Tag Archives: Arts

Red Balloons

I was driving home from yoga yesterday and passed by a florist. In the trees behind the shop there was a big batch of red and pink balloons. It looked like the trees ate it, just like that tree that always ate Charlie Brown’s kite.

About a block over, I passed by a house just as another, identical bunch of balloons was floating up into the air. I have no idea what they were attached to or what set them loose. All I know is that it must be a sign.

Valentine’s Day is over.

Time to celebrate:


This is 1945


Image by Wolfgang Staudt via Flickr

He grabs her by the collar and drags her through the mud.
I love you, he wants to say.
He wants to scream it, to will it into her dark brown eyes.

But he can’t say it.

This is 1945, and there are no prisoners here:
an entire generation, lost to dust.

But still, they were spared from life.

The nightmares and haunting soon will leave her eyes.
He will be stuck here to clean up the maze.

This is 1945, and there are no prisoners here:
an entire world lost in emotional wreckage.
He likes to think she is the lucky one.
I love you, he wants to say.

Self Aware

you were born a poet

from the cool sting of that first breath

sliding down your infant lungs

to the slap of reality

placed on your newborn skin

but maybe the place of poetry

forms miles beneath the surface

behind the womb-like colors dancing in your face:

the sounds, the warmth, the fullness.

The Big Bang

There was a strange explosion in the middle of the night. When I woke up, there was a bright, shiny new blog here. If you are interesting, polite, odd and quirky, then this is the place for you. Take a load off, unpack your things and help me do some decorating. We’re gonna make this place feel a lot like home.

We accept strays.

Hunter at 6 weeks old and still in the furry, ...

Puppy!! ^.^