Breaking Horses

You are getting closer,

I  can hear the crunch of  soft sand

the skitter of stones beneath your boots.

Your scent fills my flared nostrils

And your hands of steel butterflies

float over  proud  bones  luring me

to the killing fields.

Your   fingers are    the scent of
tanned leather,

I lick them like fresh  flesh wounds.

Your feathered crop gently brushes  my shoulders,

no one can save me now, there is nothing to do,

because you have always known how

to break wild horses.





Autumn fruit

When I was just a shy girl

and you a blonde haired boy

we raced through wheat fields chasing.

Suddenly serious your adventurous

eyes  made me  shiver and your hands

stroked my body for no apparent reason.

I longed for your touch anytime and

kissed you open mouthed without permission.

I adored your mock anger when I hid away

and made you find me and the way you quickly

looked away when caught staring.

Autumn threw its shadow on sprouting

wheat  where we lay naked smooth and wet.

Now I always knock before I enter your

reading room and you softly close your book

and pull me to you fierce, tender,

and unafraid.


 Art by Rob Heffernan



the life cycle of a rose

On a thorny stalk

wrapped in veiny leaves

heavy with the burden

of viscous dew

for the  love of light her

corolla lifts upright

a broad faced still life

anchored to the earth

she tracks the sun across

an unpredictable sky.

At dusk she combs the air

with  sweetness

retreating  at twilight into

pearly pools of the moon.




Photograph by Heart

Metaphor of Birds

Birds twitter in my ear,
my  begging palm opens
expecting metaphors to flutter
down like fire flies, settle softly
on  my life line.
From here I can see the river Delta,
a dark green tarpaulin stretched over
the hemisphere.  It’s murky  waves
reflect on fleeting clouds.
Suspended here in the boredom of life,
sinking in ruins of  past lovers with out
consolation to soothe them,
what’s left of words is refuse,
A cache of cliche, the bitter rind of orange
gnawed and  tossed away.
Where is my simile of stars?
A metaphor of sea oats,
the delicate wings of melodramatic
birds caged in my throat?
Imprisoned beneath  footprints,
the crumbling leaves of winter
grieving debridement.



Artist Unknown


Happy Halloween “)

I’m alone and afraid,  my car abandoned along a deserted highway.  I’ve been walking for a while and my feet are raw ,  I am carrying my shoes in my hand.

When he stops and motions  I hurry to his  door.

Searching his face he seems harmless.     Holding out my cell phone I lie.  ” I will be happy to give you lift,  you  need just get inside”.  When I decline he speeds away.

Browsing the news over morning tea my heart pounds and it is hard to breathe. Her  body was found beneath some trees her shoes clutched in her hand