Poetic Stream

A stream of small poetic quickies:


The web you weaved I almost wanted to be caught in,

Lured and tangled in,

But this web was an illusion,

Thread poisoned by delusion,

I watched you weave this web with silk and golden thread,

But it was stolen from the heavens to make the living dead,

These glimmering butterfly wings are not meant to tangle but to ascend,

So well done my spider friend,

You didn’t catch me but caught yourself instead

drawing by Colleen Baxter

drawing by Colleen Baxter


Gold in those eyes

Her eyes were emerald galaxies, mirrors of forests streaked with golden sun.  Her lips were petals of rose, bitten by peppered cherry wine or a sensually loved one.  She peers into your soul, pulling truths and hidden lies.  She judges little, but dances with gold ribbons to paint others’ dimming eyes. 



What is this skin, this fleshy veil?

Does it represent my soul, or hide my tale?

Am I this body, or is it all just a funny game,

A cosmic illusion disguising that we’re all just the same?

Energy is in everything, whether invisible or plain to see;

the connecting thread, covertly threading you to me.

Transformed by perception, it is how we weave this dance;

choosing to honor or stifle its due brilliance.

So maybe this skin is not me in totality,

but it is a form of this energy, like a crystal ornament on an ever expanding tree.



I might as well be a bird,… nomadic spirit like a creature of flight. Somewhat free from gravitational pull of matter or mind, but flesh nonetheless with fleeting circumstance of feeling confined.  Perhaps you are the breeze that lightly lifts these wings, supporting my independent journey with your own playful solo windings. Together we weave, symbiotically flowing as two complete lone entities, yet dancing high above the drama of life’s tried trickery of dark stormy seas. 



Dancing in these fields of gold, caressed by warm and buttery cosmic kisses, eyes closed I see more clearly, moving more freely, now feeling as we've melted and formed together, no longer you or me but a golden we, dancing with the sun. 

Photo by Peter Koval

Photo by Peter Koval


Abstract painted water birds, gliding within fluid canvas, swirling strokes into a landscape of dreams. Your shadows become my shadows, your lightness now my lightness; like a child you fingerpaint your firey dyes into my curious penetrable soul. Everything now mirrored between liquid fantasies, as my mind mesmerized pulls like taffy strings between your world and mine. 

Photo by Colleen Baxter

Photo by Colleen Baxter