Bones of creation


Yes, the bones are,


Beneath the flesh.

Nothing hidden.

Nothing left.

Sun piercing,

Through the canopy,

Casting shadows into,



Yes, the ribs are,


Above the chasm,

Where the heart once wept.

Leaves turning,

Beating softly,




Yes, the bones are,


The skull,

Once decapitated,

Still surviving,

Naked truth.

The keys turning,





# First etching


# Playing with possibilities – overprinting, gouache, compressed charcoal.


The Life of Art

Who is the muse?  Sometimes I draw the model. Sometimes I am the model. Sometimes I draw the people drawing the model. Could I draw the people drawing me as I model?  Life is Art and Art is life.



I am totally, unconditionally,

In the present moment.

With women bathing,

Sun seducing,

Wind blowing, sweet

Caresses on my naked

Limbs curled,

Back bent,

Hands busy,

With pencil


On the brink.

River calling,

Trees blessing,

Sky floating,

Canvas waiting,

Goddess gracing,

Nature offering.

I receive.

I’m blessed.

I rest.

If the grass was any greener

If the grass

If the grass was any greener,

I would not stop crying

Tears of joy.

I could not,

Can not,

Delight any more,

Than this moment

Of perfect composition.

If the sky was any bluer,

My smile would break,

The injustices that crouch

In the dark corners,

To shine with delight

In every stolen moment.

Knowing the Tree


Of course you’ll find a home, rustled the seed pods outside my window. What do you need but peace over your head? The dark bird pecked artfully and uttered a startled cry. Use your wings, my love, that’s what they are for. Then she dropped a seed. Peace is only in the mind. The air was still for a moment. Grab hold of the present, sang the red-winged parrot! It’s in your heart. Dewdrops swayed to the song of the rough-grained bark. One small beetle rustled wet leaves. A spider spun. I caught my breath. The time has come.