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poetry: backrooms

hiding behind a teetering tower of chairs sits
chipped glass words.
burnt popcorn words.
banana slug words.

water-stained trunks choke them down.
wardrobes jammed against the wall.
floorboards nailed shut.

at night they escape.
muffled cries through hallways.
doors which don’t open.
holes in the floor.

don’t listen.
don’t look.
they are already in the air.

*20/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic. 

by

poetry: ink and fur

when my poem coyote hunts
it makes no sound.
hunger guides it—

a vibration like gnawing, like remembering,
like stalking white rabbits through thick pages.

once i dreamed it howled,
loud enough to rearrange my ribcage
into a den.

you were there, hunting too,
a thread tied between us
like a leash, or maybe
an umbilical cord.

sunlight pressed into our skin,
warming our fur until we rolled over,
leaving nothing but words
cooling in the dirt.

*19/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

by

Poetry: Stone Protector

She looks like a mother holding her breath,
or a weathered perch for tired wings.
A cracked wall leaning forward
with a core of solid iron
stained by a century of rain.

She smells of windy peppermint
mixed with bristling feathers,
or a field of burning sage.
A broken eucalyptus tree
rotting in the summer sun.

Step into the shadow she casts
to place memories at her feet—
rocking bundles of dandelion breath
and broken rocks thrown downhill.
A kaleidoscope turning too quickly.

Give the soaked bundle to her
until the stone cracks open
and feathers litter the ground.

Listen to the wind remembering
what sits beneath the stone.

*18/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: how many more?


leaning on her staff
shuffling barefoot
she wavers slightly
heavy with the moon’s dark spill.

a raw star whispers from the foam:
tell me a story about me and the sea.

so she speaks,
spilling salt and history,
rocks rattling in her pockets,
strands of silver falling into green,

as dusk crabs scuttle home
and the sky becomes womb-red—
another cycle she must carry.

leaning on her staff
shuffling barefoot
she asks the waves:
how many more moons?

*17/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: where does the eye focus?

don’t say tangle again
say ravel, say twist

wedges of wings point north
my broken toe points in

don’t say try again
say strive, say aim

the tide rises in my shoes
say move, then move

*16/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: sunlightyou

saunterstep beside me
pretend you flashcapture
everymoment
ohthelightreallylovesyou
dreamyou 
beautybeautybeauty
wordslike whisperskin
foldtogether 
alwaystouching
sunlightyou knows howto
saunterstep beside me

*15/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

by

poetry: a square of sky

what would you pay for this bit of blue?
i will throw in flour dust
and a turmeric-stained apron.

you might find bent hinges,
snippets of moon song,
silver strands curling at the edges.

moth light and steady sandstone.

cloudy mirrors, well-worn paths,
watercolor stained jars,
books under beds, and 
hollows shaped by holding.

what would you pay me
for this bit of blue?

*14/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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Photography: Playing Around

I’ve borrowed a few cameras that I’m playing with on vacation. I’m experimenting with lenses and systems much different than my own. My biggest take away—I can use any camera. I think that was good for me to learn. While the colors of the Sony Alpha 7 IV where beautiful, I was really blown away by the feel of the Leica Q2. Dude, that camera feels GOOD in your hand.

I’ve mixed up the images in this post, some taken with the two borrowed cameras, and some with my Olympus. Honestly, editing them all, it wasn’t as big a difference as I’d thought. It really seems it’s the lens that matters more than anything. I ordered a new/used one that’s 50mm with a much lower f1.8. I’ll be testing it out next week at the State Fair and report back.

For those not following my slight nerd rant, can I interest you in deer triplets?? (see below) They were seriously so cute!

Let me know if you have a favorite shot and have a fantastic day!

#1

#2

#3

#4

#5

#6

#7 (I love this camera)

#8

#9

#10

#11 (testing out focus points)

#12

#13 (as promised)

#14

#15

#16

#17

#18

#19

#20

*There were shot on a variety of cameras and lenses, but all edited on Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: beach house

it’s always double yellow lines
and a lone cow on a hill.
elephant rock and a tunnel of trees.
mustard and pink dancing
among prickly brown.
a leaning silo and 
clusters of sheep.

it’s always new music
and torn bags of chips.
the wooly highlands
and the old chapel bell.
towering piles of pillows.
dominoes shifting in a tin.
tomato soup with black pepper.

it’s always watching flames dance
and half-finished puzzles.
a wooden bowl of taffy and
stuffies in the dumbwaiter.
mountains of sandy shoes.
chairs pushed together
and seashell coffee cups.

it’s always…?

*13/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.

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poetry: rear window sky

a glittery speck of sun
winked through lacy trees,
condensing clouds in the backseat.
another world layered on ours—
where cars hover,
and asphalt floats.

as a child, i pressed against the glass
framed in heavy, dark oak.
hours dissolved into the silver coating
whispering to the girl inside.
she wore her hair cropped short,
kept her candy in the open,
and spoke in thunder.

years blurred the glass,
until this afternoon—
loading grocery bags into the van,
the rear window swallowed the sky.

trapped in the glass,
the clouds drifted,
and a familiar shadow smiled.

*12/100: For the next 100 days, I’ll be writing and posting a poem every day.
**All photos are mine, taken with an Olympus E-M1 MarkII and edited with Lightroom Classic.