Thursday, November 30, 2006


"Come with me, Love, and I will show you where
the deadly nightshade blooms, and bittersweet
grows wild and red, and bears such poison meat
as Adam ate. Come eat, Love, if you dare,
and say goodbye to life, my Love. Godspeed!
The spider spins a shroud of webs and roots
of grass and columbine, and tender shoots,
all brittle lace, finespun and filigreed!"

"The grave's a boggy place, my Love, and narrow
is the bed. The night is long and safe,
my Love, the earth is soft, and will not chafe.
I'll come and smile and thank you well tomorrow:
I'll come and bid adieu, but I'll not stay!
I've other fires to spark and tend today!"


Wednesday, November 22, 2006


Thanks to Brianna, in Mrs. Gursky's First Grade Class.



Monday, November 20, 2006

Friday, November 17, 2006

Noodles & The Unholy Ghost

For Dana: See, I told you so. This is a real snapshot, nothing retouched. I didn't see anything in the camera--it was not until the film was developed that the "ghost" showed up. But Noodles obviously sees something. Notice the potato-like nose thingy protruding in both photos!


In the botton photo it looks sort of like a cartoon of Bill Clinton.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


"Writer's Block comes from too much head. Cut off your head. Pegasus, poetry, was born of Medusa when her head was cut off. You have to be reckless when writing. Be as crazy as your conscience allows...."

--Joseph Campbell

And for all my NaNoWriMo buddies: "It takes a heap of loafing to write a novel."

--Gertrude Stein

OK. I'll give it a whirl: LIES IN NOVEMBER

My stone has hands
It sleeps in the cradle
Of my hands,
Drinking my fire
My stone grows hair
In wonderful curls
Down its silky back
It loves the ice
That breaks me
More than it loves me
It sings of boots
Of blackbirds dying
Of the cracking of heaven
My stone knows black and white,
Was there at the hour
Of my birth
Understands cemetaries
Is flexible

Monday, November 13, 2006

The Story Teller

Story Telling was a regular event in American Indian (and other) cultures. The children would gather around and listen as the old folks sang songs and told stories as they had heard them when they were young. So it was that the tribal histories and folktales, religion and customs were passed on from one generation to the next. Grey Wolf Runs With Elk and Willow Woman say the stories were, and are, life itself. Figurines like this one I bought last summer in Nebraska, a woman (usually) surrounded by children were common as early as 400 AD.

I am The Storyteller in my tribe.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Poetry Thursday (Snapshot)

Night risings--listen--
the freefall of an apple
a flurry of wings

Artist: Gerus Igor

Rumsfeld Is Gone!

Ouch! That's gotta hurt!

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Super Sunday

SUPERHERO, that is! :)
Who are those masked men???

Echoes From the Edge

Photo from the Hubble -- September, 2006

Credit: NASA, ESA, & H. Bond, STScI

Thursday, November 02, 2006