no. i didn’ lose my mind in scotland// it’s a spring poem actually

view on edinburgh from carlton hill

view on edinburgh from carlton hill

es-ce que grant ‘em
e-top tattooe into my hand
where? reduce it Gaudi – a
pure pure atom

floor & pi returns

so L. (for lovely)serene atom nei’tha
a/miam’ d’cendant tree steal yah
ESTA ‘s? read it!
none– c? re’ar, seed it
hi. i miss// sea wee tires

& that’s the original: 
extracts from ecce gratum from the carmina burana

Ecce gratum
et optatum
Ver reducit gaudia.
floret pratum.
Sol serenat omnia.
iamiam cedant tristia!
Aestas redit,
nunc recedit
Hiemis saevitia.


smiles… marina challenges us at dVerse today to take a poem in a language we don’t understand, listen closely and “translate” it the way we hear it by focusing on how the words sound…

back from scotland – loved it!! &will be catching up with you now…


her head is bald
&she’s in her pajamas
wind howls as i lock my bike
in front the door

we drink coffee where the woods are dark//
strETCHED lungs tentacling wide into a forest
we can’t see

in spite the mossy patches on our knees,
she tells me that the tumor in her breast has shrunk
to half its size
“so cool” i smile “&honestly, you’re looking great”

at oNe point in life i think
everyone should razor-blade their head,
abandon all the gel and spray
thiCK curlers, piNs and grips
that hold us fiXEd to—
perm wave_ed// perox-ided
blond or red, yet—
stranGEly motionless

“would you go out on the street with me like that?” she asks
“people would stare,
you know that– out of norm
&fEAR, deNIAL of our own
unbattled weaknesses

but yeah// i proudly would, i—“

outside in the highlands is a seed,
bumped by a storm to this&that side,

&the steel-womb gutters cannot hold
us, eyes // fixed—
“uuuhh, i thought we’re moving”
“oh, we do”
the cake is sweet
“chocolate & nuts”
“you mom baked it?– it’s excellent”

on the horizon, a small boat, braving the stream
&on the steering wheel
a bald man with a cup of tea
curls a smile//both wild & rugged
upon his lips

smiles… things are looking good for my friend… so def. much reason to be thankful…
from tuesday on i’ll be away for a week on a road trip through scotland with my husband… getting lost in the highlands and such… smiles… see you then…

of COURse she’s choosing ARCHEry

from my sketchbook

from my sketchbook


my lines are SOFter
and the ROOster on the cupBoard croWS
no more,
INStead a mix of VAses
balANce their WOMbs
to either THIS or that siDE
noNE FAlls

LAst night i fought bATTLes
on a THOUsand hilltops
in my Best paJAMAs, SOAking wet,
lava buRNing strEAMS aCROSS my forehead
where the feVER

she SITs benT over the kitchen table
focused on her laptop, browSINg// eyeBROWs WRINkled,

“they’re grOWing– SEE? moM–?”

“Yes” i smile// &ansWER
with a Sco-tiSH acCent//
words are TRails in highland haZE
wrapPINg shaky limBS–
“How ya DOing with your Bow?”
“HaHA–see–// SEE?!”

She HitS the TARget in no time
with EASe, in breAKneck spEED
gallOPPIng over diZZYing heights
that deTERMIned gaZE in her brown eyes//
soFT velVet

“they’re BEARs out there–“
“i knoW”
“&frEEdom for the braVE”

there’s also MAGic in this landscape, STill,
as sCARRed and ruGGED as it is

“you’re gonna FINd it”

&i hUM an old CLan meLOdy,
that spreads WIDe&wiLD&BOld into the sKY
as i clean aWAy the dishes


for mtb at dVerse today Gay has us point out our very own beat & i highlighted it with capital letters
my daughter will be moving out this summer as she’s going to university & yeah i played a bit off the movie “brave” cause really, there ARE similarities…smiles… and thanks for all your well-wishes – the fever has left and i’m feeling a bit better already

one day i might get lost in one

photo 4-3

Glurns in the Vinschgau region of Italy

i didn’t hear him first
stepping behind me,
sketchbook in my hand,
immersed in–
“how’s it going?”
“oh– “ i sigh “it’s tough
to get the angles right&–“

“let me have a look– the oriel,
don’t wanna paint it in?”
“dunno, the corner windows– it’s so difficult– “

“it is”
he tells me how perspective was discovered
then forgot for centuries, the world
squeezed flat on even surfaces
“gimme your pen?”

we watched him painting earlier,
easy, secure strokes
he puts a biker on the page
they’re gone before he’s finished
“someone new will come”

a board with “BACON” written on it
“paint the signs in and as many people as you can,
the bus stop//cars,
they make a painting real–
leave away what you don’t like–
i love that tower so i’m gonna move it //here– “

it’s much like poetry i think
it’s easy//in a way&
jumping in
you lose and find yourself in crosswalk stripes

“you paint charming pictures” he says &
“we’re gonna meet in 15 minutes”
“right” i nod, pencil a cat, the chimneys
&a couple, icecream on their lips onto the page,

&climbing out of it, cheeks splashed
with color

why we do what we do

“that was the only reason for them” he says
“to teach the violin– the singing,
holding tunes and such”

he drinks red wine
&we’re in the former classroom of an ancient castle,
music banging from the speakers

“so when did you start to play?”
“i was eight– left home– it was at boarding school,
it was disaster”

he sits in the aisle,
a little boy, his teacher practicing–
“i wanna play like that”
& it’s a love affair
it’s hate
it’s tough times

“at thirteen i gave up//
lost the years when you learn most” he says,
shrugging his shoulders
“couldn’t bear to touch her”

little groups around us,
bent over their sketchbooks

you know love is real
when it comes back
like throwing bottles deep into the sea
&some resurface
with a loud splash

“so you took her back?” i smile

mesmerized at how he holds her to his chin//chest
&the gentle bend//his arms//hands
wooing her in yet
another tune//that way beyond the chambers in my breast
resonate and hang head first
like bats from the old castle wall

“&what about you?”

“hmmm” i take a sip of beer
“guitar, piano, saxophone.. just nothing very good”
“you sketch”
“i write”
the taste of reed and vowels on my tongue
“nothing in depth”
we laugh
“i go and dance” i say
& lean
into the song, the beat of drums
//devouring me


for PU

The road// still in your face//

my all time fav bag...smiles

my all time fav bag…smiles


There were wheels once

Exhaust fumes
&rain hitting your womb
As you bent

nestled up against

Spine to spine

Sweat runs down my back
You sigh&i//bike the breeze
carrying your history


40 words or less are your entry ticket to MTB at dVerse today where Bri has us write short poems…doors open at 3pm EST
few words to the bag – it’s made from old truck tarpaulins by the brothers Freitag in Zürich…so each bag is unique and has traveled many thousand miles already on the roads of the world before being sewed into a bag…. i love this…

beyond Wagner//& a game of skat, played wireless

photo 1-29



with my swiss army knife
i cut small slices from a bamboo stick//pen-sized,
drill a little hole and split the tip
so a craze runs through its tongue
dipped deep in sepia ink

“the castle bears its secrets” she says
as my lines grow towers on the page,
ravens crosshatched in the wind,
a mountain biker downhill on a needle trail
“don’t we all” i mumble,

capturing his flight
“the door is locked–
how did you manage to get up there?”
her grey hair a veil over her back,

-no answer-

“the Song of the Nibelungs was found here”
i hum Sigfried the brave dragon-slayer,
add a bumble bee and ants
that make their way across the burnt hills of my legs
moving// towards somewhere

we eat cheese and peaches as the rain sets in
“i have no wifi” i say
“so i can’t go anywhere”
“you didn’t see them, right?”
“i did– but there was no connection”
brushing bread crumbs from my pants
i draw a bat, the moon, an old man,

skat cards in their hands,
a wooden table

“what about a saxophone man?”
“if you hear him?”

“she can’t win– look at her cards”
“it doesn’t matter”

“so the truth is that they never played?” i ask
“i told you, i–“
the old man’s hands, rough from plowing fields–
“they never talk much”
he puts down the cards,
eyes shimmering in the lamplight,

“i don’t understand the game” i say
“would he win?”
“he would//but never plays it out”

a hiker gasps for air,
i put him in the picture&the dragon stares at me
with blood-rimmed eyes
“be glad that Siegfried isn’t here” i say
“&i won’t harm you”

check my phone//no net//still
&the light above the wooden table seems switched off
“they left”
“just for the day” she says,
her voice–
a glimmering dragonfly


over at dVerse we’re storytelling in our poems today… choose a character (a dragon, a crocodile, an old tractor, a bat, a spaceship, Neptune, Superman, a greek god or godess, a chicken, a black swan, a nutcracker, a cup with orange flowers painted on it, an old liquor bottle, a wheelbarrow, a raven, a blue car, a metronome… to name a few examples) and build them into your poem… see you at 3pm EST…