small stones – May 22, 2016


I dream of you, my darlings
so far far away
in distant worlds and spaces
galaxies apart
and sometimes I wonder
will I see you again
or are you just the imaginings
of my feebled brain?



small stones – February 24, 2016


art credit: Contemplation by Maurice Fillonneau

Precious memories arise
leave me longing
for those days wrapped
in poetry and prose
living my dream

and then the tragic memories
float by, depression
and pain, a mind void
of the chattering of muses
no poetry or prose flows

And as I sit here
I am reminded of how quickly
a life can journey
from health to sickness
to health and dreams once more

Walking in Dreams

A sad reminder that lost love often ends up feeling like all of the time spent has become mere dreams…
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It’s all slipping away,
each shiny minute you were mine.

We crumble as we fall,
ancient shards on frozen floors,
and all I see is you,
holding me up,
reminding me to breathe,
proving we existed
even when it felt like
walking in dreams.



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California dreaming

Poetic prose – harsh winter dreams
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Phylor's Blog

18134433468_f9bcfad9c7_kPoppy by Liz West CC BY 2.0

She tapes up picture from calendar by the sink. Ice ferns spread delicate fronds across the window pane. Steam from sink blurs  patterns into condensing smudges. Plunging hands into stove heated water, she stops shivering for a moment. Washes up plate and mug. Knife.

Stokes stove before she bundles up to get more wood. Bitter wind takes her breath away; her eyes almost frozen shut. Don’t loose your way, she thinks, remembering stories of frozen bodies dug out in the spring.

Filling her arms with sticks and logs, she follows her footpath to back screen door slamming in the wind. With a kind of balletic grace she grabs the door, pushes in on the old wooden door with it’s squelching arthritic hinges while balancing her pile of wood. One stick clatters to floor.

Sitting as close to the stove as she can, she wraps her hands around…

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