Smooth departure

through the ashen dissolution

wander, wander, spin and toil

in the shadow of Celestia’s

frosted netting–

we wonder at the craft

of shade’s eternal touch

molding of the breathless

ageless and the fallen

twilight needling the roots

into the next night’s cycle.


Stone by Stone

Photo by and copyright Neil Alexander.

Stone by Stone

Vines inhale the flesh

The world atone

Stone by Stone

Memories of the haunted-hallowed moan

Of all we’ve wrought, kingly mess

Stone by Stone

Humanity stripped, to rise afresh.

* Hello, all. This, obviously, is my submission to One Shoot Sunday over at One Stop Poetry. It’s more than that, though. I hope you all enjoyed my interview with the talented Neil Alexander, but if you get to the end, you may have noted a little send-off from me and Adam Dustus. Today marks our second-to-last One Shoot Sunday venture.

Without getting into the whys too terribly and boring you all with the details, I’ll suffice to say, sometimes the path splits, and the trail leads us somewhere new. Photography, as writing, is one of my passions in life, and it has been a wonder for me to meet so many talented photographers and to share their insights with you all. It has been a magical thin for this reporter. Yet real life is coming at me something fierce right now, and in a couple months, I’ll be moving to Colorado. It will be wonderful, and the place is certainly a beauty – I cannot wait to go. In the meantime, I’m packing. I’m working freelance. I’m bidding farewell to old friends. And with everyone else departing at One Stop, it seemed, for me, the time to tip my hat to the crowd.

You all have been wonderful, I say that honestly. I have so enjoyed your poetry – and will CONTINUE to enjoy your poetry in the months and years to come. This corner of the blogosphere – it is a wonderful thing, filled with so many creative and wonderful people. I hope you will continue to visit me as well, as I’ll not be leaving….merely because I’m stepping down from One Shoot doesn’t mean I’m departing into a moonless night…I’ll be here, still doing what I do, and enjoying every moment of it.

Cheers, everyone. It has been, and still is, a pleasure.

The Phoenix

A poem for the wonderful Monday Poetry Potluck, as hosted by Jingle Poetry, and those lovely poets Amanda and Kavita! This week’s theme: Magic & Miracles, Wonder & Wizardry. The poem you see below, dubbed “The Phoenix,” was written in my Freshman year of High School, but it certainly seemed to fit this week’s theme – so I hope you enjoy.

Mournful cry

From flickering flame,

The smoke is rising nigh.

Such wondrous radiance –

Its time had come to pass.

The flames wind up its fading form,

As noble creatures hum

A lonely lullaby.

Tick tock-

The moments tick on by-

Ashes lay where fire burned,

The beast is now long gone.

Yet gaze into the ashes-

A surprise is soon at hand-

A beak pokes from desolate dust,

The flames burn bright again!

A bird rises from the ashes of its father-

The cycle begins again.

* If you’re looking for an additional bit of reading, I also encourage you to check out my nod to the Thanksgiving season on One Stop Poetry: A Poetic Monday! I wrote a poem for it called “Of Turkeys and Bounty,” a  work I will be re-posting here a little later in the week, for Thanksgiving holiday. A bit of a history lesson on the holiday is also provided, for our more international audience, who may or may not know of what Thanksgiving is. Enjoy!

Creation and Destruction

She smiled at Nothing

as Music stirred Creation;

Nothing smiled back

as Destruction stalked her wake;

Love stirred in the space between

their sinuous dance.

* To hear it: Creation and Destruction, by Chris Galford

Fire on the Mountain

Perhaps its because neither of these posts come with photos, but today I feel struck with the urge to drop two poems on you. The first was about my night ride through the mountains, and like its predecessor, this one is all in the title: a fire on the mountain. This one in particular saddens me for not capturing, but the fire struck as the evening was coming on, high up in the mountains, and I was caught in my car, in the seat opposite it, far and away from the actual site of the flames. What few shots I did get were marred by the glass and the swirl of the smoke.

Even so, I composed a poem of it, as it still struck me, even from a distance. Fire. Destruction. Beauty. We often focus on the destructive power of fire, but like any other element of our world, there is an unrivaled sense of beauty to it. We fear it, but it is only natural. It may herald destruction, but it is also a forerunner to creation, a key part of the cycle of death and rebirth.

Fire on the Mountain

Black skies loom over the valley—

There’s a fire on the mountain

Like a lighthouse in the night

And the smoke is rising,

Lightning sparks the hills

And only then

The houses in the trees.

Summer Rising

With the daylight break

My heart is near to burst;

In Summer’s glow immersed,

Winter’s madness in my wake.

Mist gathers at my feet,

In swirling, hazy disregard;

But though it batters at my guard

The bird-song forces discrete retreat.


I greet an earth unfurled;

Not a cloud in all the world

To mar the spirits of my morn.