for Joseph Brodsky who said:
“The dolce vita is chocolate and champagne.”
He bought bread
in the little shop on the corner,
had it wrapped
mostly for the mystery
and the precious paper,
a blank slate for his poetry
inspired by mingled scents
of poppy seed and yeast,
and a yearning for his homeland
where loaves were crustier
and poets were noted
for their hunger.
- Willowdown and trinimade collabs.Pg 3
- Willowdown and trinimade Collabs Page 4
- Willowdown and trinimade Collabs. Pg. 2
- Willowdown and trinimade Collaborations
- Willowdown Pen and Ink Drawings Page 2
- Willowdown Pen and Ink Drawings Page 1
- Willowdown Pen and Ink Drawings Page 3
- Willowdown Marker Art
- WD MarkerArt Pg2
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Sunday, December 31, 2017
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Hark! I hear the silver bells,
the joyful carolers caroling.
They sing about a wondrous birth;
such love their song is sharing.
Many paths have brought them here
where all have meshed as one.
A happier sound impossible
than voices raised to praise the Son.
Even now (two thousand years!)
though peace has long been riven,
we celebrate that Holy Child
and the miraculous gift He’s given.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Sunday, June 26, 2016
The stark blue hills,
smoky soft at dawn…
save them as they stand today
unknowing of the forest’s thinning,
unaware they’ve been mortgaged to the hilt
by guilty men who lack the heart
to stand up in a storm. Even the kind hearted grow small
against the rising sun.
Smart and modern
we adjust creation until we have no home,
but I babble… It is the hills that stand the test of time,
Soldiers fall like leaves, trees become poor poems
and those stacks that belched their smoke stand idle.
Bricks fall, fill the empty belly of the beast that fed us. Ivy tangles and turns brown, but every evening
in the shadow of a day that’s done,
the hills stand tall in tortured stone, They do not fear the dark.
Come morning when the sun is at a softer slant,
the smoky haze of day gives gentler hue
to hills that cup their hands
to catch the thunder.