Friday, April 26, 2013


In evening, the hour of rockwell's light, slanting
Golden across the tree tops, I stand looking
Past these colors

Deepening into perfect. In evening,
Feeling the hint of chill that will echo ever
The soul's sadness.

In evening, no longer overwhelming, only
A constant tingeing rooted sorrow, haunting 
as crying geese. 

Sunday, April 21, 2013


A year ago I was painting on this day, Snow Hill, crying as
My uncle had died and you were not here but a friend was,
Painting with me.

And this year she with another came again and we painted here,
The farm and  your tools hanging until the wallops rocket launched.
You would've enjoyed.

Monday, April 8, 2013


A long time ago I lived between the marsh and the sea.
Lived with the salt smell, the sound of foghorns and waves 
backwashing on pebbles.

Saturday, April 6, 2013


I have sat here many an evening tracking the sun
Along the horizon, along the seasons, the years,
Remembering the love...

Remembering we did love together and as that tug
Pushes on the river, I watch, thinking of how I tell you
My heart thoughts, 

In the keeping of words shared quietly with you, 
I have found strength. You would love me still as
I do you

Monday, April 1, 2013


Amidst cackling guineas and industrious hens, 
I paint with friends along these winding inlets,
I am reminded

That these waterways with their ospreys, eagles,
Herons, geese, ducks, their mirrored surfaces, murky
Greens and sunny glints

Are things I love here, and waking to the soft light
Through treetop windows while the song birds
Begin warming up.