My Wild Horses


People tell me

you need variety

don’t put your

eggs in one basket


they don’t see the wild in me

they don’t see

the hunger for open spaces

desires as crazy

as a whirlwind in July

the turmoil

you stir in my blood

until my horses run


past caring

of the ruin

stampede in my soul

They don’t understand

the passion

you created with careless words

honeyed with a dark liquor

bleeding through the miles

of invisible line

and I choose to believe

that you spilled them

with the same hope

I had of hearing them

a dark demolition

throwing that gate open

to let me dance

following by your side into the


and running with the stars

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Picture courtesy of Pixabay






I dreamt of coyote

last night

He came to me

through the opening

of a tight orange canyon

eye to eye

coyote was not laughing

and I knew this was bad

the visions came

A broken lance

“Snake Oil”

I stood on a rock in white deer skin

howling into falling snow

as horses ran

a painful lesson

of needing to

let go

LAS  copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

The Chase

Chase me to the moon and back

weaving hide and seek patterns through beams of silver

The comets collide

rocking me back on heels

showering my heart with a million tiny fragments

in a benediction of emotions

as broad as the spectrum of light


naked in honesty

and replete with who we are

continuing a cycle

through this cosmos we created

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If I show my heart right now, will he run?  If I tell him that I may have fallen for him from the first time I saw him through pictures and words and the unspoken kindnesses I see in his smile… would it frighten him? What if I tell him that I understand the horrors he has seen, the joys in small moments, that I am excited, yet scared and shy as a doe coming out of the brush?

My mornings have been richer this week because of him.  I don’t let a lot of people truly close to me.  Old fears.  People can be so cruel.  Like the snow melting, droplets forming trickles, pouring away from my frozen heart for a Spring to push up grasses and flowers and life after so long of being barren white.  I am so vulnerable and yet I yearn.

But when you let someone in, they know your soft spots…how deep your river flows…where the muddy spots are that push into brambles and thickets of dark brush. They know the hidden caves of treasure and the monsters you hide.  But I want to let him in.

A call.  A glance.   To share a word face to face and listen to the luxury of a human voice spinning a tale of their world…their truths, and deep fears, and shining glories.  The touch of another’s hand.

I have stood on this hillside, tying poems to tumbleweeds and setting them free to the wind.   Taking the chance that maybe they will be read before the sun and rain fade them and the winds shred them away.  Hoping that these fragile notes will crumble in the wrong hands.  Praying that the right heart, his heart, will hear and treasure them away in his mind and in secret. Smiling that I have spoken without demonstration and in the silence of the open skies just to reach him.

A chance of one in a million worth taking.  And yet I tie one more note to this ragged, old tumbleweed, raise it high in the wind and let it go.

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Run Off

The snow is melting.

Riverlets run through

leaf mold and last years bent grasses,

making their way to the creek bed.

It seemed that winter’s heavy coat

would suffocate the world

in white,

encasing it in ice;

God’s world trapped in crystal.

Long nights of hushed quiet,

the snow lays in layers of days and weeks

and accumulation of dreams

and farmers hopes

to melt as time passes to Spring.

Warmth is seeding the minutes,

pushing life to the surface

for the Spring’s maiden to show her finery

of purples, emeralds, and golds.

With the blessing of water,

it will be a lush year.

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Red Dust Road

Dust down the old road

my heart broke

from the dreams going up

in moving on smoke

and I didn’t want to

the overwhelming crash

of the never agains and I’m sorry’s

Looking out for me

looking out

for someone special

that’s broken too

mend each other’s wounds

and laugh at the scars


that appreciates the oldies

and that slight crinkle around my eyes

taking me driving

down those old roads

kicking up this red dust

for new reasons

new dreams

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Wet on wet canvas

the Prussian blue blooms and spreads across

the white



to dissipate the fog below it

stopping at the paint resist

to allow for clouds

Hills of emerald

trees with new growth

and a figure indistinct

walks beneath a brook

fantasies come to life

from pictures in my mind

former days

I will take time

with this one

conjuring a future

of how I want my life to be

painting another figure

next to the man

by the brook

hoping the watercolors and the dreams

will hold true

as the color wheel blends

and my thoughts turn to a new Spring

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