Jasper Francis Cropsey painting the Falls

This artist didn't do a lot of Niagara work but this is sure sweet.

Home but from Canada

Lovely photo

This is Fredrick Church looking at Niagara Falls

From the past

I found a copy of this piece I did for dust magazine when Wally Depew was editing the issue.

Reading, Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2009

I will be reading in Davis, Ca on Wednesday evening at 9:00 PM at the Bistro 33, 226 F street, Davis, CA. The reading is being produced by Andy Jones a member of the English Department faculty at UC Davis. I'll be reading from Where The Stars Are Kept, The Dimensions of the Morning and a number of new pieces. Please attend if you are able.

Sarajevo

Here's Roger Brown Again.

American Landscape with Revolutionary War Heros

I miss Roger Brown a lot.

Marguerite Stuber Pearson-1898-1978-American

Breaking And Entering

Here is a poem. My daughter actually put this on her Facebook page. I was blown away by that.

BREAKING AND ENTERING

Broken glass on the floor of dreams

Cut the feet and blood comes, a memory

Unrestrained and opened like a body in surgery

Runs and seems to be something spectacular.

A walk through a park in Springtime.

Explosions in the inner eye, an inability to

Walk to the edge of reason, love, drunken and useless

To form words, night terrors, adolescent concerns

With appearance and impressions derailed,

Sparks streaming from the mouth.

A sudden reversal of fortune, no way

To stay awake through it all.

We walk to the edge of the abyss.

We say our names to each other.

Nothing makes much sense.

Crickets begin their stridulation and the flesh

Parts below the dermis and works its way

Upwards to where we dine together,

Laughing and kidding about old times.

The way we understood each other.

Finally, splashes of liquids cool the flesh.

We hope they are parts of songs we once sang.

The referee makes arms signals showing

What it is we have done to deserve such penalties.

We stand at the rail of the boat.

The sea churns behind us, unalarmed

By all of this. In the next second

We remember everything.

I will kiss you like this again.

I will talk to your relatives as if they

Were photocopies of great bridges

That once spanned continents, Places

Where we could see what was coming,

Unable to do anything about it.

I guess it is kind of weird to have a blog and not really tell anybody about it. I am liking this blog because the format is very clean and neat and it is easy to use. I can put pictures and poems up and write whatever I want. Nice sense of freedom that. I don't care if anybody ever sees it. This is for me.

A few more spiders I like

Heaven

Green Rock #2. I've had my rock for over 20 years. it is the only rock i've ever paid money for with the exception of gem stones.

Might as well add another poem here.

WHEN I SPOKE OF THE NIGHT

When I spoke of the night

I was thinking of you the whole time.

There were animals running in the street.

I could hear the traffic sounds. Hymn-like

Describing the air in horns and brakes.

I thought that train sounds were singing.

I did not know. I thought they were music,

Rhythmic and full of dark whistles,

The drumming of a million souls, a yearning.

A blanket of lights covered the city.

They shifted with the hours,

Undulated with the winds, blinked off,

Blinked on, reminded me of your eyes.

I thought it was your hair.

I thought it was your eyes.

I thought it was the stars.

Come down to earth to spin

Their tales once again, of the changing,

Of the way your lips move on mine,

Of your breathing in full midnight,

Of the sleeping, dancing the dreams

Through our bodies, touching our

Green hearts, our god-like souls again.