Thursday June 30, 2011 Pecha Kucha

Sun Rise in Shroud of Smoke


Taos Mountain in Shroud of Smoke

The Mother Mountain

Sacred to Taos Valley

Wrapped in shroud

Smoke weaves

In warm colors of sun rise

Weeps for her children

It’s a disaster for sure

Whisper into the wind

Put it out

Put it out now


Pecha Kucha Night Taos #3

Last night was Pecha Kucha Night Taos #3.  We were greeted with a video from Tokyo, to welcome Taos.  The audio was bad, so I have no idea what was said, except that Pecha Kucha is in 418 cities around the world.  But it was a wonderful turnout.  And the program was varied with so much talent.  If you can find a Pecha Kucha near you, be sure to check it out.

I tried to work on what I wanted to say all day.  Of course it is so different from what I usually do, alone in the studio.  The lights were down, and of course I forgot everything I wanted to say.  I have no idea what I actually said, and hope no one else remembers either?  I did have lots of support.  And it was good to be able to share my work.  Wish you could have been there.

Wednesday June 29, 2011


Wildfire in the Desert

Smoke rises and curls

And with a boney finger

Touches outer space

Weaving fine strands of gray

Into a blanket soft and warm

Cover the valley

Chokes the breath

From young and old

Landscape hidden in thick cloud

Hangs in the air

Whispers secrets that are burning

Not so very far away

Woodland critters

Cannot get away

Trees can’t run

They see it coming

Still they stand

As if the fire won’t burn

Their branches

And all that rest there

Hot breath of the demon

Known as fire

Red and yellow

Hot as hell

Do the devil’s work

Burn the desert

Ring the bells

Scar the landscape

Smoke tumbles into the valley

Pray for rain

To quench the fire

Map of location of Fire
Smoke from Wildfire

Tuesday June 28, 2011 Magpie Tales

Magpie Tale #71

Holding Pattern

Boats sail on lemon drop skies

Seem to be in holding pattern

Follow the flow

Sails billow

Sailors dream of far away ports

Adventure at farside of the world


Drums roll


Old mariner tells the tale

Of long ago

Sight the star patterns

Mark the charts

Sail for the dark continent

Fill the hole

With live cargo

Black as ebony


Bring a good price on the block


Time of shame

Never look back

Chains drag scrape the deck

Songs sung low to heal cracked

Broken hearts never to return

To land of birth

Masters are cruel

Take away freedom’s breath

Captives blood is ink

Dip the pen

Tell the tale


Drums roll

Monday June 27, 2011 Wildfires in New Mexico



Wild Fires in New Mexico

This morning

I thought the sky

Looked like rain

So thick it was

But now it’s light

The valley is full of smoke

Two fires burn

Just over the mountain

This summer is so dry and hot

New Mexico burnes

Just a little at a time

Fire crews from Montana

Were on the scene at once

The forests are a tender box

No one knows where

The smoke will rise again

It’s not an ordinary place

Once burned new growth is slow to return

In northern New Mexico

It’s high montain desert

The scars will last a life time

Sunday June 26, 2011 Sunday Whirl

Abstract Drawing

Sunday Whirl


In the silence of the studio

The artist inhales inspiration

Ideas flit from heart to head to hand

There in the penumbra

Shades are found

Shades between the perfect shadow

Shades so close in value they almost become a haze

Shapes created upon the surface

Shades of oxidized copper

Gracefully fill the plane

Sands of time slip through the shaded glass

Peppery graphite kisses add the needed spice

Saturday June 25, 2011 Writer’s Island/ Sunday Scribbling

The future

Writer’s Island prompt Vision of the Future

Vision of the Future

The vision of the future

Is blurred

No hard edges

And it is not a place

About which one can feel secure

Dire predictions

Are made daily

On the news

But who is to say for sure

Follow the thread

Rack and ruin

I never hear anyone

Say anything positive

Nothing to hang your hat on

For all practical purposes

Life on this planet is over

Dead and gone

Make do with less

Nothing to hope for

No dreams to dream

And yet life seems to go on

One day at a time

After all we are yesterday’s

Vision of the future


Sunday Scribbling Prompt #273  Give


The GiftThe Gift

Too often we think of “give”

As “give” to me

“Give” me your hand

“Give me your promise

“give” me your heart

How close “me ” follows “give”


Maybe better

We allow “me” to lead the way

Change the question

What can I give

Let me “give” to “you”

Thursday June 23, 2011 Theme Thursday

Ourselves and Others

Theme Thursday prompt soft

“Be soft, even if you stand to get squashed.”  E.M. Forster

Ourselves and Others

Soft and it’s companion gentle

What we should  be when

Dealing with ourselves and others

We are all tender

And respond  best to soft… gentle

Almost anything can be said

When clothed in these words

A perfect basket in which

To keep loving kindness

Close at hand

Firm ground on which to stand

When dealing with ourselves

And others

A soft place to land

Teddy Bear

Tuesday June 21, 2011 No Rain/ Magpie #70

Magpie #Magpie #70


Face-scape of a different

Time and place

Name unknown

Still a member of the human race

Family ties a mystery

Profession can only be guessed

Parlor maid, teacher or cook

Author of a book

Writing poems all day long

Singing songs in memory of

Loved ones dead and long gone

A member of the aristocracy

With pinky in the air

Fine porcelain china cup

A lady oh so fair

Sewing tiny stitches

Revealing letters in a sampler

Or did you go to steno school

Taking notation in short hand

Or were you a telephone operator

“Good Morning, Trans-Texas Airlines,

Mr. Byman Wilson’s office.”

Or Mother of children

Learning numbers in school

Count to ten

And then…

You were a Grandmother

Saying nursery rhymes

Little red hen, the sky is falling, rin, tin, tin

Your life is almost over

You don’t

Remember when

The world all changed

Your life was once so busy

And now you are sleeping in

Doesn’t seem to matter if it

Rains or shines

The only things you look forward to

Is the end of the each day

And now you are gone as well

The only thing remaining

Is a black and white photograph

Stacked in a jumble sale

Price 1.99

The value of a life

No one remembers

Who you were

Or how your life began

Or how that life was lived

Or what happened in the end

Still I look upon the image of your face

And know you would do it all again

Sunday June 19, 2022 Poetry Worshop/ Sundaywhirl
Super Nova carves a slit

In middle time sparks fly

Sky explodes lighting the canyon

Hiding places sprinkled with star dust

Gossamer threads wrap sacred serpents

Melody escapes from dried bones

As wind blows lightly echo sounds of flutes

In tangled temples

Mysteries abound

Stories told by the fireside

Etched in memory


Yesterday I went to Santa Fe to a poetry workshop called the Creative Path of Self Knowledge, conducted in conjunction with the Mining the Unconscious art show.  It was conducted by Jane Lipman and Joan Logghe, poet laureate of Santa Fe.  One of the things we did was to write in response to a painting of our choice.  We were to stand in front of the painting, and silently say, “I allow you to see me, empty, transparent… allow yourself to be seen.  I chose a painting by Marcia Oliver (the painting is simular to the picture, but not the same.)  This is my writing.

Floating by Marcia Oliver

It is the morning hour

Bells ring

The sound of drumbeats

Float across the mesa

Like the sound of the

Human heart

Sounds of the crier tear me under

Sun begins it’s assent above the mountain

Purple calls unto green

From the depths

Butterflies rise

Chaos abounds

Lights flash

Echoes resound against canyon walls

Quiet room thrown open

Pure self emerges

Words spoken over words

Dissolve into shadows cast

From morning bright moon

Birds sing welcome to new day

Finding connection to lavendar twilight

Nighttime order descends

The day falls into place

Forty-two black birds

Fly over mesa

Seek their evening rookery