My photo
Cape Cod, United States
__I see with young eyes, an old mirror. Here, I hope to offer... as I see.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

 Each day, we navigate along the night dream's river... to a different sea.   _m

the dream 
our chartway to further seas 
night rivers

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

'Tis that time, the seasonal colors change.

season leaves
within this revolving breeze
auburn whispers 

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

__ Kathy and I hold this day, as we do all of our days, deeply important:  October third,  1981.

thirty six years
of truth filled with happiness
we are 

Saturday, September 30, 2017

__ As the days grow short, "short-day rivers" float these travelers, toward their unknown. 

red leaves
find their path to the sea
travelers

Monday, September 18, 2017

__ What happened long ago,  may now become a more savory memory.  _m

time's still
brews tomorrow's memory
a scent of wine 

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

__ As seasons change, sitting in a warm and sunny breeze.  Just a thought.

ten of hearts
lost in the fallen leaves
solitaire  

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

__ A minor rewrite of my comment at Adelaide's good blog, White Petals.

Dirty,
as fingernails
scrape room for these new seeds,
fresh blooms give rise to our new gifts;
blossoms.  

Sunday, August 27, 2017

__ The first wash, then air dried; the rubbing knees? Woost, woost, wersht? 

fast walk
knees discuss this path
new jeans

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Hello friends!
__  Two of last night's scribbles. Water, the lifeline.  Storm clouds are the sails; the crooked mast, a lightning strike. Oh... and yes, the 'boom' that circles the sail's mast, is thunder. Smiles! _m

as rivers
bleed into the seas
life flows

storm sails 
above this ocean 
crooked mast 


Friday, August 4, 2017

__ The glistening orange jewels, enhance the pure white blooms.

the gem
on Queen Anne's Lace
ladybug 
           

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

Happy August!    
__ We still enjoy communing with friends around the campfires, and the warm conversations that are part of those fires. This, a minor re-write of my post as seen on 8/1/2010.  _m

at sunset
just a few words away
the campfire 

Saturday, July 29, 2017

       Time teases; while summer shrinks, we leap into each new day. _m

birds watch
as winds rake the grass
crickets shrug 

Thursday, July 20, 2017

__ This, an edit of an instant's Cinquain comment I left at Gillena's nifty blog, Lunch Break, as listed in my blog list. Yes, hear is hear as we may hear... the hammering waves;  the sands return. _m

The seas
grind stone to sand
with years of hammered waves
then move its toil from hear, to there,
to here.  

Monday, July 3, 2017

__ The echo's return... undecided.

from this cave
as water drips in time
more echoes

Saturday, July 1, 2017

__ Truth is seen in the change of form; silence speaks, and it may be time.

tiger lilies 
as life steps forward
midyear pace

Monday, June 26, 2017

__ Days rest. These sips... as the bell tolls.  _m

crow caw 
while this day bell chimes
a wine glass

Sunday, June 18, 2017

___ The luck... of being.

life's clock
a garble of morning birds
sunrise

Thursday, June 15, 2017

__ So happy to see these wildflowers,  this warm season's introduction.  First  penciled  during  June,  of  2006. 

in silence
they walk among the trees
lady slippers  

Friday, June 9, 2017

___ As the sun sets beyond the greened  horizon, we can imagine it would say:  "See you all tomorrow." _m

at sunset
this day lantern hides
green hills

Friday, June 2, 2017

__ Some of that book-trophy's value, is in the search. 

estate sale
in this dusty library
a trophy

Friday, May 26, 2017

__ This, my minor rewrite of a comment left long ago at -Drops of Ink- July of 2016:  'tis a wonder,  that which can be found within the crusts.  _m

the brain
becomes each story's oven
this pie

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

__ As we strolled  through the graveyard,  a rabbit kit watched our steps... quietly.

on this stone
our names not yet etched
the kits eyes   

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

__ In their motionless poses, the Great Blue Herons become eye and mind magnets. This was a comment I left at the 'Lisa R' blog.  

great blue
in this silent pose
a sketch

Thursday, May 4, 2017

__  Each season, has its own poet.

times circle
where its words meet
the lilacs

Monday, April 24, 2017

__ May, is the  "Flower Moon,"  and it seems April is called  "The Pink Moon."   But, I'll continue to name each April moon, -The  Moon of Leaves-.

moon of leaves
calls to the green
an owl

Saturday, April 8, 2017

__ At the day's close, relaxed sips.   _m

tea kettle
a song in the nights dark
candle flame

Friday, March 31, 2017

__ Once seen in Wareham, a shred of newspaper flown by the onshore winds; the -black and white- of its headline print, brought thoughts of a Herring Gull. 

newspaper shred
flies through this onshore wind
a herring gull

Thursday, March 23, 2017

__ At the age of fifteen, one of the many things I didn't know was... how little I'd know... when I reached the age of seventy-five. " The shadow knows_!"  _m

back arched
this kitten threatens its foe
shadow's hiss

Saturday, March 18, 2017

__ The sight of time within a forest walk, and too, your imagination may hear yesterday.

stone walls
in paintings of gathered years
moss time

Sunday, March 12, 2017

With happy smiles for my friend and Sister-in-Law.

morning coffee
snowfall filled my flip-flops
another cup

Tuesday, March 7, 2017

__ Frogs, hidden among the shoreline green; at our pond, from one of my scribble books during June, 2013. _m

shoreline
as night frogs debate the day
this ponds choir 

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

__ Tomorrow is now; the river flows. _m

water wheel
ideas from times river
todays mill

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

__  Tennis, a journalistic simile? Should I have used the word lays, instead of lies?  _m

tennis match
truth lies within the lines
backspin 

Saturday, February 18, 2017

__ We watched that night pond; as a Swan paddled by, the stars' reflections danced in her wake.     5/22/2013

a swan swirls
upon this silent pond
the stars dance

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

__ Snowball, it was said by Napoleon, was the single cause of all  "Animal Farm" failures. Timely disclosure of truths are accomplished... by the balance of common senses.

today's truths
rise above past lies
senses  

Thursday, February 9, 2017

__ Very odd to hear thunder and see lightning during a snow storm, today was that rarity. Perhaps 'twas political confrontations among the 'flakes' as their ideals clashed?

flakes dispute
in thunderous snowfall
crossing winds

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Kathy and I, during an evening walk in early Spring:  2013.

We are, at home. 
__ An evening stroll at pondside with walking sticks at hand;
we speak in silent glances. Head nods point to swans an the 
far shore, and our smiles find a Great Blue wading into the
sunset. We see an otter drawing its swim path wake, and a 
raccoon awaiting moonrise. Then, an owl tilted its head our way to 
delve our thoughts, and happily it sensed our good intent. 

natures home
with the sounds of traveled wings
humming birds

Thursday, February 2, 2017

__ This "older" cloth is a slight "time edit" to my post of  3-9-2009; another weave.    Smiles.  _m

yarns of memory
woven through these snowy streets
an older cloth
 

Sunday, January 29, 2017

__ To allow goodness, set a free but guarded weave.   _m

time's new cloth
goodness lingers in that weave
a loose loom

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

__ A minimal re-write of my comment at Juliet's "Crafty Green Poet" blog.  One question remains: did I spell caws incorrectly?

politics
their cause about the people
crows debate

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

__ I expect, the third friend will be a mystery to no one; smiles_!

three friends
this glass of wine
sunset

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Friends, please visit 'Veredit' in my blog list to the right, I believe you will enjoy her art.
__ Winter. We always envision the positive. _m

tree songs
in the highest octave
soprano sleet

Sunday, January 1, 2017

__ Really, I didn't misspell here. It was morning when I saw these doves, foraging in the light snow under the bird feeder. Smiles_!

light flurry
these four toe footprints
morning doves

 

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Best wises for a Grand and Happy New Year... to all in our world_!
__ A new year; by seeing across the fence we learn, adjust, and freshen our newer pathways.

closed gates
as the past paints tomorrow
fence teacher

_m

Saturday, December 17, 2016

__ The magic of snow, shining the empty limbs and softening worldly sounds; my best seasonal wishes... to you all_! 

the first snow
lights trees darkened limbs
a silent brook

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

__ My imagination opened an old slant top desk; the pen, the paper, an empty inkwell. _m

this old nib
dreams a new verse
empty well

Monday, November 21, 2016

Thanks (for) giving... my friends, I offer good holiday wishes to you all_! 
__ Over the barber shop floor, I can't wait 'til I step on my freshly cut hair and feel the youth... of tomorrow's haircut_! Smiles_!  _m

old men step
over their fresh cut hair
young boys
 

Saturday, November 19, 2016


Departure 21

A leaf falls
And settles into
The fallen.

Brewing...
Through calm and storm,
Seasons steep

This tea
_that feeds the trees
___from which it came,
_____follows an infinite purpose;

More leaves fall.

Friday, November 11, 2016

__ Soon Thanksgiving will be with us; in giving thanks we must all light our candle,  in union.  _m

snow flake
as we light our candle
one match

Sunday, November 6, 2016

__ This, my recent comment at Isabella Kramer's artistic/haiku blog, Veredit.

I envision each morning... as a sip from life's cup.

another sip
of this morning's sun
a full cup

_m
 

Wednesday, November 2, 2016

__ Gulls circled, seeming to search for a proper place to set down; this, a long ago overlook at Schoodic Point, Maine.   _m

low fog
veils this granite shoreline
herring gulls

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

__ Leaves, -do not- journey away  to be forever gone;  fallen leaves become a deeper part of this life's Earth. _m

sailing home
a ship on this forest brook
fallen leaf 

Friday, October 21, 2016

__  Ballooned faced chipmunks scurry, toting their winter cache to underground larders. _m

yellowed ferns
line this forest pathway
chipmunk cheeks

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

__  We learn new things in every dizzy swell of leaves, then a wobbly puppy.

days glean 
wisdom from this collage
fallen leaves

breezy leaves
within that continued whirl
a puppy chases
 

Sunday, October 16, 2016

__ New days, perhaps the branches are never empty?

morning light
within these empty branches
a blue jay

_m

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

__ Once in a while during this month, a wee bit of Halloween humor.

They're out there!
__ Zombies' maze, and through their cluttered hollows, ions seep from void to void, as protons and electrons mesmerize and hypnotize each vapored mind into a cell of bland haze.

cell phone
casts this mystic spell
wraiths roam

Monday, October 10, 2016

__ This echo, was generated by Jan's recent Halloween post and painting. _m

darkened candle
relit by an unseen guest
scent of pine
 

Thursday, October 6, 2016

__ I have discovered how nonacademic I have become, as I read  remarks about that that some people refer to as haiku. Now lets see:  1, no seasonal hints; 2, no nature; 3, humans involved in the verse but not as mere observers; 4, politics/religion in some...  and that all seems like senryu in my depleted and sour mind. Now, are haiku and senryu one and the same? Newspeak?
__ Inept, I cannot describe these below. _m

mountain side
as tree limbs blush
times path
*
cows follow
this hay-bale cart
times path

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

__ Then, the late night's soft rain calmed the dust.

cold winds
roil this seasons dust
owl's sneeze

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

__ As some birds migrate south, tree leaves begin to fall; Thursday September 22,  is our Fall Equinox.   _m

one lost feather
clings to this empty branch
falling leaves
 

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

__ This campaign, "Below The Peoples' Tree"... since the squirrel came out of that tree,  a person truly wonders. _m

forest politics
a squirrel jousts with the rabbit
this fallen apple
  

Sunday, September 11, 2016

__ Morning and mourning,  often... the same significance.

fifteen years
this morning of silent tears
anthem's cry

Friday, September 2, 2016

__Mayhaps, sea can be a metaphor to any great span of  "seemed" emptiness... until we attempt to explore that, that is hidden therein.  _m

wave swells
roll across this green sea
a corn maze

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Departure 20
__This... was scribbled in November of 2002. _m

SUBWAY HERO
                          
I had been there many times before,
                           And shrank in the clash of it all;
Breathing in the smells and sights
                           Of this cavern, this grimy hall.

The stretch of countless rushing trains,
                           Burned rubber, and electric sweat;
Pulsing through this living cell,
                           In foulest dust beset.

Above the grinding, toneless clatter,
                           A lonely voice was heard;
Cutting through this screeching din,
                           Saying but a single word.

"Repent," he coughed and blubbered through
                          His spirit sodden lips;
A broken, beaten, filthy beast,
                          That spat through lathered drips.

"Repent," he wheezed, and again that word,
                          Echoed through this oily hall;
And every step he took my way,
                          Surged my memory's crawl.

"Repent," he neighed as he reached my feet,
                          Whiskey bleeding from each eye;
He caught my gaze, then hid his face,
                          Then spewed his crippled sigh.

"Repent," he mumbled, then spilled away,
                          Wretched, reeking and worn;
Siding off in greasy steps,
                          He vanished, within his scorn.

Stunned, I followed those sodden eyes,
                         For what was there was known;
And I listened for that single word
                          "Repent," this drunkard's drone.

I searched and searched through noise and filth,
                          To find this wasted soul;
I rummaged every crack and den,
                         And every wretched hole.

I found my kin, in the muck and lice,
                          Curled in a fetal ball;
And I prayed he seemed again to me,
                          As he did when I was small.

He waved me off, and spat out words,
                          Preaching me in err;
That I should turn and walk away,
                          And leave him to his lair.

Not a brother, he said to me
                          Don't sorrow for my fall;
Go you back... to your life of ease,
                          I'm no brother after all.

Go quickly to your wife and young,
                         And leave me to my cave;
A rotting soul I am, you've seen,
                         Just searching for my grave.

Against my will, I honored his,
                         Stealing courage, I stepped my length;
And I heard his anxious, whispered plea;
                         Brother, leave with me your strength.
                                    _
I've returned, uncounted times,
                         To this subway's sour gloom;
To search for him, within this beast,
                         Before he found his tomb.

But not the word, nor sight I'd see
                         Within this cavern's sore;
Of brother or beast, or broken man,
                         That wasted soul once more.

Then one day, in horror's grasp, "Repent,"
                         I heard, and I spun about;
To a brilliant light in my brother's eyes,
                         That beast... he had cast out!

When last we met, his shining words,
                         You gave as I did plea;
You took your leave, but left your strength,
                         And with it, I burst free!

This was my grave, this subway vault,
                         But hope, in your leaving fell;
To the strength you left, as you stepped away,
                         Your faith, has fought my spell.

I pass that faith in tearless fight,
                         To my brothers barrowed near;
That they may broach their hollow hell,
                         To slay that beast of fear.
                          _ _

When I return to this evil place,
                        To search within its reek;
I listen for his single word, his hymn
                         Is the sound I seek.

                             And

"Repent," bursts through this mortal clamor,
                         And with his messaged call;
My Brother is again to me... the hero,
                         He was... when I was small.

_m

                        

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Just two obstructions to finding the truth. This, from 2011

__ Politics is a mound of sand, and its truth, a single grain within that hill; our hope is to find one grain of hidden truth.

we seek
that single grain of truth
winds rise


__ Politics, is a river that deposits myths on the far shore, and fantasies on the near, while its truth rushes onward to deeper seas.

truth of lies
in the roil of tidal waves
we swimmers


 

Friday, August 12, 2016

__ There is always something to surge our thoughts forward_!   This,  a slight rewrite of something I posted here during August_  of 2010.

flat pond
this summer stands still
fish rings

Monday, August 8, 2016


life's breeze
carries this butterfly
new flowers

Thursday, August 4, 2016

__A student says, I have much to learn;  a master responds,  I have learned... how little I know.   We learn to learn.

yesterdays' mind
searches the earth and clouds
tomorrows

Monday, August 1, 2016

__Recently, I thought I had seen two TV shows entitled 'Big Bother;' I was incorrect, I had actually watched two political conventions.  But, as academic politicos continually imply, my ineptitude is due to my lower intellect, that of the proletariat. Perhaps the Orwellian era has arrived_?

the first lie
is the final truth
they that say

 

Thursday, July 28, 2016

__Eight years ago today, this was posted on WHW.
Tiger swallowtail, a butterfly; the new, the old.

tiger swallowtail
floats on this old suns breeze
the flowers

Sunday, July 24, 2016

The pound / number sign,  was hand written before the invention the typewriter and its keyboard. What is a typewriter_?

crossroads
in technologies jungle
hashtag

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

__This Cinquain was originally posted on 10/27/2010, it may well fit today.

Cold hands,
blood of worry 
flows true from yours to mine.
When this crisis comes to closure,
warm smiles.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

__Silly perhaps, but one often wonders to where... moral reality has gone. _m

__I was a ten year old Cub Scout aspiring to become a Boy Scout, when I asked my Mom and Dad if I could begin to carry a pocket knife. At that time we all knew and valued the differences between tools and weapons, the hammer,  a saw,  an axe,  or a knife, and on and on, and on. In a short period of time,  I was given the nod from Dad and Mom, and received their approval to carry that tool; that was sixty-four years ago.

deep questions
in the forest of the young
a broad trail

__I became that 'Scout' and carried my pocket knives through these many years.  But now, as things are in the "crippling days," before I leave my home place, I'm sure to set my pocket knife on the 'dry-sink'... pedantically I leave it home.  Paranoia seeps in, as I'd not wish to be seen using that tool,  then replacing that knife to my pocket.  I could easily be charged with the feloniously concealing of a harmful and deadly weapon. Paranoia sires Pedanticism!

this trail narrows
in moral reality
history lost

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

__Other pathways;  carried pollen that recreates, the steeping of honey. 

sun dried blooms
they dart to sweeter blossoms
honey bees

Monday, July 4, 2016

__On all days, but simply noted on this day -Independence Day-,  better tomorrows to all that guard. _m

independence
supports our strength of union
each guard

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

__A walk among the trees, natures grasp.

braided trails
twist within these forest trees
the woven vines
 

Monday, June 27, 2016

As the sunsets move toward__ a tomorrow sunrise,  the tiger lilies wait. 

tiger lilies
imitate this sunset
soft breeze

Thursday, June 23, 2016

__Of the obverse, there are times when one must remain silent; stepping aside to the reverse, more becomes less.

an owl watches
clasped quietly to a limb
this world

Monday, June 20, 2016

__The stars spilled into the sky from this now empty crescent moon, and the night has filled the moon's emptiness; please imagine.

empty moon
this night sky fills its hollow
spilled stars

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Ahh-Chooo_!
__Either we are engulfed in deeper pollen this 'year', or my added 'years', have amplified my 'new' allergy. Smiles_!

small sneeze
as pollen dusts the flowers
a butterfly

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

__As our nights slowly lighten into mornings,  there  are points in that waning darkness where we may all have heard this:  birds that call to the sun,  with pleas that it will rise.   _m

morning  jays
call to this warm day light
sunrise

Sunday, June 12, 2016

__06/12/2016                                                          

their rain
will never quench our fire
hearts fuel

Tuesday, June 7, 2016

__Another 'time point' memory recently discovered, and the old photograph helped scribe this new senryu.

black and white
my mother counts my toes
first shoes

Thursday, June 2, 2016

__Moments ago, I posted this as an instant comment on Leslie Moon's fine blog  'Moondust'...  listed in my blog list to the right... a very interesting blog to visit.

as I clutch
my father's old corn-cob
whiffs of yesterday
 

Saturday, May 28, 2016

__Summer wars; as fingers counter attack; the hand slap.  From one of my old scribble books.

mosquito attack
a sharp lance to the nape
five strike

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

__With my inability to properly categorize haiku/senryu within their modernistic senses, I'll simply label this as maiku; some may see it as senryu, while others might call it haiku, and I'm sure many would term this... junk.  Other opinions, supersede mine. 
__Time's changes are -suddenly seen- as indicated below:

old log cabin
hidden in these ancient woods
a satellite dish

Saturday, May 21, 2016

__Could the cat's purr harmonize with the mosquitoes' hum?                                                        
day close
in the mosquitoes tune 
this sleepy cat 

Saturday, May 14, 2016

__The Humming Birds and the Lilacs; the meeting.                                                                          
humming birds
hover in this lilac bush
the wings blossom

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

__Musical summer night,  a few years ago.                                                                                          
night rain
this drummer on the pond
frogs' cymbals

Friday, May 6, 2016

__Night sounds.                                                                                                                                                    
a dog's bark
between the crows' caws 
corn fields 

Monday, May 2, 2016

__Time now, that I return to fewer words as I follow this well known saying, 'Less is ... .' _m

train whistle
wheels thunder on the tracks
smell of rain

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

__Breezes, as they cross the meadows green; meadows, rising as the tides, a tree's  spring leaves. _m

tidal breeze 
that rolls across this meadow
green sea

as buds burst
leaves stretch to the sun
a cat's purr

Friday, April 22, 2016

__It seems from what I've seen of late, that I should no longer define the differences between haiku and senryu as I view them; open windows.

rain fall
in this warm wind sky
soft songs