art, city, construction, creative, creative writing, poem, poetry, writing

October 2

A gray sky day,

comforting, glowering.

CAUTION falling rocks 

is what the sign says

at the site next door,

mass excavation.

Some ivy vine or
sort of tree

is revealed to be climbing
the wall of the building

that is staying, for now,
in flat 2D, charcoal,

with just a hint of relief–
it looks like rivers

it looks like veins
it looks like life does

find a way,
just so often hidden,

not as showy
as the brassy machines

ringing out from
the construction pit

too deep now
too see to the bottom,

just negative space
and an impartial sky


September 27

The moon is the moon,
regardless. Some things

are certain, say,
great bodies of water,

stark mountains—
I return to them

as I return to you,
a pilgrim.

That is not to say
I believe

in much, only
that some things

are too familiar to deny,
even this moon, half

-eclipsed, playing at
garnet, even you,

now far again,
but still known, always

known, there is
a landscape,

a knowledge,
that cannot be denied—

when I first
saw your face

it was an act
of remembrance,

what else
is there to say?


Super Moon Lunar Eclipse Extra Special Full Moon Social, Already! #fullmoonsocial


this is becoming a wonderful tradition

Originally posted on Translations from the English:

So apparently it is like not only a massive super moon this weekend, but also a great lunar eclipse starting around 9pm ET here in the Blue Ridge. What better time than this full moon to launch another #fullmoonsocial event on WordPress and Twitter? The eclipse lasts for three hours or so at a pretty optimal time for many of us, though I am looking at a forecast for overcast skies here in VA Sunday night.

We know that for as long as people have been writing poetry, they have written about the moon. Chinese poets made an art form of this during the T’ang and Sung dynasties that in many ways has yet to be rivaled. Viewing the full moon in September is a ritual to take time to think about friends and loved ones we are separated from by distance, even to think of those special to us…

View original 145 more words


September 14

Monday morning mountain comedown
with sunburnt lips and aching legs

in comparison to the alpine
the city is mundane

with its colorless clouds
and effortless grades

it all seemed so clear the higher
I climbed even the goat trails

the bushwacking of trees
the unstable scree slopes

I only know how to enjoy
what it seems I’ve earned

even last night I saw a glacier field
approaching in my dream

until turning back
I woke–


September 1

Late mornings lost hours
lashings of rain

on the faux window deck–
the air is cooler now

easy to breathe in
but being more liquid

more difficult to grasp–
like the concept of letting

a summer go in peace–
the fires are finally now

starting to ebb out
but still I clutch it

in tight fingers
like some scratchy

worn blanket
comforting in its

discomfort like how
I even regret my regrets–



August 29

No moon for all this rain–
I’d almost forgotten how

to say it, how the night
sounds on the eaves,

a fallen world, the maples
heavy with it, the pines’ roots

re-establishing themselves,
how quickly we all forget.

I had a life before this,
with space enough,

and didn’t want
for much, there were

the stars, the moon,
and other silent sentinels,

some emptiness
but I can’t

quite remember
how hollow it felt,

the thought of you
spills in, now,

like warm marrow
in my bones,

or the yellow glow
of the low full moon

that I know is behind
these clouds,

this release, this relief,
I know just how

a parched world

easily, and with such
immense gratitude–

we’ve waited,
after all, oh how

we have been


August 28

Another city night, velvet
-textured, wine-hued,

here on the roof deck,
in a glass bowl

of new construction–
the sharp angles

of stilled cranes flashing
intermittent red–

and sometimes
a night is just

peaceful, I don’t know
what distinguishes it

except this soft,
late, light, the sky

that settles in
like an always

-faithful tide,
a sense

of containment,
yet kind, and spacious–


August 25

What a momentous act
to fold the shirt

and to place it
in the wardrobe

and such a long
long time

since I’ve had
such latitude

so why do I go
about thin-voiced

bird-ish asking
may I may I may I 

befuddled but
like some happier Kafka

I seem to have woken
up with wings



[again thank you all for kind comments– looking forward to catching up on them shortly!]