Poetry Day: Summer Darlings

gone again

these summer darlings

arriving with the leaves of spring

and gone in a golden whirl on the October wind

across the street

lights out

and the thousand treasures on the lawn

hidden in their winter dens

park, quiet now but for the crunch of leaves

beneath the only walker’s feet

docks empty of the sounds of water wanderers

sails stored and the harbor waits for ice

sky that held fireworks of every color

holds the mix now for snow

waiting for its moment to let it go

onto the rooftops and the few who stay behind

this must be what parents felt when we

headed out on the road

searching for the next,

the new,

the other home we made

One match can light a thousand fires…

So, there’s this woman named Sally. She grew up with music and art and amazing people surrounding her and when she came into her power, she wanted to start something that could grow and last. Something that required people to join the game; participate. The game is about creative flow and it starts with one piece of inspiration. (insert sound of match igniting here…)

It might be a word or a song. Maybe a video clip or a photograph. Anything really. Strangers, friends, whoever is moved to do so, uses that prompt to create something else that was inspired from experiencing the first offering.

The game is growing, just like Sally hoped it would, and people are collaborating right here online. (…more fires lighting from the first flame…)

The only reason I am aware of this project is a photographer friend posted a link online to her beautiful photo that was used as the June 2018 inspiration over at Consenses.

Always a fan of anything Jane Rosemont does, I followed her like Samwise to see where the journey was taking us that day. I have a gorgeous photo on my wall that she created during another creative project where she used old tea bags.

Jane's Tea Addiciton
“Jane’s Tea Addiction” by Jane Rosemont

Knowing I’d end up someplace amazing, I followed the link in her post to the June Challenge at Consenses and spent some time with this haunting image she had captured on the Salton Sea.

Dream House by Jane Rosemont
Photograph by Jane Rosemont “Dream House”

The photo plucked a chord on the still strings that live in my dusty memory and a poem showed up.


Almost a Life                  MDH/©2018

I found a photo of our place

At the bottom of an old suitcase

Just you and me and the Salton Sea

In the house of lover’s souvenirs

Days passed as we climbed together – up that inner mountain

Igniting love a thousand times until it was a fountain

Spilling out onto the sand,

Shimmering magic in our hands

Brave enough to make a stand

Your soul and mine, our lives entwined

The light we made had left us blind

We couldn’t lean so hard upon the fragile frame

In this place of dreams – just a shell remains.

An almost home; an almost life, a link without a chain

An empty bed,

A book unread

And all these pictures in my head

Hands laid on your sun warm skin, echoed laughter here instead

No more remains of what we were

Just frame and dust and whispered words

Like promises of so much more

And seeing as there was no door

They blew off on a desert breeze

Your goodbye left me on my knees

There was a time this would have been enough for me

When you were standing at my side out on the Salton Sea



That’s my small offering, but have a look at some really phenomenal projects posted out there.

Like this one from an 11 year old girl who created and performed this song, Under Her Braids. Have a listen…

11. She’s ELEVEN years old. 


Want in on this game?

Follow me, little dove…

To join this “Artistic game of telephone”, click the link watch the video where Sally talks about how this whole thing works.

Then, click CREATE and start the engine of creativity……..


And while you’re surfing through wonder, go see what Jane is up to now. Her world is filled with art and music and film; like her film Shirts! that recently premiered at the Dances With Films festival in Los Angeles, June 2018. It stars her husband, Dick. Yeah. That’s right. Dick & Jane. I also have friends named Wendy & Peter. Deal with it.


So why are you sitting there wishing you could do something fun again? Go play with matches…

light a match


Poetry Day: End of the Season

For my Northport Dear Hearts❤️

I stretch my heart across the land to see if I can hold you all as you drift homeward to your corners~ far away.
I’ve made room for you now inside my ribs

where I can carry your voices

until the trees bloom again

and you return to this northern town

where we move like circus folk –

readying our spaces before the show begins again.

Short, sweet season 

filled with a thousand birds gathered on a wire outside our night windows. 

Gone now

Quiet fills the spaces

where you all just were.


to have had this time 


In your friendship.

Poetry Day- Stand Mother’s Day





You stand with us

You, who nurture cities

You, who stand as big sister

You, aunt

You, best friend

You, neighbor

You who nurture the soil and raise up food and blossoms

You who bring creatures home and show them humans can be loving too

You who protect us, heal us, inspire us and entertain us

You who teach us what we need to know

Mothers – all

You stand with us.


My Creator of All Things


After writing a full novel manuscript I find myself only pulling smaller word threads for a while; resting some muscle but keeping it taut with sprints through poetry and essay. It’s another poetry day and I’m feeling like offering up this one to the cyber pyre of anonymous eyes.





Creator of All Things


My Creator of All Things

Is not the playground bully created by religion

Not the God with the small “g” who has a vocabulary

With words like






And judgment


My Creator of All Things

Needs no words.

To name a thing is to capture it

And stop its evolution towards something more


My Creator of All Things

Set a dance in motion a trillion, trillion, trillion years ago

A trillion, trillion, trillion years from now

One second ago



Time is a measuring stick designed for tiny human brains

To help us organize events into simple patterns we can understand


My Creator of All Things

Swirled the dust of everything into a golden spiral

And I see the signature everywhere

From the perfect turn of my DNA

To the galaxies spinning in dizzying proportions light years across the vastness beyond


My Creator of All Things

Swirled the dust of everything

And the dance began, begins, will begin

Throughout the Multiverse

Flung far




triggered by possibility

Every possibility

Every choice

Conscious or unconscious

Amongst the sentient and insentient



My Creator of All Things

Is the observer

Watching as each speck of dust finds its way around the spiral

And back again to be part of itself

Though it never left


My Creator of All Things

Does not require membership










My Creator of All Things

Touches my heart

When I sit in a field of flowers

Looking closely at the perfect design of a

Clover blossom while the bee

moves without hesitation

Knowing its purpose and its path


My Creator of All Things rocks me gently

When I feel the earth moving in its orbit


I grow



And discover the possibilities

Of every choice I make

Consciously or unconsciously

As I dance around the spiral

On my way back to where I began


My Creator of All Things is not the school yard bully created by religion


My Creator of All Things is the Alpha, the Omega

and everything in between.


And I am a microscopic, macroscopic

Vital and relevant part of All Things


Cathead Bay Michigan


I’m a Galleria Mall in a National Park,

a French film noir in a grocery store,

art school in the kitchen,

An erotica book on a Wednesday noon,

And a heated debate at 2 a.m.

I’m the cookie baker

trouble maker

heart breaker

claim staker-

I want everything to change

While the good parts stay the same.

I want the freedom of the road

while harvesting the flowers I’ve sowed.

I want a home that feels like love

and all the laughter it’s made of-

I want a soundtrack worth a movie

And then I want to leave behind

A mountain of creations

For my progeny to find.

That’s all.

Poetry Day- America: The Long Dream


usa night

So, this poem arrived in a dream, intact, and I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote it down, just like this. There’s music too, but since I can’t write music, its just in my head. I wrote this in 1998 but I think about it every 9/11.

America: The Long Dream


as we awaken from this long dream

we look around to see what’s happening

and wipe the sleep out of our weary eyes.


Long ago,

we came from every nation on the earth

our skin is shaded like the mother lands

our eyes reflect the places of our birth.


We’ve lived for years a nation under God

but never dared to say which one that was

now deep from sleep a restless voice is heard.


Until we see,

we came together here to start anew

and find the likenesses in me and you

we’ll never reach the point where love is true.


The purpose of our lives has always been

to learn to love regardless of our skin


The God we call out to is all the same.

The only difference is the man made name.

We bow our heads and ask

direction for

our lives again.


And in the middle of the darkest night

we hear the whispered voice and see the light

that fills our hearts and somehow makes it right.


This is the dawning of a brand new day.

Our turmoil leads us to another way-

to handle change with grace.



as we awaken from this long dream

and look around to see what’s happeneing

we see the truth within our open eyes.

We’re standing truly at each other’s side.

Our learning hearts are finally open wide

to let the new day in.