Leap of Faith

“It’s on the strength of observation and reflection that one finds a way. So we must dig and delve unceasingly.” 
― Claude Monet

These draconian schemes sloppily writ
uncertain citizens firmly to tamp
into the pipe—worries gone when it’s lit!
Hardpressed to venture under stars to camp

now the old scriptwriters are fired. Flimsy
play on words, reminiscent of George
Orwell, the omnilegent clearly see
feeble attempts to convince.  Writers, forge

new insights! Dig under heavy war chests
—paid in full by the people in its sights
proclaiming all that is not right.  It’s best
to be present, create anew.  The fight

just fuels the remnants of what’s disappeared.
Here a leaf falls silent, a straight dropping
into the lawn’s embrace.  And what we’ve feared
revealed as story. Greedy, unstopping

stolen wealth convincing millions of us
jobless, homeless, to go somewhere safe, sit
still til this abates, no need for a fuss.
Your new cage ready, so jump in.  You’ll fit!

Bid fear adieu, project your strong desire!
Imagine your creative powers allow
to build a different world.  I’m on fire
ablaze, inspired, composing here right now.

Inspired by: Uncertain, Draconian and Omnilegent and the utmost certainty that Right Now it is imperative to speak truth unwaveringly.

Fight or Flight

Why do I allow these loved

ones to walk all over me?

This anger doesn’t like to be

seen, prefers to weave

into my actions — call it

passive-aggressive if you must —

see what I did there?

Such an integral part of my 

voice, it takes great effort

to separate that single

note from the symphony

of sound I’ve created,

the here I am that crashes

against the molecules existing

quite happily before my entrance.

I’m vibrating with all of these

colors: grief, fear, sadness

and the roiling rage

like a serpent sliding

through it all — catch me

if you can!  I stomp out

into the snow to feel this

groundbreaking emotion,

arrested by the flaming sun

sinking into the purity

of untracked snow.

I am lost in fleeting

loveliness — this will set,

this will melt,

the fury calming once more

as I turn and make a trail.

The last moments of winter

captured, the ire tamped.

There are new “no trespassing”

signs and the bright yellow

crime scene tape prohibits

forward movement.  Right before

I focus my camera, I remove

the welcome mat, replaced

with a painting of a silver-haired

warrior goddess, wicked

arms.  Rouse me at your peril.

Anything can set me off.

Inspired by:  Anything, Integral, and Effort.

And my favorite resource when doing emotional work, an emotions color wheel, this one in particular!

FEAR (False Evidence Appearing Real)

Before dawn, the sky is filled

with two full moons, strange

since at last glimpse midnight,

she was mostly swallowed by

a circular shadow.  Caught in dreams,

I light a candle, reflecting on my

windowpane something significant

I’ve asked to be shown.

Be careful what you ask for,

my true being plastered over

with so many false beliefs

until I am encased in this marble

statue, a derivative


something greater than I can

wrap my mind around.

There is nothing left

to do besides


crunching over the ice

with the bitter cold

stealing my breath

aiming my camera in every direction

in a futile attempt

to capture the beauty

of this instant.


Inspired by the super full moon, the partial lunar eclipse, Lunapics fun filters, and the prompts: Dream, Derivative, Marble and Plaster.

With 88 Perfectly Synchronized Musicians

“This evening I was seized … quite unexpectedly with a burning inspiration…On this occasion I could not overcome my desire and afterwards became… carried away” ~ Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, on composing his Violin Concerto in D major.

I’m in luck, first row center

settling my glamorous wrap as

my wide-eyed measure’s taken

by my neighbor, an adorable three-year-old

Suzuki prodigy, solemn and thrumming

with admonitions and pure joy.

He salutes each new voice

“Viola!” and now “Flute!”

in tones one might reserve for

the discovery of a new galaxy.

I am enchanted by my refreshing

tour guide and his anxious parents relax

as I lean to confer after he announces

each necessary ingredient.  We rise

with the musicians — so close we could touch

the conductor and the young hip violinist

striding onto the stage in a burst of glory.

The first movement grabs us and we are flying

only remembering to breathe in the brief

silence before we are gently

lured back into the second.  Stroked

by all of these dedicated, hidden

hands: the craftsmen who made

these instruments of our delight,

the children in the long and lonely hours

of initiation before this group can claim them.

Singly working toward this moment

when this eager child leads me to magic

a new perception 

the layers of coherence revealed, as

taking my important place, I offer

my ears: the necessary

opening to our conjoined hearts.


Since Tchaikovsky was not a violinist, he sought the advice of Iosif Kotek (almost certainly his lover) on the completion of the solo part. “How lovingly he’s busying himself with my concerto!” Tchaikovsky wrote to his brother Anatoly on the day he completed the new slow movement. “It goes without saying that I would have been able to do nothing without him. He plays it marvelously.”  Tchaikovsky didn’t dare reveal his homosexuality, fearing it would ruin his chances for his work to be performed, and so there is yet another hidden, necessary ingredient in this breathtaking work.  And all hail to Nadezhda von Meck, who financially supported him for 13 years.

Inspired by: Adorable, Symphony

Here’s David Jarrett playing Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D major op 35, if you have 38 minutes.  (Linger for four minutes of applause to settle your heart and enjoy the surprise solo in the final three minutes.)


Every day my friends and I
like playful dogs on the beach
chase the tossed tidbit.
Some catch it in midair
and return it jouncing.
Others of us leap into the rough waves
and emerge shaking
our whole bodies. Some dig deep
into the earth, sniffing out
treasures. We all view
each returning prize, or
as many as our hearts can hold.
I try to watch from a viewing stand
where I distribute likes and follows,
a comment when my head galvanizes
or my heart is splintered by starshine.
None of us have led a gentle life.
Poets, artists, writers, we have risen
from the flames, unbearably disfigured
yet like magicians we transform
our pain into wonder, white doves
pulled from hats impossibly deep.
Sweeping our capes and bowing grandly
to those who say the kindest words,
I see you.
Inspired by The Daily Word Prompt: wonder