on the old roman road

July 31, 2007

our bodies
perfectly aligned,
all of the shades of brown between us
, espresso, cocoa, umber, sepia, caramel.
sun kissed and smelling of cardamom and earth
we lay flat the leaves beneath us

and put to memory

the patterns of the trees above us
the blue of the sky
and the buzzing of mosquitoes.

we take nothing for granted,
for heaven is in a moment
a look, a kiss, a touch.

on the old roman road

we carve our initials
into the moss covered tree
and make our own history

the poetry unbroken
and etched into our memories
for songs unsung

we lay silent, eyes closed.
hair spread out on the forest floor,
you begin where i end

and i begin where you end.


returning to seed

April 3, 2007

I’m going down.
I’m going under.
Returning to soil,
returning to seed.
I don’t know where I’ve been,
but it is not here where I belong.
So, I will sleep now and dream of tomorrow,
dream of sun and rain.
I will wake-up and make a garden.
That is what I will do,
wake-up and make a garden.
I will plant the seed of us at the foot of the maple tree,
between the crowning peonies and the silent Buddha.

The long winter’s embers
now ash and cinder,
sit in a cold stove…
waiting to be worked into the soil.

From the kitchen window I watch,
for the unfurling of the magnolia blossoms
and the robin’s Hop! Hop! Hop!
The crocuses have come.
Soon, the forsythia will be a wall of canary
and the scent of purple lilac will fill the dream room.

On the branch of the wild pear tree
there sits a spangled starling.
Each morning I watch for him.
With the sun he comes with the gift of song.
In the breath that moves
through a wooden flute,
in the sigh of the strings of a dilruba,
in the lament of a spanish guitar…
I remember who I am
here in the soil,
here in the seed asleep
dreaming of tomorrow,
dreaming of sun and rain.
I will wake-up and make a garden.
That is what I will do,
wake-up and make a garden.
I will plant the seed of us
with the ash of a long winter
at the foot of the maple tree.
And in an exhale, I will let it all go…
and begin anew.

It is happening.
The promise of spring is here.


February 24, 2007

You make every color go quiet.
Blue is just blue,
but midnight screams your name.
Silence filled,
a cry,
words shrivel in repose.
Night sighs
a sigh,
a lone trumpet
carried on a breath,


you are love.

the bees of bruges

February 15, 2007

I didn’t see him when he first came
he crept in like winter. Suddenly,
the heart
burst open, an in-chanting
a blizzard of bees in december.

1483 Caxton Golden Leg. 208b/2
(72 hours)


February 14, 2007

It is Valentine’s Day and like a gift from cupid himself, a heavy snow has come, leaving a shimmering mantle of beauty on the ashen landscape. With the last light of day fading from my room, the low flames from the wood-stove cast a red glow along the back of Lola as she lays sleeping in it’s warmth. The opening music to Solaris plays on a loop waiting for me to push play, to escape into the strange beauty of it’s imagery.

I knew the storm was coming. But I did not know that today would be the final strike. The blood stains covered over, this was to be our last war cry. My words muffled beneath a blanket of snow, there would be no winning this one. (I retreat in silence and wish you well).

But there is love and spring will come in on his coattails. He is a gold thread pulling me through the long winter. He will come when the ground is no longer frozen and the milkweed seed is sewn. When Autumn comes, we will watch the down drift past these windows carried on a zephyr. And this day spent alone between a cry and a whisper, watching the snow-fall…will be long forgotten.

Paddy Brown

December 14, 2006

when she first saw me
she said that I was tiny
and that an angel had just come into her home
her room was dark
little birds and nests and dream catchers
hung from the low ceiling

she had me sit at a round table
shuffled and cut
an old worn deck of cards
she laid them out like a four tiered fan

she asked me if her dog could say hi
he was blind and jumped on me
she fed him rice crackers

she asked me about my book
said that it was powerful
would I read from it
i flipped thru the pages
reading quickly a poem
revealing my naked words
she said that i lacked self confidence

her hair was natty
she said that she should be careful
not to cuss so goddamn much
there was an angel in the room

she chain smoked
and cussed
and sipped on a bottle of water

she told me that I was born to write
that I didn’t value my gift
in my many lives before

She asked me if I know who I am

she said that I was
a violet orchid soul
and that vibrations move from my hips

she told me that I was
a fine line of coke
that i had the glow…heavenly

she asked me if I knew my gift
that I could help the dying
move to the other side

i could just speak to them and they would pass in peace

she said that my father is on the other side
he looks over me
that i take after him

she said she met her first mermaid recently
that if she started crying
it’s not that she’s sad
it’s just that she is so moved by my presence

she said that I am not Ingrid
I told her that I am Julia
she said yes you are
jewels, a precious jewel

she laughed hard
and made no apologies
for blowing smoke in my face

she told me that
I was from a Kharmic lineage
of painters and writers
I should be painting she said but I am afraid of color

when our time together was up
she asked her blind dog
if they should take my money now and say goodbye

When I stood up
she asked me
what size skirt I wear
I said the smallest

she showed me the door.

mercury 48:27

December 14, 2006

Triosiome Gnoissienne 3:34 grey winter december faded grass green three white birch trees a wood of wet grey maples buddha stone walls fog descending piles of leaves static windless wednesday quiet falling fingers a flurry prepared piano tinker Aphorisming Second 0:25 delicate love lost love letters lost in time Rhythme Bulgare 3:14 pools of water reverberate swimming in dreams remembering forgetting fading blurred colors of memories fainting awaken wings flutter the frost the icy cold freezing the ponds for lovers skating whimsy Aposiopesis 5:16 trickle of notes echo across the breadth of america radio waves television white noise no one listens to their hearts only butterflies dream of spring alight on the heart shaped petals of the lilac sleeping telephone lines streak the skies when i look up nothing is sacred but love itself truth faith fate flower into trust guide us home Gymnopadie No. 1 3:50 black hair falling into ringlets the neck-lace of life sweater jeans black boots hispanic orphan angel girl dreams of snowy winter breathing life deep into lungs free to fly and spirited bold sensual soft heavenly weaving spells with glimmering wings a swallow a brown butterfly a furry caterpillar a sleek black cat a song unsung a dream undreamt a poem unspoken aurora borealis octavia flies into a perfect sky Gymnopadie No. 2 3:13 a dream of love that ends in waking kisses there are deep soul eternal brown eyes velvet take me in and swallow me whole i give myself completely to you i don’t want to wake up i am in love drowning in love with being in love in this dream i plead with the wind be still. Gymnopadie No. 3 2:52 eisoptrophobia i sleep wake make love fly lay-supine curl swell swim mouth murmur maunder meld melt trace tread wallow swirl in you M2s Broken and Together 1:48 green tea cellphone telephone computer Mbox greek mythology gold thread Rilke’s Book of hours candles incense gold buddha bottle with stars lamp headphones cd’s pens pencils journal window Cinquieme Gnossienne 4:40 love loving marriage children divorce life life life living breathing dancing stepping in and out of time kissing embracing sacrifice time no time death slow fate fearless bold responsible sharing falling in love falling out of love waltzing movement static stillness chaos poetry music travel prague san bernadino minneapolis new orleans new york new hampshire india ireland scotland japan italy france germany home Premiere Gnossienne 4:13 december comes in warm the hands by the fire they will turn dry and tell your age but love has no age come december wear-me-in another year on my face take me south in my head wrap me in your frosty blanket mirror my heart with the full moon of another winter here in the north country try to break me i am winter Aphorisming, First 0:51 love where are you there in every face in every gesture i am still here lovers past looking Berceuse 2:04 dream me a night of lover’s play kisses that color the monochrome sky sprinkled like a shower of stars remind me of his tenderness Buciumeana 2:52 12 years gone the ashes buried at the foot of the old sugar maple the earth forgives our heavy footsteps now we are whispering into each other’s ears again ” i will always love you” no matter how far away you go this home is our burial ground Quatriome Gnossienne 2:34 astounded astonished gleaming spellbound starred and dreaming omniscient luminescent luscious gorgeous dreamy brown velvet alluring intriguing discordant beauty january flutter Aphorisming, Third 1:19 sine waves stretched across the atlantic will he love me when he sees me M2s M7s (Fragmented) [Microcosmos, 1926-1937] 1:34 dreams that recur history etched into our child’s heart we are alike wings streaking the open skies the south of america Pe Loc 1:17 songlines i sit here caught on a train east to west across the keys of a piano and a computer Saraband No. 2 2:51 i wonder who you are there in your world of sound waves ascending descending crashing into beautiful white noise a lover calling the 9 muses one by one they come to you mysterious ocean i could live here on this shore of wondering you with your white curtains and dazzling sunlight.

dies Mercurii

running time 48:27

trading shells

October 19, 2006

Yellow leaves are falling from branches like ballerinas… delicately twirling across dirt roads. Milkweed down is rushing past windows, carried by the chilly breath of fall. I am listening to the music of Paul Baran… wallpaper in the dream-room (she whispers-shhh…) a whistle and the turning of pages.

It is October and the sugar maples are ablaze. I squint my eyes to blurr the colors as I drive…braided ribbons of Autumn lining the country roads, bidding farewell. Smoke rising from chimney’s, the air is filled with the smell of the season’s first fires, redolent of peat burning in the Irish countryside (her eyes are closed and dreaming of Connemara).

I am not ready for winter and yet the woodstoves are alight and I tend to them faithfully (who will strike the match when she is gone?). The colors are fading from the landscape and the song of the cricket is gone from the garden. Each day I wake… the trees are a little more naked and the ground… carpeted gold. I take in the frosty air with the scent of fallen leaves as I gather the wood. Soon the clouds will bring the silence of snow and I will fall in love with winter all over again. Angels will appear and the cardinals will return, blood-red omens watching from the sleeping lilac. And night will look like day when the moon is full… sparkling light reflecting from tiny snowflakes. The coyote’s cry will sound more desolate and I will listen for them in the stillness (frozen flowers from her breath form in the windows as she watches for their shadows moving along the edge of the wood).

I am in this room where I spend my nights by fire and moonlight
letting go of everything… dreaming fall into winter,

trading shells.

October 19th

unspoken word

September 26, 2006

there are so many things to say
words could never sum-up you in me,
could never delve the depths.
where am i between
a howling wind war cry
and the grass laying flat
beneath the weight of my descent?
i will lay here and ride the wave
of each tear welling up.
just like your entry
baptized in drizzle,
your exit will be drawn in snow
and no word will go unwritten.
my spoken word a gift un-given
will ride this train ’til it’s end
in silence
and dream you away.

your breath
on the back of my neck

the coming of Autumn

your voice in my head

a sam beam song

the pain in your anger

hum of late summer crickets

the memory of your kiss

sleeping lilacs

the smell of your skin on mine

sandalwood and earth

your back in the doorway

a faded photograph

smoke coiling from a nat sherman

ringlets of a brown butterfly

your body wrapped around mine

a cashmere coat

waking from the dream of us

falling…from a great height.