between, sweat and lace …

far away through the antique doors

smaller then the


in the eyes of

a child –

hardwood floors

and shadow walls

warmth in a naked

sigh –

dolls, they dance

inside night

inside alone

and eyes

in wide color depth , they sing

whispers inside light

sky on a smaller window


quilted sheets

and hard naked sleeps

a man between a

fingered dream

wrote a play

and no one came

and she sings a

lingering song

sweat behind her ears

and lines beneath her eyes

to mark the years

who is counting


a hard skinned woman –

younger then the

memory, the memory drifting by .

does she love the single name

the dance of window caught rain

things that stay the same

and deeper


do the long desert winds ,

riding off the rockies’ sigh

still so near

there in her dolls’ room

and its sky view ,

still hold

her name –

fingers through yellow hair

quick deep breaths


sweat and lace




dualities; the child and mother form

tears of birth,

motion in motion

moments in rage

silent bodies’

scream –

for the world has grown in one

and a woman's body belongs

about in its child's


touch within

never more

and yet


do the lines hold,

through wind or air

through distance

age grows in her eyes

so ever tired

in all the distance and not

from all the running –

how quiet never is the sleep in

her eyes

golden in black –

her bodies mind


where all rational seams

lie quiet below

the calls of reality

dualities untorn

the child and mother form/

your eyes fall behind the

color of their dreams

within the silent screams

that are your bodies’

fall –

from grace

but into the sea

where each motion beyond

is a call to your


in waves of touch

without light

morning is night, is morning

where the years of a child's birth

are moments apart

within the body of a woman

and rational thought

is wrought


to the liquid question of reality

tears heard deep in

her soul

from a child

in distance

as an arm within ,

twisting and calling

in its ever young /

in its closeness

in its distance

apart –

sweet woman

your eyes I see

through the tears in your

skin –

in reach for the sounds

you feel within

the sounds from

across the room

sweet woman

in tired unslept eyes

a child is slow in its ever


out from the womb

of your soul –

lonely seas,

if the man

walks in pained distance

rather then, within

lonely seas

if the duality of


grows unseen

; flesh torn from flesh

and a soul

which rages against a bodies’

depth –

of distance and touch /

are the fingers

of the man - who lives to her


alive in their reach,

to the duality of her soul

cold in the waiting - to belong - to child and self.


belonging in the fingers of

the seeding man

who listens

in balance

against her bodies rage

fingers, which hold

unreleased ---




a woman doesn’t cry, where the woman runs . . .

dark waters deep in

a silver cross

a child's fear ,

or love

dark witch clouds

trees reach as

rage silent , torn

from a deep earths

living grave,

a woman runs

across a child's hands /

an artists fingers

no quiet here, deeply alone

too quiet

a world growing old

and too quiet /

a woman runs across

the feet of leaves

dying in their rage ,

to create – in color


from the touch of distance and


to return a season of sun


back filled with the blood

of earth

a gift of art /

or the breath of an

earths soul


dark witch rain , doesn’t fall

deep in the eyes

her eyes

seeing her sights

crossing her nights ,

with whispers

and window pane


and sunlight in

her soul

living the rivers of her memory

the woman doesn’t cry

where the woman


within autumn sunlight rayed

and shadows

surrealism seen through the

tears of a light-winged


adrift on a ride

wind / and a changing

leaves fall

all in a woman's breath


where a woman runs


fear and love

I’ve seen her

there adrift on a leaves death


Running through sunlight,


across naked limbs

And earth graves


a gift of art on her fingers,

caught in its death fall

or / with the

breath of an earths


on her lips

caught in her loves call . . .

caught in her deaths fall .




stone love

glass crystal walls of

silent color

sifting light moment to moment

she rides a still wind stallion white,

in her green-black eyes

deep in the days and nights



always simply, come and go.

crossing the ever long hills

of her dreaming rage

scarlet teared woman on a moon lit

road in black

trees line movement

still petrified

sky fear - stone love

hearts of ancient trust are

lost behind the falls


a golden cage deep beyond the


sky fear - stone love

is tomorrow a never time,

a time for sun torn hair

and eyeless repair

exceptions in her fingers

held tight

by ice moon light

on each day forgotten

and returned

a wind touched

stills her naked skin

easy drift

on yester-time calls

sky fear - stone love

circle roads in black

into stone hedged meadows

of open grass fire

a witches stage

a woman's rage

and / glass crystal walls

are the sails of her


but where silence falls

so- so deeply does

her stone love


longer into her moon lit





sweet child and mirror tree

ice trees through street-lamp,

lit windows

late autumn winds raging

in wordless whispers

or / cries

and in the depth of night

long sweet black sleeps

walk across the

dreams ,

in place

where a child wanders

between still held the rest,

the best of runs /

and color drifts

a red suited man,

dressed in love and want


to cross the child's sighs

and steal into their closet fears

dark or soft , her hair lives in its own

crazed array , her silence

is something to say

brown colored black in her eyes

sit in back , to stage the seams of her

soul - free or for she

christmas ears

christmas tears

dreams without names,

to come and go

where she wanders

mirror tree

color lights and earth green

how dare do we reach to a child's

dreams ,

or is it:

"how dare the child be we"

"sweet child", how deep you dwell,

you are the christmas of my soul

the freedom of my dreams.



where death walks close

what tears do i cry for


so easy coming ,

what tears

do i rage for life

how dare you die,

tear your soul from


death is never like all the rest

only comes ,

and never ,

never does it go ...


and never,

never does it go !




tears of love

tears of love,

where do you stand,


between rain /

and the loving


I know a long-hearted woman

lost in a

morning mist

where reality is unable

to resist,

her new fears

as her sweet eternal years

a man is her soul

in love

where tomorrow is every yesterday

forever …

and time simply drifts

in their way


but where can a woman go


down ice rivers ,

/ through whispering trees

a road where love remembers

yesterday can never end

tomorrow is never lost,


today is the mirror of

her life

sweet breath / sweet whispers

I know a woman,

a long-hearted woman ;

she touches me

as do colors in the wind

in my poets eyes

as I know life

in all its love and pain

tears of love

I know a woman

tears of love,

is the family

that touches

she is the family ,

that touches

she is the family

that is

more then tears of love

in a poets heart

in years of life.




love across the edge

where are the water currents

that bend the wind

against the fall


in a drift of space

tracing unconscious

silence before

the whispering rage of my lungs

I dream not

forgetting forever / and never again

motion through the faces,

I care not to name

catching eternal glimpses

of games

they are playing for

the real

they are playing without


lost in their private emotional


clean pages - empty stages,

forgetting forever / and never again

that sweet highway

hard concrete,

the seams of fingers and dreams

always passing by

an apartment,

built of walls and windows

rain stepping time on

glass doors

a deep sleep,

with a dream to close

in between

or love across the edge

where wind doesn’t care or stare

the whispering rage of my lungs

I dream not

forgetting never / and forever again




alone between wax and silence

ice fingers

cold in their long rest

below ,

flowers draped for peace

wax eyes floating closed

on wax skin

a man alive

where within,


the woman don’t say good-bye

between - their compulsive stage

of tears

years of love and nowhere

to stand

to face an empty


wood and white sheets,

in a death hold,

just beyond empty night streets,

months rest across

the layers of fallen earth

and pictures are dusted in their


where do the words go

in the silence of

an empty bed

a wife cries in the shadows

of her tomorrows

a daughter dreams

of hands calling her back

living remains

swept by the stains

of hospital rhyme,

of no time to

say good-bye

no good byes

no life to hold the words near

when a man dies

too young

and unspoken


and where!

the love must cry

alone between wax

and silence…




in slow time, tree flowers and now…

rhythm dancer,

where are you near

echoes in deep caves

a child,

too young hides her monsters in

the shadows behind doors

and carries her dreams

in the deep pockets of her old red dress.


only slow time could carry her away

a woman, carrying sweat and wind

in the open palms of her


holds the edges of freedom

from a world and time

slowly past,

softly on the tips of her fingers

running in the pockets

of tomorrow

running to the shadow

of a mans warmth

or touch

in the age of her youth

carries dusk-light

drifting in soft dark colors

for love


for echoes and yester-year rhythm


remembering in time slowly -/

dances in her blood

in beat

in song

where song meets a woman

and pockets open to the wind,

the earth learns and


and mornings become

moments of birth

wordless becomes the need

and the child who

needs not remember

becomes the seed

birth and music

woman does she call


to herself

to the wind

to a man

who remembers,

slow the now easy rhyme

where a poet met a woman

where marriage,

is the mating of man

and song

in her eyes

where whispers came

to be just cave echoes

in her soul

where a poet dreams,

a woman is

where a poet sings,

music of touch

catches his soul

in celebration, a long haired man


for magic

for flowers

for love

a woman,

her man their touch

sweet echoes of tomorrow

in slow time,

tree flowers / and now

in celebration…




what dream/what

broken brown earth eyes

try the whispers

of unseen tears


ice and steel ,







black sky

black sky

lazy beautiful black sky

in treeless seasons

my eyes search for time

and distance

so sweet and


find me

here – with nowhere

the edge

a ledge without tomorrows,



but yesterdays blues

flesh tears are the

years, I see etched

in my hands

sand in my tears


no tomorrows

just black sky

starless and slow

with somewhere to go

on the road a book

a dream,

a larger scream…




art in the whisper of vermont open silence

there are tears on

the street

crystal blues,

tears, i rarely carry

with me anymore.

there is a woman, with

art and character change -

with rivers running

the telling lines of

her palms -

with eyes, that bend no

longer as the water runs /

living free and slow

there are rivers - ancient trees that please,

free and slow -

running through places where

women and colors grow.

cold november rhyme,

time in a woman’s hand -

faceless pictures of soft color

lost’ living traces on

empty places,

seen through the echoes of



love before silence

art in the whispers

of vermont open silence,

time - is time

no longer -

and a poet stands where a woman

needs hide no more -

on wooden floors.

just on wooden floors

where the dustless prints of

her naked feet -

follow paths

worn by rivers

rivers of ancient seams –

rivers free and slow -

there are tears on

the street,

crystal blues,

tears. i rarely carry

with me any more ...




water in the soul

moving on a summer day

nothing lost,

but nothing to say

river water runs by free

where fish and/

little people whisper.

light-beams, in an

easy dance

child born – woman free


is the earth touching sky

and she rides


here in the mirror of her birth

we stand for her


but for the wind,

and never far

water in the soul


water in the soul.




who walks her whispers

in water child

sun-timed woman

living on her long


nights - alone in her arms

of love and silence,

too young to say good-bye,

too old

still anymore, to

love and die…

running down water roads,

living between raging dreams

and / illusion

beautiful child / woman unfound,


where is the black flower

that belongs in her

eyes ,

where is the lover who makes

her cry, sweetly

who makes her sigh

deep and long

in the mornings of tomorrow,

in water child,

where is the poet, she

is yet to meet ,

naked in full

dress –

is it but her ageless dreams

who call the water to whisper

and / the wind to wonder ,

black forests and shadows,

what woman dares

to trust their fears,

but water turns life

and wind lives in

the echo

of mornings,

never endless nights

in water child,

a silent river

runs her free

below - her tree chains

of fear

a silent poet’s wind,

walks her

whispers –




drawn in white and pastel colors

woman alone,

hardwood trees are


whispers are the

moments – that linger

all to fast

slowly in the night

warmth is flesh

and the calling in names

tomorrows – are black top streets

running in circles

farther and farther


color in her eyes and dance in her


and love is the game,

what woman dares

never to forget /

what need

or, what greed,

are the wind seeds

that live between her

fingers –

woman alone,

she cries tears when she dares,

but whispers

names when she cares

living between faces

drawn in white and pastel


and when does the child,


stop the running

looking for free

while looking for a place to be

in a man?

looking for a man to see

but when does the woman,


stop the running




an echo in color, of a woman and wind

a quiet moment in silence

where the wind walks with

voice and language

a sharp sight touch of summer color,

trees carry their own


touching , and never touching the earth,

touching breath , sweet green breath

to breathe

a sudden turn in color swept

across my soul

an echo , and only tomorrows

moments of reality unseen

in whispers through my

fingers –

between a woman / ice and concrete


or soft character flow /

and art,

color walking the lines of

freedom ,

searching for reality –

heard an echo

somewhere inside,

where the wind rages ,

where living softly resides

where a woman,

lost a piece of her soul,

and found a piece

of freedom

where a woman,

found a piece of her soul


where man may never tread,

is this where rage

has ever lead,

a poet only hears where

art is free and near

never as it time to sat good-bye,

when color


where wind does always blow

in breath an echo , a poet ever touched

and to quote


between life and death,

such a sweeter breath .




south wind woman call


sweet mercy


for love is down the


pacing the concrete

round & round

dance is a moment

where rage and life

rises above childhood


between street calls and /

long ago silk &

china winds

dance is a trust,

of a woman in the child

with window lace

turning shadows and light

and the man is on the

sidewalk, calling names,

sweet names


sweet mercy,


for she is down the


pacing the concrete

round and round

autumn carries the whispers


her eyes,

winter carries the whispers


her eyes,

winter carries the touch


her fingers,

long warmth / and hard within

south wind woman call,


sweet mercy





echoes of fairy light / and sweet flowered circles

deep in the call of wind,

a forest begins

ancient falls dare remain

an open clearing and free grass

two people love,

from where theirs dreams meet

flowers run free

where touch learns to see

a circle of fairy light

where the whisper is born,

belief - / runs in light caught

within fingers


male within female - children

behind their tears

cold wind runs

the fall of dusk

in mountain shadows

where fire calls to life

the shadows of movement

touch never still

love an endless fill,

fairy light within her eyes

where flavored wind – in the whisper

of shadows

rage lies quietly,

behind a magic call

ancient in the fingered cuts

within her skin - lines of

birth of touch

a woman is the marriage , where

love meets her soul

unlost and free

yesterday is tomorrow

and deep dreams,

and belief

are her run of freedom

sweet touch and

white lace

as he finds her

ever young

as she finds him

ever young

echoes of fairy light

and sweet flavored

circles –




northern woman / in tropical winds

long light in a cold

Northern Morning/

a woman walks stone and wood

walls -

Sound and breath across the

echoes of feet Alive -

out soft glass windows,

flowing down -

tall winter trees begin

carving shadows and sunlight

out of darkness

loving eyes

crossing a silent celtic memory

lone unicorn tapestry

a mirror in her life -

free summer and fields

movement on runs -

northern woman -

with tropical winds

running the strands of her hair

carving memories into wooden

doors of Ancient men

and/ love songs -

she follows the trails of poets'

across pain

across freedom -

there is magic in stone

when northern rains run

surfaces smooth

to mirror sky and her eyes

long blue in moments

woman of

long blue in dreams

, of day love .




warm in blood fear

watching tears frozen warm in

blood fear

deep within

where the wind doesn’t ride

where memories rage

in ice and silence

warm in blood fear

autumn water whispers the

moments of forever,

it’s there I find her - long past a

mornings light - caught wandering

a hold of dusk - shadows touch upon


across rocks reaching sky and

water, staging storms upon sand and

hard earth her dreams were majestic and


long ago

her eyes - windows through

which those dreams were sought

still change in the color of movement

it’s there I find her

watching tears frozen - warm in

blood fear .




early snow

early snow

who stands behind

cold touched windows


in the glow of evening light

fire lit


lost across shadow white drifts

and / star light nakedness

to dream,

of years that come and go

to love

images, how often

fire lit reflections in


and warm outside

and cold free snow

falling to drifts within /

glass rivers where can you go,

when winter stands frozen

and much too free

shadow nights,

in a house that stands, so old

with windows closed by

a wood carved rooms light,

in fire

and so warm to see

memories are but paintings in dust

hanging ever to the side

hanging ever on the wall

in fire

and so warm to see

a child is known to me

sweet wood smoke,

a drift through the turns of my lips, touched

dreams whisper

without memories or mirrors

to hold one free

sweet loving

beneath a winter tree

early snow,

who stands behind

cold touched windows …




the christmas of her eyes

inside the dream of her eyes


time fire warm and /

deep snow falls

outside warm glass

in windows - over

tall walking trees

concrete streets

and / children

rising from ice castles - in games

of free play


christmas lights in the like of


in the touch of tomorrows

trading color echoes before shadows

across the deeper night


christmas lights

; muffler clad mice

build houses in the trunk of

the house tree - waking up

in her dreams

as she sleeps their nights


inside the dream of her eyes,

of toys and magic,

tied within

Santa Claus and candy cane paper

of love

and the people who

carry her inside

she rides

those sweet bells

of christmas –




in water trees


water trees

is , in color light


on beauty

your eyes

they are birth / within my eyes

on this day

a moment

we stop to see

life / is birth

the water circle


to the touch of eyes

leaves in my hands

love between our souls




south china sea wind

spider silk thread

south china sea


laced in crystal

webbed touch

in drift

within a tear /

casting a shadow

to play within her dark haired


behind rice paper

walls - slow painting

fine thread lines

in white

fine thread lines

written black


moments across moments,

the quiet reached


across moments

within a crystal refrain,

within a tear

candle fire


bent shadow trees a dance soundless ,

sweet wind ,

south china sea wind

a child

a palm leaf,

cast to shadow across

black hawaiian sand

with wind tears

beneath her skin /

holding still,

metamorphous /

. . .

taught to wander for touched


in street lamp



holding still

metamorphous /

. . .

a child

taught in the illusion of

everything real

holding still,

metamorphous /

sweet wind,,


for a man

whose eyes

are beyond yesterday

into the endless whisper

of tomorrow

and love

for the trees

who bend

for the river call

for the trees

in a man


spider silk thread

spin - in color

when fingers touch to


as echoes

to a soul

/stained upon a

palm leaf,

sweet south china wind,




street lamp / shadow lit

oil lamp

shadow lit palm tree wall

sound in storm

upon the deep Pacific’s

waters edge ,


and deep in a evenings color

this woman



fingers silent as



black beach sand

her eyes

wandering within eyes


the silence between

memory and shadow /


sweet sweat

slow down a woman’s back

her fingers dance

a poets try

as in crystal light

her eyes


in flesh and years

are the dance in

the curve of her lips


and only when tomorrow returns

does her name

silent witch name


etched across her nakedness

street lamp

shadow lit concrete wall,

love upon a street dance

Polynesian laughter

across open palms

in art , her whispers lie /

black sun sky

where open seas

find a woman - free

so, naked to the


and her black sand





in slow dusk shadows

in slow dusk shadows

slow to time

the seconds , hold still /

concrete whispers to stone

in walls long - but window free

wind is for the whispers

between eyes and soul /

the blues , be they

for evermore

but sweet,

forever sweet.




on the road


I don’t know your name

the silence,

below from where you stand

but where is the


silence where deep water

streams bend

her eyes in the dark

as in music played

on wood unstrung

another’s man,

carries her own whispers

across her fingers

as clear water across her thighs.

and sighs

deep in the daylight

of shadows

soft - tomorrows without mirrors

as, mirrors without tomorrows

water, mountains free into oceans


long haired woman

on the road

walking the wind,

between flesh and /


how easy

do her passing fingers say hello,

never stopping to hear

the poets cry

walking slow

with all the blood

whose blood ,

turning clear in her pack,


I don’t know your name /

long haired woman

on the road



deep sweet water . . .




in a beach front café

in a beach front café

white wine

cool within - dark wood

shadows easy across

a hard white sand sub /

slow long songs

across strings, wood and echo

plays the heat and air

young girls play their naked beach

games - watching - blue eyes

a new york city reply

where, but all the same


between a back-street and white to

browning sand

a song, upbeat

and what retreat,

a woman you love

a distance away

a song in stain ,

against time who remains

touch in a picture without flesh

while the girls dance

the same

evening is slow to cross into

the wooden shadows,

and your glass seems

never empty / never full

slow waves but walk

a song plays

and the loving

so far to its distance

in an empty seat

just across a sanded floor

sweet loving



in a beach front café

salted wood

and evening songs,

louder to the silence of

a slow ocean run,

the distance does it grow

the closer it comes

the shadow on a soul,

drifting - to be white sand

drifting - to be

          - jude



to patti

black sky to evening moon

waxing to full

and rages the dreams,

to silence and almost

a long atlantic breeze


motion to belong, to whisper

your eyes , your lips

holding thighs

and reasons to always why

loving her,

loving you,

loving as water

rage to sand

walking still

love on an ocean long,

waiting for a woman



loving her,

loving you how easy is the


salt in my eyes

years in my sighs,

her eyes are yours

a mirror of sun

burning in heat


sweet steppin’ heat

an image in my soul

where holds no retreat

dusk in a moment

my tears lie unshed

warm rivers of air

across my chest - lie to your touch

woman who is mine

who am I,

tears of sand in salted air


songs of time

and only you,




loving you

in the warm sea wind

and loving you; …




time in stone


between earth and sky

rage whistles ancient tunes

behind my eyes /

the early dark

of mornings - slow in grey,


questions to echoes

where the memory of dreams lie

what streams of travel, in sleep

remembers almost

to a feeling ,

a picture still warming

as ice held too long

still warming

on the air and light stage of

tomorrows to yesterdays

time in stone, for a moment

river moment still

an etching in cloud swelled with

water stain

as a poets eyes

who will love the rain




in magic

dark in nights,

to free sky ,

no reason to live

sweet raging dusk rivers

just the season

the season to fly


deep in your skin

it takes rage to run

it takes rage

to open the reach



and mornings - never

they come

but to the fingers who


on a soul

of mornings and sun

she stands alone - in cold


square edges

and windows to wood

painted white

shadow fall to light,

lamp-lit , the image falls

against cold glass

against frozen rained tears

her eyes floating blue

dark and new

behind the memories, that lie


soft in wall echoes

that lie in wait,

just for a moment

a woman,

her eyes to crystal

but in water

the echo flies.




woman in changeling stress

are you nameless

as you cross a

heavy beamed wooden bridge

your youth a mirror in the

sub lit waves below

moving , always moving

rivers within rivers

tears within ice

your dreams held to crystals

frozen upon your fingertips

are you seen alone

with age a shade of light

adrift in your eyes

and your tries

so deep and unseen

the woman whispers through

your lips - of children to

concrete and wood walls


but it is your soul - crystal sighs

to where

your living rage

passes to the dusk winds

were you born to begin

carving poems – silently

into bridges

were you born to watch

the metal knives of lovers

stealing over your

wooden pages

till your dreams

were but returned to


or is she a woman to a poets eyes

cold only eyes

nameless or free

there or alone

where men and

their worlds

may never


carving into crystals,

of tears and years


on bridges never spoken

carving into crystals,


still-crystals that

may never hide

where a world but silently abides.



Poetry Page