Barbara Bush and Ima Hogg: Two Texas Matriarchs, One Common Vision

Miss Barbara Bush = Miss Ima Hogg = Two Texas matriarchs and kindred spirits with one common goal, purpose and vision. Miss Ima was a very influential Texas philanthropist and was, among many other things, an arts magnate, one of its fiercest advocates and most prolific patrons of the 20th century. She was an early champion of racial equality and believed that one of the ways it could be achieved was through equal access to and immersion in the arts, and was the architect of

She Arrived Bearing Leaflets

She arrived bearing leaflets gathered hastily from a tree that once made its home along the bluff that bowed in the direction of All Saint’s Creek, Where the flightless seraphs would traverse from time to time to retrace the melody that escaped somewhere between celestial monuments immemorial And the hallowed confluence of electric mists and vernal shadows that marked the beginning and the end of a journey’s refrain, just beyond the bend. One leaf was given to a m

And There I Stood…

And there I stood at the threshold of infinity, wondering when the tides would cease to swerve, when the moon would turn to face me and weep, when the lighthouse would become darkened by the sempiternal emptiness of unanswered questions. And then I chose a star to hold, to cherish and protect as the path takes on new direction. I speak to a destiny that radiates possibility, that dissipates the tribulations of yore and casts them into the pond where I once thoug

Nestled by the Fireside

Nestled by the fireside, listening. The temperate caress of an errant flicker awakens the latent serenade of the season, carrying expectant smiles to their place beyond the sphere. Everything exists in this series of nows and forevers, in the way your hand Lies untroubled in mine, redolent of the halcyon’s repose after her flight through celestial reveries interconnected by the vestal melodies of winged seraphs perched atop the star that sits aloof bearing our

I’ve Heard the Echoes

I’ve heard the echoes, chased the shadows, danced with the reveries of phantom caresses. Retreat with me to a safe space ‘neath the snow-laden burrows behind the curtain of remembrances where we will carve out the annals of innocence and mirth, and ascend the smoky hills by night’s end. Art: “The Road in front of Saint-Siméon Farm in Winter” Claude Monet #FrenchArt #writing #art #painting #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #artists #poem #ClaudeMonet #imp


Quickened by faint remembrances of a void desperate for her touch… Art: Odette Hayon Itah #writing #art #painting #contemporaryart #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #ModernArt #Artist #Poet

Absorbed Space

Absorbed space, where the branches met their reflections and her solace birthed itself from eternal hiding, Where the minions of fate worked in concert to don the ornamented veil of futures subsequently resisted, Where drops of sky chased a soulless moon to its final appearance, returning to the fringes of darkened hours. Art: “The Black Swan” William Degouve de Nuncques #writing #art #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Artist #Poet

The Leaf

The leaf burns brightest in the darkest hour. #writing #literature #creativewriting #poetry #micropoetry

Where the Rivers Converge

Meet me where the rivers converge, where the elemental upsurge of thought and reflection begin to inspire the formation of territories newly populated by the wisdom of hands that prayed themselves into warm bundles of anxious grins that called upon the old incantations of lost serpents, mighty but humble and for the most part without guile voiceless….. but keenly aware of the changes in direction and flow, and contemporary with outgrowths of new being not yet reduced by

Distant Rivers

Distant rivers moved by the plainchant of a lonely flower… #writing #literature #piano #classicalpiano #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Mendelssohn #classicalmusic #Poet


All that torment has loved has disappeared, and we remain hopeful. The significance of her efforts have not gone unnoticed; indeed, they have recapitulated old victories and insights that had been hitherto obscured by notions unseen and ideations to come. We rally together for a promise of worlds to be And fully satiate our desire for sanity by committing to novel patterns of doing and breathing deeper and more profound as if the air we knew all along turned in on i

Another Morning

Another morning captive in your arms absorbing the sun’s magisterial ascent into our kingdom… #writing #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Poet

Remnant Footsteps

Remnant footsteps along the strand; a tiny floret wistful and aloof Art: “Path through the High Grass” Pierre-Auguste Renoir #writing #art #Artwork #literature #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Artist #Poet

Your Touch

Your touch Suspended in space Devoid of distance #writing #literature #haiku #creativewriting #poetry #poem #Poet

Blue Elephants

Blue elephants saunter in the moonlight, electricity keeps them Focused, like pilots on descent. There is no knowledge but bones. In this bowl there are mice. They squeal louder than the elephants. Someone hears them, I’m sure. The bowl is tossed out of the window As the mice scatter excitedly. Some of them are decapitated in the fall. A bus driver dressed like a pilot (we barely knew him) Took it upon himself to manually deflate each elephant with A pocket knife.

Lavender Reveries…

Lavender reveries concomitant with swift movements around, then through, then around again, never to return to their places of emergence, but to keep striving and transcending, until they become as one, and the ego is vanquished. And a remnant graces her quivering visage, wholly and concertedly renewed by a tender lattice of divine thought, in which the movements slow, and the colors dissipate in the space of a blink, and all that is left is a Barmecidal trance

Enter the mist…

Enter the mist, Absorb your portion and extract your errant freedom from it. Soon there will be deities encircled about you starved for awareness, and moved to recognizance. Approach them where the light vanishes between their wistful eyes and render them the remnants of sated wilder beasts that only pray to deciduous reflections. The clusters will gather and coalesce, and perhaps sing for a moment. Deny them not their due space to bloom, to sway to and fro to the rhy

A Spindle Emerges…

A spindle emerges And worlds retreat into unknowing On all sides. The vortex has been reborn And it figures into the life of spaces Turgid with the fallen heroes of reminiscence And motion inflamed. And around it goes, Taking time with it and dissolving it Into hollow particles that move along Slightly curved corridors One by one, after a fashion. And blackened thoughts Begin to coalesce. The corridors straighten out And empty into vacuums of potential being Sea

In Time (2010)

We shall reflect upon the meaning of our disgrace, Grasping truth unencumbered by blinded eyes. Fugitive moments eagerly await the call of memory’s trace, To stand before the day duly countenanced by obscurity’s demise. We’ll hasten to discard every cloak and vain disguise, And submit to all that the interest of honesty requires. We’ll journey through forbidden caves of deceit and compromise, Abducting strange thoughts, denuding secluded desires. Fate guards the door

From this vantage…

From this vantage We have quelled our devils, Torn our veils, And dozed off in the effulgence of Being. For a time our hopes were recycled, Our superstitions dashed, Our reach for life extended into Flashes of distilled desperation For a gentle upsurge that drifts and transforms, That subsides and appears again Ever-more slight, ever-more humble, Dallying effortlessly with rambling thoughts along the embankment. Art: “Argenteuil Seen from the Small Arm of the Seine”