Buried Artifact


(La-Venere-di Milo: internet photo)

Silt shifts; like a silk dress in a breeze,
creamy folds expose buried artifacts of a restless spirit.
Nubile naked truths tease.
Glimpses of a white shoulder, a bare thigh,
peep through spongy mud.
Shallow water sculpts seductively
over hidden treasure.
Patient stream erodes murky riverbed.
Venus arises.
Her polished eyes gleam.

Treasure Keeper


A dragon emerges from
smoky grey and black
Ancient symbols
spin around his head.
Razor sharp, spiky teeth
and scaly back, glisten
like carefully crafted
obsidian spears.

The maiden is not afraid.
Her long hair is loosely
A single braid is pulled
to one side. Heavy silk
layers of soft mauve
seem to disappear and appear
again as smoke swirls about
the cavern.

Restlessly, the dragon
circles the space.
The maiden remains still.
She dreamt of this
majestic beast.
She saw his ferocious eyes
sensitive to the slightest
She saw his bravery
and his compassion.

When the dragon stops pacing
their eyes meet,
their hearts lock.
The maiden steps toward
the flaming roar,
her trust protecting her
from the raging fire.
As her small hand touches
the chest of the beast,
a single drop of blood
is drawn from her delicate
finger. With a swift turn
of his head the dragon
catches the drip on the tip
of his tongue.
Their fate is sealed.
Her treasure
will be forever protected.

Pieces of Me

Pieces of me
are sliced along definite lines.
An exacto knife
used with meticulous care
creates little wedges to let others glimpse
what they need to see
allow me
to hold myself together
long enough to discover
what the whole of me

In my precision
of personality division
I have lost a critical sliver of pie.

Peaches without cream,
Abbot without Costello,
Romeo sans Juliet.

Prosciutto thin identity
has left only crumbs of myself
that even a mouse turns away
in search of something more satisfying.

Bits and chunks
fragments and hunks,
accuracy is gone
along with my sense of self.
I am stretched,
a drum without a skin.

I collect and contain
delicate scraps and tainted morsels
discarded haphazardly
wiping the knife on a hip.

Like Humpty who fell
my shell
is cracked.
I don’t have King’s horses or King’s men
to put everything back

Paper Mache is my life line.
Glued sheets and strips
rebuild layer upon layer
of my raw, divided self.
All of the fragments lump together
as a heavy, wet mush.

form is given
to a new
unbroken heirloom.
A valued object full of stories
to be passed from
generation to generation.

A hidden treasure beneath all the layers.

Post #100!!

Today is day one hundred of posting. Even as I write this I find it hard to believe!
Thank you readers who stop by my site. Thank you everyone who is following this journey with me. I sincerely appreciate your support!

(image credit: gratitude harte)

Keep Digging

Mission continues
peel back layer by layer
hidden treasure waits

Pen sifts muddy thoughts
paper pulls graphic icons
subliminal dirt

Intricate beauty
covered beneath deception
self preservation

Raising to daylight
exposes vulnerable
state of reflection


1920x1080 Wallpaper

Today is a day of enchantment
Elves elude, fairies dance
Pixie dust shimmers in the air

Anything is possible
Child-like innocence
World a foreign land

Treasures before me
Vast endless prairies
Open fields
Fresh thirst quenching water
An abundance of food
Local, organic, and global delicacies

Delightful lick of creamy ice cream
quickly melting atop waffle cone
Savory scent of barbecue wafts in air

Threat of thundershowers add to
Mystique and joy of the day
Conjure illusions of
Scaly dragons with fiery breath

Today is a magical day
Full of familiar sights
wearing a marvel sheen