Ripe, the words,
in skies and seas
in sunset’s linger
in summer’s breeze.
Plump, the words,
in rain-filled clouds
or mist-less air
the view surrounds.
the thoughts arouse.
Spiced, the words,
in rushing streams
in forests deep
with endless dreams.
Find them, hold them, smell them, taste!
Interweave what nature’s graced.
**
(The handwriting in the above photoshopped image belongs to John Steinbeck, author)
The conditions, in its favor
The moment of magic, short-lived
But when it happens, we all stop
to look
to admire
to take pictures for safe-keeping that will always be a reminder –
There might not always be a pot of gold, but if you remember to look,
there will always be something that will blush for our benefit.
via Blush
But if you prefer silence …
image credit of snail
image credit of children laughing
image credit of carousel
image credit of Preservation Hall
image credit of waterfall
via Noise
Each time I see the color pink
I blink to clear my eyes
because that hue before me
makes me want to immunize
It’s not that I hate girly things
assigned to that one color
it’s just that if I owned that tint
my closet, it would holler
But any other color always
makes my eyes squint smiles
I wear them any time or place
with flair, in every style
There is one way that’s quite okay
(and nothing is for naught)
in nature pink that sizzles
is the one that I call “hot.”
photo credit
via Blink
Once you get rid of the riffraff, the world is calm and beautiful.
I created this image by merging two of my paintings via photoshop.
daily word press prompt: via Riff
I would loathe to be a waterfall
shed constant tears or’r worries wall
A heart of sadness would entail
a final curtain call
But I’d sit on top a streaming run
in early morn ‘fore day’s begun
to feel the soothing water flow
awaiting for the sun
Each day that passes I’d proudly stand
to watch the torrent, water fanned
and listen as it plays the tune
of nature’s gift well planned
But to live beneath the fountain’s pour
unbroken moments of encore
inhale the mist of motioned life
I’d want for nothing more
photo 1: credit by Jim Warren Art
photo 2: credit
photo 3: painted by self (after another artist who’s painting I unfortunately can’t locate to give due credit)
photo 4: credit
I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.
He, trying to alleviate our pain.
But I heard, through his bravado
the saddened beat of my heart
submerged in deep water
no knowledge of how to stay afloat
grief no words could express
He said,
“Remember the sandhill crane?”
How could I forget?
Long necks
the sound of their rattle calls
broad wings flying over
ancestral farmland
He said,
“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time
replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field
She keeps moving forward.
She never stops.
She is you
and she is me.
Our fields, too deep to forget
Too vast to go away.
I will never truly leave you”
“Is this the way of things, Papa?”
“Ja, mein liebes.”
“It is,” he smiled.
Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies”
Photo credit
I grow my flowers lovingly
I touch, their pedals sigh
from knowing of their task in life
–delight and mystify.
The rose, it’s thorns protective, pierce
a skin, naive of threat
but once a droplet, red, descends
the memory’s inset
As the milkweed draws the monarchs
quite stupefied am I
to learn a universe as this
creates to gratify.
Early artwork by CD-W (I guess because of its simplicity, it’s still one of my favorites)
… the snapping of my hidden camera?
I hope it made them smile
and gifted them
with a greater appreciation
for themselves
and their surroundings
a heart-held knowing
that their beautiful moment
has been captured in time
Author Perfectly Flawed 