Only Colors

Rain falls without regard
To impact and discomfort
Footprints left in the path
Waiting to be removed
When next tears flood

A constant ringing in my ears
Cries from lives lost
Climbing the crest of my soul
Pins hammered into my bones
To keep them steady

Looking for details
Searching, scratching, screaming
For details
But there are none

There are only colors

Original oil on canvas “Descending Day” 16″x20″

Feral Before Civility

A family of cubs
Encouraged to fight
Testing mettle

Was a time, when boys were told to go outside and the expectation of no contact for the entire day was acceptable. We ran and fought without permanent damage (most of the time). There were pick up games of street football/baseball. Occasionally we’d head to the school field and play tackle football. No pads or teeth guards. Yeah, some teeth were lost.
We loved our parents and listened to them closely, or suffer the belt, or switch. Stripes kept us in check.
There was an order in the group. The strongest was the unelected leader. We joyfully supported and defended him, unless he was unjust or lacked compassion. In those cases, we walked away.


Everyone loves us
Look at what we like
Measured importance

We’re so famous
But no one tells us
Just look at what we like!

Our taste is impeccable
It make us famous
But no one tells us

Come to my house
We’ll collaborate

Our fame is evidenced
A few clicks
In the search engine

Mind your SEO
Like mowing the lawn
Weed and feed

About living the binary life online….a bit of silliness I guess. Have we become television?
Hyper edited architectural photos – UCSD Live and Learn campus.

Puppet Master

(Sung with Dylanesque/Irish drone)

Somewhere this winter
In the woods of our life
We scrambled to see
Who carried the knife

Who cuts through the fog
Of discontent’s game
That blinded young fool
Who carries no name

The more things change
The more they stay the same
We look to the “leaders”
To confirm our gain

We’re asked to recover
That golden fleece
Brought in by the wolves
Who promise us peace

Verse 2
In the end we found
No ending at all
Just puppet master’s strings
The dance he’ll call

‘Til days that are comin’
When freedom we see
Take the knife of discontentment
And cut ourselves free

Multiple exposure photograph “Waterside” –
Print available here:


The call of spring
A mere splash of color
Descending into a single point of energy

Its power
From the rush of responsibility

One must decide
The lens of perspective
Whether of practical means
Or the freefall
Of climbing
Outside the skin

That blinds the eyes
And reveals the river
Of order among the chaos

We must always see the forest from the trees, but sometimes we just need to get real close to the magic in tiny spaces.
Modified Helios lens