Have you encountered any dragons as yet?
I came upon two yesterday
In a deep wilderness ecology

They were able to, you know
Because they had lost
Their breaths of fire
Lucky, cause they are in love
And kissing is very difficult
If you are angry.


Greed and Speed

Into the marvelous immensity of Big Sur
We crawl
With Molly the trailer in tow
Navigating strenuous sinuousities of twist
That manifest vistas of the billowing surges
Of turquoise sea combating ancient stone


To see them, one must go slowly
But apparently no one told the
Tourists pressing accelerators to pass us
Intent on their scram into crammed parking lots
For those  views recommended in guidebooks
I admit that a good one
Is the waterfall plunging to the sea
For a ‘We Were Here’ Selfie

They sometimes abandon their cars on the narrow road…
Just one more ‘gotta have, to die for’ selfie

But were you in Big Sur?

Did you marvel at the liquid mellifluents trilled by thrushes
Wrens and tits?
The harsh calls of curious Jays
The clicks of hummingbirds shooting neon darts
Into your day?

Did you smell the scent wafts
Of the Goddess’s perfume
As she tends to her gardens in Big Sur
The unexpected wild rose brambles
Cleveland Sage’s blue spikes
White, black and coastal sages
Licorice anise amidst pungent sage
Baked in sun light’s kiln
Fermented by fogs
Borne of the wind on breeze?
And was your heart not stilled by silences?

No, you say
Well, then why have you come to such a sacred shrine?
This clamoring for Big Sur and its attributes
Has created a conga line
Of cars, buses, RVs and vans
That by its very nature
Dispatches its essence
They come craving ‘something’, but what I wonder
Do they even know?
Hey there!  In case you didn’t know —
Henry Miller and the artists have left
They no longer can afford the rentals.

The Pacific Grove Pine Cone has annnounced
That perhaps there will be a lottery for entrance
I propose that instead of a lottery
There be an annual contest of art
And all who endeavor to capture muses may enter
In this way Big Sur might remain a sanctuary
Reserved for Artists with Poetry
With Music with Paint in their souls
The rest of the visitors can attend
A Big Screen event at IMAX
Or if they are too busy…download it to their phone
Or buy a book of photographs when they are
Turned away at the gate.

Or better yet, they can woo their own quintessence….

2016-05-11 20.15.22




The tide recedes
Waves bouncing off the land
As big as those arriving

The sea bird glides on a hunt
And the great rocks
Remain evermore silent.



The line of ocean
Is indiscernible from the sky
The sea reflects a misery

A fishing boat has reached the edge
And has fallen off


Jungle Dawn


I awaken with the Jungle’s Dawning

A deafening cacophony
By its creatures and their insistent lyricisms

The monkeys commence with their
Bassooning vibrations of Howl

Converging with the squawking fracas of Arias
Chorused raucously by flocks of green parrots

Whimsicalled by the tootings of mating Pheasants
While the rhythm section is supplied by the wa-hooed monotones of the Doves…

All so as to call me to prayer
To call me to prayer…..

Namaste to this limitless world


Death is nothing at all

desert sky chair person b&w

Death is nothing at all..it does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name. Put no difference into your tone.
Life means all that it ever meant. There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somwhere very near, just around the corner.

All is well…


A Writer’s Night

Many nights I am awoken
Sentences formulating
Gathering mysteriously as clouds expand with the mists
Pathways for explorations…
So unlike the days not so long ago
When I strove for the light
Cloistered with boxes of 3 X 5 cards
Aghast at my own stagnation
But I persisted…I persisted…
With a faith that was not a faith
But only a yearning and an intention…

Why my psyche concorded
To attend with its consciousnesses
To arouse me with conversations
Inspired by nocturnal travels
Will probably be not known.

Yet I now journey and play in worlds
Deeply integrated with
Mind, heart and spirit.

This is the only world within which
I wish to live…
For you see, I am an artist…..
Flourishing within the mysteries.


Easter Island statues moon star sky


The Granting

I awoke this morning to a life I have been dreaming of…
for twenty five years…it has manifested…




             A Dawning…
             Muses Inspire…
             Spells Imbue…
             The Bones of Story Evolve…..

Dharma Do

My heart is awash in billows of gratitude.  Finally, after so many years of my ‘gypsy life’, movement hither, thither and yon that hindered progress on Destiny’s Consent, I am once again at work birthing the next sequel.

This is my special space here in the jungle. It is Laura Shepard Townsend’s space. It is her room. It is my writing room.  Everything is here…my books, my notes….my boxes and boxes of 3X5 cards. They sit on the floor beside me awaiting the creation of scenes. Who is Angelica Grastende in 1926 to 1932?  She is a flyer…yes!!


It is here that I live within my story: the next part of the dream I dreamt so many many years ago. I now live among the Mysteries.  I summon the Muses for assistance.

I look to the walls; Pat and my Mother smile inspirations upon me. Delores Hanney is there in a review published in The Venice Beachhead.

The desk at which I sit is a Chinese altar bearing talismans for lyrical clarity: a quill pen carved with mythical symbols leaning amidst crystals; an antique brass ruler engraved with dragons; a pen studded with jewels; amulet stones gathered from many places.  Beside me is a lacquered screen with carved gemstones in the shapes of flowers……mmmm….all of my treasures.

A pig with wings…’when pigs fly’ and I am at work. I am doing my work, with the gift I was given upon arrival here. It is my dharma. It is my quest.

This is what I believe and what I know.