Their song of love echoes electric — they make instruments of their own bodies. The brooch of their abandoned carapace, a horrific delight. I wore them, proud pins, on my childish clothing and in sun tangled hair, beguiled by their terrible claws and bulging eyes– a bejeweled decoration of hot Summer given to me by […]
Club Twenty Seven
[frame][/frame] Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Curt Cobain, Amy Winehouse. Talented and troubled. Too young to leave, too pained to live. Shooting stars, enduring consequence.
Sage Alley
Stark, white heat scalds a fragrant froth of sage, distilled like lavender in the searing blaze. And it sings loud and alive with honeybees, an electric white noise, like standing, human, at the heart of the hive.
bees, fragrance, sage alleyàite còmhnaidh (Dwelling Place)
I am from paper, ink, words, images and spidery handwriting, from Canon, Nideggen, burnt sienna and red ochre, coptic and codex. I am from lands of green, with dark, worked soil, from the adoration of constellations and the heavy scent of woodsmoke in the autumn air. I am from the eagle tree and coyote fire-song, […]
identity, poems, poetry, ScotlandFreumhaich (Rooted)
I am from travel trailers and Cadillacs, from Pepsi and grass-fed beef. I am from rooms filled with smoke, scotch and melancholy, from woods filled with lichen and hope. I am from Ponderosa parks, the Aurora Borealis. I am from bawdy jokes and black hair, from McKay, and Beller and Edward. I am from the […]
Idaho, introspection, poetry, roots, ScotlandWilderness
Wilderness. A concept, more than a reality so named because it is to be preserved and protected from the ravages of human society, now sports parking lots, crowded with humans desperate to spend time in the wilderness.
poems, poetry, wildernessSummer
I swallow summer, whole, like a wild, sweet berry. You shine verdant, sunlit, fruit on a sacred tree.
photographyHouse of Earth and Stems
pale feathered lace blossoms blooming mats of buffalo grass roots so strong as to build houses on the plains grim faced women with grass grown roofs and walls imagine the sweet earth smell of it like the bed of a burrowing owl all roots down and flowers up
photography, poems, poetry