The Secret Gallery




Gold and Gate

Up in these hills

the sky soars around you

and clears the way

for thoughts to roam

as free as the hawks above.

Hiking along these trails

where the grasses wave

all is revealed in the

pitiless light of summer

and the valley below

lies naked and exposed

with its riches of feather and fur.




Is it both/and

or either/or?

Do you see me

or do I see you?

Can I speak to you

as you speak to me?

Should I give or should

you take?  Do you

see what I see that

you see I see?

Is it both/and

or neither/nor?



Leap of Faith

Icarus descends this time

not on wings, but skis.

Beyond these hills lies an unknown climb,

and a world that no one sees.

There's a delicate balance

between experience and innocence,

between what makes sense

and what makes no sense.

Just throw it all in the crucible of hours,

and hope the sky brings sun, not showers.



Golden Delicious

In this dark and deadly tree

gleams a fruit so tempting

my desire to taste its flesh

almost trumps my fears.

The leaves like serpents' tongues,

and the black lightning branches

warn me away.  The blood red sky

screams out danger, but the

louder the warnings howl,

the stronger the tempest blows,

the brighter glows this golden morsel,

and the more my hunger grows.




Sitting here in Plato's cave,

we always want to see

the shapes before us

a little more clearly,

but no matter how often

we cry, "Focus",

the picture never gets

any clearer.

Where the hell is

that damn projectionist?



Beach Babe

Far away from uneasy care,

the tropic sun beats down

on sparkling sea and sand.

Above me

this floating umbrella

shields my soft, pale,

voluptuous flesh.

This blushing beach is mine alone,

and life, for me, is good.



Mrs. Partridge and Her Family

There's a silly song they sing

around the time Christmas takes wing,

but in it they've got us all wrong.

Our nests aren't in trees, as in song,

but underneath.  We hide

the best we can inside

bushes, weeds or grass.

In winter snow can shelter us from sight,

but not from cold.  So, if some time, you might,

as you walk through woods,

see me lead my brood,

please let us pass,

that's all I ask.



Lagoon Music

This white noise city's

pounding rhythm shreds my senses.

Its grime is grinding away

my peace of mind.


Come away with me

to where the fishing's good.

It's a shady spot

sheltered from the sun,

far from the crowd's cacophony.


We can wash away

all we've forgotten to forget

and listen to the silent songs

of a symphony in an azure key

with a rhythm that ripples light,

bouncing off the surface

of a cool, clear pool.



Our Lady

Call me what you like.

Astarte, Isis, Diana, Hecate.

What's in a name, anyway?

People like to label

what they don't understand.

Mona Lisa, La Giaconda, Mary.

Some of these handles

have a nice ring to them,

but I take many names

and many forms.

Aphrodite, Venus, Aurora, Nika.

If you put a sheaf of wheat

in my hands you call me Virgo,

even though,

being mother of the world,

I'm no virgin.


I've been around long enough

to know that nomenclatures are just

impressions in sand before a rising tide.

These marks will disappear,

but I'll still be here,

listening to the waves

as they call me by a name

no mere mortal knows.




Inside this flesh are bones.

Behind the bones are organs,

tubes and passages for fluids,

blood and shit.

But somewhere deep within

the heart, the spleen,

and the calcium hardened

skeleton there is a universe

hidden from our eyes and doctor's knives,

opening out to infinite space.

Each cell a world, each group of cells

a galaxy.  We came from stars

and to the ink black sky we will return.



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