My brain is 75% humidy,

which has seeped in

through my skin and

shimmied down to

nerve dentures

that found their mark

and traveled path

of least resistance

settling into the fog

of too much breakfast

on input

and shy conversation

smitten by counting losses,

but curtsied  too in the

fragrance of summer’s violets

on the output.

Poetic Metaphor: Symphony for Cross Country Storming


(an old poem) The line winds are coming. They rumble like planes hidden in the clouds. Out the window my car sits naked to predicted bombardiers. I go about my day with this musical score thundering In the background like … Continue reading

Metaphorical Writing 7/8/2013


This gallery contains 1 photo.

It is quiet and still and does not feel like a Monday.  Nothing is moving outside (not even the birds calling to each other).  There is a gray and cloudless sky, so gray the trees are colored by it with … Continue reading

Metaphorical Writing with Photo for 6/10/2013


This gallery contains 2 photos.

I don’t believe it when the sun comes out.  You’d have to live in MN to understand the rotting May and June plants gone to mold, though some succeeded in spite of it all.  Three days weather report:  Saturday sun … Continue reading

Metaphorical Writing for 5/2/2013


Again the ice preceding snow hit early on my back wondering if it was in disfavor with the weather.  My back and I were not being favored, and I can still feel where it hit, as if waiting for me … Continue reading