Author’s Note:

To my lovely followers I must apologize. I want to let you know why I haven’t posted in quite a while. I’ve been busy on this project.

Another apology. This post is loooooong. However, if you have the time, I would love for you to stick with it….

After two months of writing every day – Poetry Postcard Month and National/Global Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo) – I finally feel comfortable sitting down and writing every day. As a matter of fact, I miss it when it doesn’t work out. I even get a bit grumpy. Not that all the work is good. That’s not the point. I am finding that the more I put down, the more I see. And that is good.

To continue to challenge myself, I am taking a class called Play It Forward sponsored by Tweetspeak Poetry. It is a twelve-week course to help shake me up a bit. I’ve been looking for new inspiration lately. I feel I’ve gotten too serious, or am on the edge of the nefarious “writer’s block.” And I thought this would plunge me into a deep cool pool where I can splash and play and see through some new lenses.

I was right about new lenses. We do play, but the work is deep.

We have weekly themes and an array of resources to experience. Also, taking an “Artist’s Date” weekly as described in Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way is mandatory. This playtime has proven to be rich and fun.

A few weeks ago, our theme was “extremes” and after an Artist’s Date to the Denver Art Museum, I began this project. I plunged into the extreme of the Moon and her cycles – it was a full moon when I started – and my relationship to Spirit. I soon hope to have an Artist’s Statement to accompany the piece.

It combines my photography with my poetry, quotes and definitions. It combines science with Spirit and art. It is done in pencil, ink, and images are manipulated in PicMonkey. It is on recycled drawing paper sized 18’x24′. Framing TBD. I know what I want, but it is a bit larger than when I started out and I need to adjust.

It’s hard to explore the words from the photo. So I below are the images which my poetry encircles, and the definitions, quotes, and labels.




There are birds
at four thirty am
and I am beckoned
from my
deep colorless
to join
in their raucous
anointing of


void. I
begin there and
I hear you.
From nothing, a
beat, infinite pulse,
our indissoluble


In balance
I step hoop’s thin path
like a circus act
where there is no net
only balance
around I spiral
from center
to eternity
our parity


Coming near
closer with all I am
all I own
in the aloneness of being
in the amplitude of that
which enclaves me
I find you
where you’ve
always been
not out
but within


and we dance
to the rhythm
that hums and
chants our constancy


Breath of Life
When we are born,
YH, our first breath.
When we die,
WH, our final release.



 plural noun: foci

  1. the center of interest or activity.
  2. the state or quality of having or producing clear visual definition.
  3. one of the fixed points from which the distances to any point of a given curve, such as an ellipse or parabola, are connected by a linear relation.

An apsis is an extreme point in an object’s orbit.

An equilibrium point is a constant solution to a differential equation.

A differential equation is a mathematical equation that relates some function with its derivatives. In application, the functions usually represent physical quantities, the derivatives represent their rates of change, and the equation defines a relationship between the two.

For any satellite of Earth including the Moon the point of least distance is the perigee and greatest distance the apogee.

-gee Origin of the word: Gaia

Equilibrium, mental or emotional balance; equanimity

apsides, either of two points in an eccentric orbit, one farthest from the center of attraction, the other nearest to the center of attraction.


They live in wisdom
Who see themselves in all and all in them,
Whose love for Spirit has consumed
Every selfish desire and sense craving
Tormenting the heart…
When you move amidst the world of sense
From both attachment and aversion freed,
There comes the peace in which all sorrows end.
And you live in the wisdom of Self…
The Bhagavad Gita

“There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. 
And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost. 
The world will not have it.”
Martha Graham

We each have a tone or note that combines with the notes and tones of the rest of life to create a universal song.
Sandra Ingerman

When we surrender the need to figure it all out and cultivate the ability to let it all in, then our Earth walk becomes a sacred dance of healing service on the planet. More than the world needs saving, it needs loving.
don Oscar Miro-Quesada



Arise, a haibun




She hid under lush leaves of summer hoping to be lost to the gatherer’s touch. Deep inside she watched as gentle fingers lifted pieces to be housed in safety over winter’s time. And snow came. Cold endured by only the strongest. Rain to quench when dry days lingered too long. Finally, she let herself be noticed as sun grew long and earth made way for new growth. Her journey complete, a jubilant wink greeted her summer friend.

rain feeds earth
spirit grows within
life ascends







Author’s Note:

Today is a preview, an Early-Bird Prompt for NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month.

This is a haibun.

What a wonderful start!

Soon…NaPoWriMo and GloPoWriMo

This month following Peace Poetry Postcard Month only saw two pieces of writing from my nimble little fingers. Both of these came from work with my writer’s group. Thank goodness for this wonderful group or there would have been nothing.

To get ready for National Poetry Writing Month AND Global Poetry Writing Month, I am offering a last piece of narrative for a while.  You might read about Peter a few weeks ago. And maybe you read Shards. I have no character name for her as of yet, but the list is growing. Today you meet Yanna.

Each of us in the writing group was challenged to use: vigorous, idle, misfortune, photograph, misery, sunburned, continually, proprietor, foaming, amiably. My cliche, which I didn’t use: Sit on the fence. And my opening line: Three days of hard freeze…



Three days of hard freeze crept through the grass making it crisp emerald spikes standing like a tiny but eternal forest. It was a good thing Yanna was smallish.

Yanna called herself “smallish.” Being small wasn’t a misfortune when one could walk through a crisp emerald forest without notice. Yes. She was smallish.

She found comfort in not being noticed. Yanna could slip through and around without an eyelash blinking at her passing. She could stand in a corner and watch those silly big ones thrash about in the misery of their large lives. She could place a piece of bread where it was needed. Then she would melt into the blooms without notice when spring was full.

This was Yanna’s gift. She really was just smallish. She wasn’t a faerie or sprite. She was a regular woman. She was no smaller than a petite dancer en pointe, but no one ever noticed her. Her misfortune would come when she needed to be big, foaming, sunburned from the flame of passion.

Today Yanna was idle in the frost. She rested the pads of her fingers on the green icy spikes. Little by little adding more pressure pushing down, waiting for a breaking point. Her’s. Not the grass.

“Please, don’t do that.” A voice from behind startled her. She stopped but didn’t turn around.

Someone noticed her.

She pushed her hand down once more, but ever so faintly.

With more force the voice came again, “Don’t do that.”

So she stopped. Yanna wanted to look behind her. It was a deep, mellow voice. Somehow, it seemed peaceful in its request.

She felt a presence slowly sitting behind her. He must have been close. She felt a warmth starting to encompass her. Within in seconds the crystallized grass she was kneeling on and the grass under her hand melted back to its early spring vigor. There was a neat circle of deep soft green girlding them.

She wished she had a camera. If she did, she would turn quickly, use it, and disappear. Yanna was not only smallish, but she was quick. She wanted a photograph to look at later when she was safely tucked away where he wouldn’t be. Where he couldn’t be because he was big and she had a smallish room in a smallish house with a door hidden under moss and greens and windows only a smallish person could look through and see.

Again, his words flowed warming their circle. He was poetry she could not and would not ever remember. He was the proprietor of a shop of words that would bring healing and rest, two things she didn’t realize she needed.

Amiably, his words continued to spiral around and around her as ice melted into earth quenching roots, not just outward leaves. Nourishing her heart and soul, not just her body.

It was just what the first day of spring yearned for after dry winter days that crumbled and cracked Yanna’s heart.