This weeks theme: Joy


This weeks theme: lights


This weeks theme: Wet/Rain


This weeks theme: two


This weeks theme: light


This week's theme: broken


This week's theme: High


This weeks theme: covered


This weeks theme: Yellow


This weeks theme: Wood


This weeks theme: symbolic


This weeks theme: backwards


This weeks theme: Near

Perpetual motion

i can't stop but it's hard

to go. why must i stay ?

everything should flow

but i’m just stuck

unable to move

or even grow

so i succumb

and slowly


i stop

Ruby Tuesday

From last years garden photos. Not really very lucky with growing roses actually. Entering it over at Ruby Tuesdays.


dreamt last night that my father was still alive.
He was sick and in a hospital in Boston.
I walked home from the hospital, so evidently i was living in my old apartment on BeaconHill. I don't remember anything that he said, of him talking, but i do remember holding his hand.strange how the mind works.


Nobody got anywhere in the world by simply being content.
Louis L'Amour

Read more:

Mother's Day 5 AM

the memory of her starting to fade

it's been 37 years

tho I can still conjour her dimples, her smile

the crinkles around her eyes

the small painting of her by my desk helps

the one with her teased blond hair

I never did see her natural auburn hair

except in one picture of her

holding me when i was a baby

in the painting

she’s wearing a high neck leopard blouse

replacing the black she always wore

that i wear now

the sound of her voice

i’m no longer sure of

tho I can almost see her laughing

but maybe she is just smiling

smiling at me,

from that painting of her by my desk

I remember her rubbing my back

as we lay together watching TV

on the plaid couch downstairs

in the finished basement

with the black speckled floor

i'm seven trying on her shoes with no toes

later when i was a teenager, i would sneak into her room

to read the forbidden novels she kept

in the night table

I can see the bottle of Chanel #5

on her black japanese lacquered dresser

tho the scent alludes me now

all these years later


It seems to me that those songs that have been any good, I have nothing much to do with the writing of them. The words have just crawled down my sleeve and come out on the page.” ~Joan Baez


"Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death -- fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant."

—Edna Ferber

50 reasons why i hate winter

Seems this post been getting alot of hits; so i thought it bear reposting; that and utter laziness.

Snow II

The next day the light was better. I probably could get even better shots if i put on boots & went outside. Wonder who went to the shed & why?


This weeks theme: standing


snow falls all around
a soft white numbness descends
it settles over


This weeks theme: shadow


This weeks theme: free week