poetry

honeydew

honeydew

last bites of summer

in a honeydew bed

as drips of venus

and autumn leaves

wed

It is the power of our senses that offer such inspiration to the creative within us and my taste buds often rise to treat me with such.

Honeydew, to me, tastes and feels like summer. I’m easily transported on a rainy day to the sunny shores of a lakeside getaway.

No matter the season, no matter the day, our senses have the power to take us away, to a memory we cherish or perhaps to where our imagination comes out to play.

I captured this image at twilight along a local trail as the blooms seemed to be dancing with the last bits of sun.

letters

letters

take me to

those once upon a times

where wisteria strolls

and hand written love

was the way

I captured this image while driving through the small town of Rocky Mount, Virginia. This quaint little town instantly drew me in with its simplistic fare and images like this truly commemorate the nostalgia of its streets as I felt I’d truly taken a step back in time.

mist

mist

as the mist of midnight’s steps

cradles the morning caress,

i awaken too,

with a lust for you

I captured this image in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Fairy Stone State Park. I giggled at first sight of the morning’s mist in its stream along the lake at the irony of the parks name. To me, this looked as if a group of fairies were passing through and left their magic behind.

The park, one of Virginia’s first, was opened in 1936, and received its name from the mysterious “fairy stones” found in the area.

The origin of the stones are that of a Christian and Pagan mythology, believed to be that of fairies tears upon hearing of the crucification of Christ. These staurolite crystals are only found in a few places around the world. Virginia, it seems, has the abundance of them while they can also be found in Georgia, New Mexico, Brazil and Switzerland.

Geologists describe their origin as a result of a shift and change in surrounding mountains over time. The dreamer and romantic in me prefers to believe the myths of the fairies and it seems I might have captured a little proof of them. What do you think?

salt: a haiku

salt: a haiku

trimming the distance

salt water blankets bare thoughts

waves caress slowly

I captured this image along the shore of Hatteras Island in the Outer Banks of North Carolina as a storm was approaching.

Bird watching along the shore line is enjoyable to me, in watching their flight, their determined (and sureness) in finding a meal and then those moments, such as I captured here, that their stature looks as if they are finding the shoreline a moment of reflection. Finding that brief moment in their day to simply slow their pace.

a letter from eros

a letter from eros

love is unconditionally true,

as newborn eyes looking back at you


love is quiet, on a rainy day

when holding hands seems to braid colors
into the gray

love is patient, when voice is lost

strength in understanding at every cost


love is a fighter when battles concede

finding equal footing, a tug of war freed


love is clarity when sight is gone

a caress in the dark, curtains drawn


love is loud when tears ignite

a warrior in battle prepared to fight


love is years of day to day

yet living in that first hello
when your lover looks your way

love is simple yet so completely complicated too

as intricate as pieces of a puzzle,

as delicate as the morning dew

love is ageless, knows not of any bounds

worth growing old with

worth walking in the rain to

worth bravely speaking aloud


if love happens to kneel upon your door

greet it gently, sip it slow

for it knows already the way to your core


it need not bound you

no desire to proclaim

you’ll know when it finds you

no matter brief, no matter the refrain


for love is unconditionally true

beyond any scars, eyes that’ll find yours

to see that true you

Listen to me read A Letter from Eros

wild: a haiku

wild: a haiku

in the wild of me

special thoughts rain blissfully

forest grows louder

I captured this image while in one of the bayou’s outside of New Orleans in Louisiana. I love the look (and feel) of Spanish moss and how it seemingly rains throughout the branches of trees. A moment after I captured this image, I found myself beneath this tree, letting the moss trail across my face and couldn’t help but feel as if I was being greeted by its soul. if only we but listen….

benthos

benthos

beyond the shallows

where your waves steep

extracting the flavors of the sea

in the rush of darkness,

i bloom most silently

into this garden of benthos, a blushing bride i become

where you in most ardent steps nakedly roam

clutching the tapestry of emeralds woven about my hair

draping upon the coral of my cheeks lending glitter to the foam

 

cradling the brine that blankets the secrets that i keep

where empty forests speak the language of me

and you, with lips of atlantis, unearth the diamonds of my deep


Listen to me read Benthos

mischief: a haiku

mischief: a haiku

candlelit mischief

flaxen hush blossoms in waltz

waxing flames entwined

We Exhale – Isotherme

The music that accompanies this piece is that of my talented friend and composer, Isotherme, from his album Cinquieme. His musical experiments are that of a meditative journey in ambiance and sound. For more of his music you can visit his collection of albums here.