Category: writing

  • lakesong

    Photo by Ariana Kaminski on Unsplash
    hush the reeds canoeing under
    loon her haunting waves over
    dragonfly blue on knee on oar
    kodak cubeflash sun at branches
    song mine of thunder rolling
    cuts flint grey brilliant skies
    redwing cattail watching
    follows eyes painted

  • acorn man

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    sun and shadow
    dancing the bones
    between the tonights
    laid over growing
    groundcover dark
    within the wode

    acorn man mad they
    call his wanders
    under oak over stone
    pond water mirrors
    his autumn ways

    hey hey they call of above
    do not walk yourself lost
    black laughter rising
    he laughs along
    wanderwalking the wode
    acorn man disguised

  • oh, ffs [an update]

    Perhaps I was a bit unfair, but anyone who has followed me for any length of time knows that I purchased my domains for the blogs to avoid littering reader’s screens with adsense and other monetization tools. I don’t think it is unreasonable to point to a vendor for my book on a page that I rarely reference that I have made less money on in total over the course of three years than I make per hour at my paying job.

    Added that I have been a WordPress advocate for nearly twenty years, getting the email that I am going to have to upgrade my Jetpack subscription to a commercial license was just adding insult to injury (with respect to the commenting fiasco when I first migrated to this site because either Jetpack or the WordPress.org code is borked for one option on commenting).

    That said, I made a ruckus this morning. I’m not proud of it, because it led me to insulting an AI chatbot’s parentage and legal status. But I had reached my limit with the shenanigans I was experiencing.

    So I vented.

    It went to a human at Jetpack, which surprised me. When they foist you to forums, you always assume you are now on your own.

    The person at the other end went through and agreed that this site does not fit the definition of a commercial site and manually adjusted it. I am pleasantly surprised and Automattic has been downgraded on my “evil overlord” spectrum to being merely “naughty-leaning, wait-and-see”.

    I hesitate to reactivate the book page without overhauling it and removing links, but I might rebuild it so it seems less “commercial”.

    Anyway — thanks for putting up with my venting.

    Back to writing!

  • Campfire Sessions — 06 apr 25

    Campfire
    Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash

    It’s time to be off, they said.

    There was not much left of the once-long stick I had been using to poke at the dying embers for a spell. Each time I poked, bright orange sparks would jump from the rippling ruby coals. For no particular reason, doing so brought me a flash of joy.

    I have always been a firebug. Maybe that was why.

    I turned to Raven, their feathers ruddy in the glow of the remains of my campfire. Off where? I asked.

    You know, they said.

    (more…)

  • inner

    sage bundles in a pot for smudging
    Photo by Ginny Rose Stewart on Unsplash
    we crawled into
    innerworld
    on our hands &
    knees

    you kissed me
    otherside &
    promised me all
    night

    sage was a'drifting
    stones were shifting &
    flames burned to
    embers

  • outsider

    i am the outsider drifting
    slipstream shifting
    through & through
    a directionless beggar
    desert rags wrapped
    red around wrists &
    broken at my mouth
    open fractured to speak
    i croak & rasping
    thirsty for the dawn

  • games

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    always unknowing & unreadable
    her eyes play from the shadows
    teasing & taunting

    forgive me, i am so tired
    of these games

  • Towards the Within — Næturblóm

    © Sebastian Iskra, listed as “free to use”.

    I’ll admit that I haven’t been listening to music so much as playing it since I picked up my bass guitar, so I’m going to fall back on a band used to help seed my original exploration, Kælan Mikla, a three-piece band from Reykjavík, Iceland.

    (more…)

  • red dirt

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    sitting the red dirt
    casting needle bone raw
    hey fox, ho owl 
    what tales do winds tell?

    given to ghost on promise
    tied leather, wrapped lace 
    turning on bright flame
    if the memory serves you
    well 

    sitting the red dirt
    between pine and swell 
    hey owl, ho fox with
    promises winds tell

  • unexpected outcomes

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    mad hare, what drove you
    to dodge the night fallen snow
    from here to there and back again
    all dizzy in your frenzy?

    it seems you lost your head
    the large crow said, as he
    cleaned up the mess of you
    left out in the yard behind