
There are blonde little ponies
Out here everywhere;
They race with the wind,
And it tousles their hair.
But look a bit closer–
You’ll find, as you pass,
The blonde little ponies
Have turned into grass.
–Photo by me

There are blonde little ponies
Out here everywhere;
They race with the wind,
And it tousles their hair.
But look a bit closer–
You’ll find, as you pass,
The blonde little ponies
Have turned into grass.
–Photo by me

the days are too long
the afternoons are too hot
a star is too close

A neighborhood squirrel named Jack
Does a dance in the street for a snack
And when people ask why,
All we say in reply
Is an acorn’s a tough nut to crack.
–photo by me

the coming storm
obscures the light
of lifted lamp
and golden door;
without our beacon
burning bright,
our land grows dark
from shore to shore.
–photo by me

fawn
tawny, dappled
nursing, hiding, leaping
always waiting for mama
bambi
–photo by me

the babbling brook can’t
help but spill its secrets to
the whispering wind
–photo by me

the spider seems to
design his beguiling web–
quite an illusion!
he who designs the spider
certainly designs the web
–photo by me

The creek and the cloud
Were cut from the same cloth–
Brothers, since the world began,
Comparable in composition,
Yet contrary in composure:
The creek is so laid back,
He is often called lazy,
While the cloud is always
Up in the air over something.
–Photo by me

the summer came
it all happened again
just like every year
it all happened again
sixty-four times now
it happened again
much bigger than me
it happens again
–photo by me

our minds
are mostly
make-believe
with model friends
and model trees
and cubicles
we are assigned–
all constructs
of the mind.
what’s out there
is not in here,
and life is
but a dream;
it’s all illusion,
mass delusion–
nothing’s as
it seems,
yet there’s a
common fantasy
to which we
all agree:
the mass
hallucination
that we call
reality.