Thursday, July 7, 2011


On new ground, the past in hand.


Adjacent and now, volume of energy flows up, the return and response, that which reaches, touches, and is touched, in perfect repose.


Forethought of space and essence the terminal of what and then.

Yes, Carl Sandburg was quite right in stating that what is poetry can not be described.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Yeah, That's Her

Well, I am painting again, with the usual mix of satisfaction and frustration. But what is to stop me from having some fun with photo illustrations between brushstrokes?