Sunday, November 30, 2014

High Beams

When I drive in the city at night
I never have to use the high beams.
There are lights all around, 
really don't even need headlights,
can barely see my own anyway. 
Recognition comes from 
the reflections of luminescence 
that lie ahead of me.
There is no need for disconcertion,
for the light surrounds.
It is warm, 
Everything can be seen,
the paths to be chosen are illuminated.
When outside the city limits,
way, way, way past the orange glow,
400 miles from the enveloping comfort that I ache for,
down a long, long stretch of uninhabited road,
cutting through towers of old growth forest and ancient glacial rock,
on a moonless, starless night,
darkness ... swallows me up.
The fog that floats in the air 
wraps itself around me,
sealing in the sound of silence.
Insignificance and invisibleness, 
The mark I leave on this world 
all but erased.
No one to see the trails that follow the contours of my face
but I. 
No ears to hear 
the desperate 
fear filled 
gasps in my throat 
but mine.
In the midst of shadows,
the thickness of black,
The Dark Night of the Soul,
I am searching for my light,
trying to find the high beams. 
It is the only thing I have left,
if only a few feet at a time,
that will show me the path to follow.
11 - 29 - 2014

Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Monday, October 6, 2014


I don't watch the news much anymore
It is full of stress and fear
It curls my forehead into trenches of pain
Pain is a part of life
something we all go through
I am learning just that
To go through it
To feel it
Instead of focus on it

There is so much sweetness in the world
that could move into the lens instead
So much softness to give
So much understanding
So much fine detail to appreciate
So much undulation of surface
So many scars to caress
So many tears to kiss

I watched my fathers forehead slowly curl into trenches of pain
as I expressed the past I have endured
Instead of feeling the anger
that I held onto in my years of silence
a sweetness emerged from my core
I recognized the stress and fear
and compassion took its place
I did not wish for him to feel this pain
any more than he wished it for me
I wished to cradle his face in my hands
smooth the trenches away with my palms
kiss the tears from his heart that he could not shed
I wished to tell him that even though I endured
it was ok now
Through my courage to share
and his willingness to listen
the pain was now free to fly away
That bird is caged no more
and I have found my song
It was always there
inside my heart shaped box
I just had to learn
that in order to receive a gift
all you have to do
is open it

Oct. 6th, 2014

Sunday, September 28, 2014


Sometimes the reflection
is easier to look at than the actual sky
When the water is still
details are clearer
colors are richer
light is less intense
The sky itself is so penetrating
the rays from the sun just a little too bright
The warmth is visceral and overwhelms you
The soft skin of the wind brushes your cheeks and holds your face
When the senses are stimulated it is distracting and impossible to see the experience objectively
On the other hand, 
why would you want to 
Experience is not objective
It's not logical
There is no formula 
It pulls and pushes in whatever way the want goes
and if you fight the current, you will drown 
Better to learn how to ride
Close your eyes
Let the moment carry you
Like a ripple that slides across the surface
Or a cloud that transforms with each gust
Or the dancing water diamonds that hypnotize 
Let the trance relieve you from the sky's imposition
But in the evening, or in the morning
when the luminance is soft
You will always return your gaze to the heavens
For the reflected illusion lays only on the surface
and the sky...
It holds no limits
Gets deeper 
the longer you look into it
Is renewed with every passing second
Is made of the very same thing that you are
And even when you turn away
it will always be there

Sept. 28th, 2014

Wednesday, September 3, 2014


Soft, intangible
quick and lucid
Gentle and slippery 
transparent and reflective
The human body is made up of approximately 65% water
Sometimes more
Sometimes less
Beginning with the perfect balance
Changing as time goes by
Dependent upon the physiological need
Determined by environmental influence
Relative to what has been exerted and what has been replenished
Beings in a constant state of flow
dancing around the perfect balance
We try with all our might to stay fixed 
hold perfectly still
then the slack line flexes 
the center is lost
We reach the tipping point
there is no other choice but to fall 
Equilibrium will be achieved when the struggle for control is relinquished 
Only when we learn to flex and sway with movement
no longer pushing against kinetic forces 
that move through our bodies 
from the inside out and back again
Buoyancy is achieved through submersion
surrendering trust to the comfort of cradle
relentless fits of splashing erupt from the depths
Desperate gulps of air ingested in the midst of a loss filled panic
search for the space between drinking and drowning
Fear of not knowing how to swim freezes heartache into place
halting the beauty of liquid
If only I could soften
If only I could soften
If only I could soften
If only the sun could peek out long enough to melt 
iceberg illusions of looming destruction 
into waterfalls of release and relief
Thundering through pain and resistance
rushing to destined direction
swift and rolling
strong, clear and nimble
undulating and sensual

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

At the edge

I am not afraid of heights
I can stand at the edge of a cliff 
and look all the way down 
unflinching, unwavering 
What scares me is the very fact that I am not frightened
Shouldn't I be?
I guess when standing at the edge for so long 
one gets used to the view
One gets used to the shifting winds
the constant readjustment of equilibrium
There is a strength that comes 
from finding sure footing 
maintaining your stance 
no matter what gusts blow by
Maybe it's the sound of my own voice 
echoing back to me after I shout it out 
letting me know that I am really there 
it's not just my imagination
Could be an adrenaline junky hidden deep inside
A junky with commitment issues
rarely ever jumping
Standing at the top 
watching others leap
Vaulting to their destinations
Soaring to new heights
Falling to destruction
Some float like a leaf 
gliding softly to the bottom
The bottom
That's what I am afraid of
What is down there
waiting for me 
What kind of landing will I have
How do I get out when I get there
Will there be someone to catch me
Will I have to climb all the way back to the top
Will I learn to fly 
or will I fall to my end
So many questions
that keep me frozen
time standing still
motionless, fear full, at the edge of the cliff

August 2014

Saturday, August 16, 2014


The sweet cradling arms of silence
They are never empty
Silence always holds something
or maybe I have just never reached the bottom of it
As I sit in the middle of my life, my mess, I reach for the silence, I reach for the bottom
In the past it was often filled with fear, judgement, anger
Fury silently foaming over the edges
Like a river cleaning out the overflow of toxins
Funny how the raging rapids are fast and clear but the still pockets that gather debree bubble with emerging unknown  
I am still scared of the silence 
but I cannot run from it anymore
I need it
I need to lay at the bottom of me and let the silence wash over 
Waves of silence that hold stillness, that hold sadness
Waves that carry anger and grief 
That swallow me in pitch black 
and then fill me with light
Waves that break with understanding
crash into me with gratitude
Waves that bid adieu to the old me 
Waves that push forth the true me 
Lap after gentle lap

August 2014

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Ridin' the bus ... When I can't produce visual art, poetry comes out...hmm

We ridin' the bus
Nobody makes eye contact
but we all look at each other when the time is right
Sizin' each other up
Everyone sits within the safety of their own bubble
YouTube bubble, music bubble, texting bubble, apathy bubble, insecurity bubble
all these fragile little traveling bubbles
just tryin' to float somewhere
without gettin' popped
In the past we held futuristic ideas of individual transportation devices
assuming they would be external
Instead they plug into our ears and draw us inside
until no body sees no body
Except for that little girl
sittin' with her mama
She is watching me 
She is watching me watching
She is re-inventing time travel
Her existence is old fashioned
hearing the world swirl around her
her ears are unplugged
never averting her eyes
not ashamed of her own presence
or the strength of her stare
or the strength of mine
She and I
eyes wide open
we ridin' the bus

Completed in April, 2014

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Figure Drawing 3/4 - movement and music video: narrated by yours truly and produced by Carly Gussert

Saturday, March 15, 2014