Golden Lady

Woods edit3

In golden splendor do you sit
among the woods
surrounding your grave.
Romantics have sung
finer songs than I
about the state of your repose
in the autumnal glow.


I walk your path quietly,Woods edit4
hoping to see you barefoot
and tiny behind every tree.
I whisper your poems
like a conjurer,
hoping to lure your ghost
to walk with me.



But you stay quiet in your bower
and leave me to my solitude,Woods edit5
only dropping a polished acorn
onto the path like a consolation
for your missed company;
a sun-warmed promise
of next year’s spring.




It’s okay

To Justina 2.0

Prayers, Opus 40, Saugerties, NY ©2015

Guess what?

We are always going to be okay.
We really are.
Everything hurts, then feels good,
and then hurts again…
But in the end, the sun rises, and our hearts beat.
We hug, and sing in our cars,
and sip warm coffee from favorite mugs.
We love and we lose,
and smooth our hands
over cold stones in the river.
We stand naked in the pale light of dawn
and count the breath that leaves
warm from the heat of our lungs.
And feel small and alone,
a bundle of skin holding together a vast consciousness,
laying on the surface of a speck in the universe.

And it’s okay.
It always will be.



Sacred Vessel

Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY
Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY


Am I looking in the right places?
Fragments of you scattered
across blank pages
and left in empty rooms.

I’m searching for you
in the shelves of libraries,
and in the silent shadows
of abandoned cemeteries.

I swear I hear you,
when I’m walking away
quickly from the crowd,
and in the dark of my room.

At times I feel you,
lovesick and tender;
broken by the plot line or
made full by the act of kindness.

I’m alone with you now
in the quiet galleries,
beneath the goddess
showing me the way.

Weathered finger pointing
to the seat of your throne,
close to my core and
surrounding all I am.


The quietest breeze

“How strange a thing is death, bringing to his knees, bringing to his antlers
The buck in the snow.”

~Edna St. Vincent Millay

The quietest breeze
was caressing my face,
trying to lovingly erase
sudden tears from my warm,
sodden skin.

His voice was echoing
your words into the wind.

The wounded buck,
dead seventy-plus years
in winters snow,
overlay the idyllic green pasture;
his blood stained my sight.

Your words were shattering
my heart on the hill.

There was a breach in time
surrounding the hemlocks,
and grey rain clouds carried me
back into your world
with my own fractured pain.

I was walking through poetry
into your vision.

Too soon the skies opened,
and the waking dream
was broken
by the mists of rain falling
and the knowledge of the hour.

And your words will ever find me
haunting your gardens at twilight.


Written after visiting Steepletop, the final home of Edna St. Vincent Millay.




Prayers for the Open Road


At dawn’s light,
I rose to the aching.
Distinct and familiar,
it’s like an old friend.
I took to the road
to sit with it’s company;
a co-pilot in the seat beside me,
it needed to be heard.

Music and backroads,
rolling clouds and solace.
There are promises
and breakdowns
not meant for other’s ears.
So I talk to god and myself;
constantly being undone
by the green of new leaves
and the persistent  blue sky
reminding me I’m alive.

My passenger is now silent,
knowing I’ve listened.
Aware that I grasp
for that which I cannot have;
falling in love
with the impossible outcome.
I know this ache
like I know the touch
of her skin
when it’s warmed
by my palm;
like I know the pattern
of the river
that winds through the city
in my dreams.

I know all of the prayers
I have offered
on the open road;
shining stones and coins,
offerings left
in place of my own blood.
It’s a conversation that
will never be enough,
even when balance is maintained.
My passenger sits,
a still reminder
of the silent dreams
I carry every day.




“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing that I wanted to do.”

― Georgia O’Keeffe

Fearlessness is never about being unafraid, it is about moving forward into the scary places, despite the fear.

When I first started really studying the work of O’Keeffe, I was drawn to the beauty of her desert landscapes. The openness of the skies, the amazing textures and colors, it all seemed like an alien world in comparison to my own.

I wanted to see those skies. 
And so, years later, I went ahead and finally planned my own trip. Now, keep in mind, this was my first time on a plane, my first time this far from home, and my first time taking a trip without anyone else close by me.
I was never more frightened.
And I never felt so alive.

Touching down in Albuquerque for the first time, was an experience I can not describe. I was exhilarated and completely alone. I was stepping so far outside of my own boundaries that I felt someone might try and stop me.
But no one ever did.
And I never stopped feeling the desire to leave the confines of my own safety net, despite my constant fear of the unknown. You see, I am a creature of habit and comfort. I love my little Hobbit hole and it’s safety. Like Bilbo Baggins, I would insist that, “I have no use for adventures. Nasty, disturbing, and uncomfortable things.” BUT, when I decide to push beyond the those ideas of being uncomfortable and disturbed, I find my place of fearlessness.

For me, travel, and exploring new places has become my way of growing past the confines I’ve built around myself. I want to always push myself further, and touch upon the places that are difficult for me to be at ease. This does not mean I want to search out that which is harmful, but instead I want to continue to find the unknown places inside of my heart that I have yet to enter.

She was so warm
by the fire,
tea cup in hand
and a book upon her lap.
she heard the howl
of a wolf,
or perhaps a dragon,
and she shivered
with fear and…
What was that sound?
Surely, she must find out!
What good is waiting here
to be consumed
when she can open the door
and look the predator
square in the eye?

Throwing on
her warmest coat
and shouldering
her bag of tricks,
she headed out
for the howl she still heard.
Crossing the threshold,
it was so loud in her ears.
And every step
into the unknown
brought the shiver
she thought was
healthy fear.

But as her journey continued,
and many adventures
were had,
she found moving
towards the howling
made it fade
into a purr.
And the wolf,
or dragon,
that moved her soul
out of her front door,
lived within 
her very brave heart.


Post Script: Dearest Readers, if you have a place that delights you, and you think I would like to visit, please share it with me! I intend to make this life a living, breathing adventure! I am open to stories and suggestions. You can comment here, or email me at
Thank you for visiting this page. May your life be full of joy!