Jan 29


Trapped between the limits of what is
and the prospect of what could be,

With delight I welcome the sun
and with dread I await the snow.
Oct 27

A tribute

Aug 14

I wonder

I wonder,
Who scans the news
for word of another 
Who waits with bated 
breath for news of the
and tallies of the dead?
Who steps out onto the lawn,
well before town 
and city stir,
to lower the flag.

And who,
who raises it once more?
Aug 14

Photo essay: Rutland

This collection of photos demonstrates the variety of art and artistic displays in Rutland.

The first few photos were taken along West and Center Streets and showcase the murals and sculptures present there. The photos following those were taken at the local Farmers’ Market which is located in a plaza.

The next slides highlight some of the architecture of Rutland. Included in those photos are shots of the Center Street Alley, the Library, and the Court House.

Finally, the last few photos show the Chaffee Art Center exhibit. Recently, the Chaffee has put together an exhibition of local artists, such as Spaulding Dunbar, whose closeups and portraits are present in this collection of images, and Jen Rondinone, who painted the large upright image of rope against the side of a house.

Create a photo essay of your community!
Mar 17

Out of the Woods-- Final

CHARACTERS: ALEX: A young woman. She is wary of things and often feels the need to escape her troubles by venturing into the woods. She feels that since she cannot solve anything by being outside the woods where she feels comfortable, she might as well enjoy the freeing nature of the forrest, and not worry herself. She would rather live with something imperfect, than risk loosing the good aspects of it.
HARPER: Is a young woman. Harper is more excitable and energetic. She is not comfortable in the woods. She feels that the troubles they are facing are easily solvable and believes that they should head back and face them.
FELIX and ELLIE are two friends with whom they were hiking who got separated from them.

SETTING: A clearing in the woods
Sep 12

Language (words)

I love language.
the way it sounds,
the way words
roll off the tongue.

Its roots stretch back,
through time
to that first, single,
unknown, utterance.

Yet still it grows,
branches twisting 
and turning.
They sprawl off
into the unknown
with words growing
like leaves,
every one there
because it was needed.

because there was some
thought, or emotion
so complex,
that all the words
that had come before
could not express it.

In this way language grows. 
Some new shoot of life
Or another original utterance
emerges and changes.
Meanings blossom
then fade
until the flower wilts,
forgotten by time.

Yet still,
the tree stretches,
back, back to the beginning
and that very first,
unknown sound. 

Aug 02

Tap. Tap.

Jillian sat, lightly tapping her pencil against the wooden desk. The desk had begun to rot she noted, tilting her head slightly so she could get a better look at the dark mold that now crept along its underside. She paused for a moment, sucking in a breath before she swept her finger against the mold. It was fuzzy to the touch she noted, different than the mold she had spied on the leaves that morning. She wondered if there was some advantage to the textures, she couldn’t imagine what advantage there would be, but evolution crafted nature with such fine detail, that she imagined there had to be some advantage to a different texture of mold.
Jul 22

The Silence of Noise

Burned Down-
An old motel lay,
Just a pile of
Ashes and soot.

Kids clambered
To the windows.
In such a hurry,
They forgot smoke drifts.
It slipped in,
Stinging eyes and throats.

Still, kids clambered,
Eager to see,
What lay before them.
Sirens cried out,
As the bus drove away,
From the smoldering remains,
And the smoke that danced above.

Quiet Reigned-
Code Red Drill.
Words we’d all
Heard before.

Kids silent,
Except for a cough,
Or a stifled laugh.
They sat ears and eyes clear.

This was the norm after all,
No need to clammer,
No need to cry out,
As the principal stepped away.
From the smoldering remains,
Of a ruined foundation,
And the smoke that danced above.

For us, tragedy is as normal,
As the motel standing,
While hope has become,
A spectacle akin to fire.
Jul 15


America, I believe in you,
Even though perhaps I should not.
You repeat the same mistakes,
Over and over again.
So much so that these mistakes,
Have become the norm for you.

Still, I yearn for you to do better,
Even as history tells me you cannot.
Perhaps this latest mistake of yours
Is not a step away from your path,
As much as a reflection,
Of what you have always been.

Still, I worry for you.
Telling you that you can
And must, do better.

Your ideals have become,
A consultation to me,
Even as you so fervently reject them.
Spurning the huddled and poor,
From your shores.
You turn your back on them.
Caging them,
Tearing families apart.

And I don’t know what to say,
Because this is a mistake,
You’ve made before.
You said you learned though.
You promised you had.
Audio download:
Jul 08