities exposed But many other times As my rings Of wisdom grow I’m a beautiful refuge Fully clothed With my strength And my resiliency Secretly hidden Beneath my boughs


I broke down In a place Called Famine Wishes On my back Good intentions Safely packed Sacred shrines Built with Dry split bones Line streets Paved with Bricks of mold A hungry place With liquid teeth And too many Stranger things Upside down Reciting prayers Of starving dread Too many Inky squids Writing love letters…


Using a prompt by Twindaddy a blogger I’ve known for a very long time. What is your oldest memory? Walking with baby fat legs Words hadn’t come yet It was a strange house A woman changed my diaper Gymnastics was on tv Or something sporty and blue Front door was open Old screen door closed…


I wanted to do an acrylic flow painting on this large 4’ x4’ with some red. I tend to gravitate towards gold and blue and wanted to be bolder. I finished it and hung it in a friend’s office for about a year. It looked good there but I wanted to do more with it.…


Tangled up with roots That no longer hunger Soaking up rust Can’t hold on much longer Heavy and weary The oppression stronger Stuck in the mud Nothing to do but slumber Hold me down so I can’t breath To waste away in my mental bunker


The sharp pain Of long thin lines Razored edges Were like black Electrical breakers Disrupting, flipping Harmful impulses And runaway thoughts Once upon a time This was my Horror story That felt like life But was more like Hurry up and die The static was loud Turn the channel He kept saying Just… you know…


The grass is still wet And the ground is warm Roots drink in water Ants make their tunnels Worms lazily burrow A symphony of sounds If one could hear them Through soil and stone But the dead don’t hear Not like the living do The dead are listening The way the universe does


It was perfect A sphere String Wrapped up Just sitting Silent On her lap Sunshine colors Soft to touch Strong fibers Destined For greatness Before suddenly Falling hard To the floor Unraveling Unraveling Unraveling Unraveling Unraveling


I tore out all my hair And watched it Like a tumbleweed Float softly like Cotton candy strings Dancing in the breeze Further and further Away from me Never again a part of me