I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world, to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

28 October 2016


It's an addiction, said the other son,
the one who hated her. She made him dead
in her mind – though she wept deep, made him gone.
But was he right in that one thing he said?
Her art consumed her. She painted him red
with the face of a demon, to remind
herself how much he meant to be unkind.
It was a necessity for her: art.
(Yet, was it addiction? Or did he blind-
side her – a cold wind that froze her whole heart?)


  1. A delightful read, thanks for sharing and greetings!

  2. A cold wind is right. Well composed

  3. Or did he blind-side her – a cold
    wind that froze her whole heart?

    A tactless remark can hurt bad. How one forgives easily coming from a son!