On the misty mountains
Secrets dwell
Through greenest valleys
And moss strewn Dells
Legends lived
And linger still
We are drawn to home
And we always will




Early Days



The highchair beside the kitchen door

my domain, my view of my world

on the linoleum checker board floor

I played until my knees were sore.


The center of the world to me

I grew to know as my mother

cooking and cleaned while I was free

to grow into what I might be.


A world consisting of black and white

as appropriate as the days television

images remembered vivid and bright

raised by my mother in love and light.




The Wall



Feral roses in all hues,

atop a broken stone wall,

clinging vines of color,

the way that I recall.


Summer days at twelve years old,

held in times embrace,

climb the weeping willow tree,

ever the eternal scapegrace.


In fields of buttered flowers,

I gently cupped your face,

between young trembling hands,

a single kiss was placed.


Autumn now fades to winter,

lace crystal snowflakes fly,

memories held within my heart,

a kiss that was never goodbye.