Clouds …

… My ever moving art gallery

My daily weather report

It matters not where I am

In the comfort of home

A car on the freeway

Among other drivers

The slow     the speeders     motorcycles

That startle as they roar


My attention is out the


My eyes on the sky


Clouds are like people

Like everything in the natural


Different shapes


Different purposes of existence

Exuding an aura of diversity

Like everything alive on earth

Diversity is life


As a child

I imagined myself lying down

On big white puffy comforter


But never on those forecasting


Darkly ominous blankets of solid gray

Over my head

Then rushing across the sky

Pushed by erratic winds

Still drawing my eyes upwards

Always upwards


Nothing has changed

Clouds     my ever moving art gallery

My daily weather report

Awake each morning

I open the shutters

Look through branches

Of the Sycamore     Crepe Myrtle tress

To find the clouds

Only to discover     now and then

The sun has risen on this day

Into a cloudless blue sky


A Silent Encounter


The day is overcast


Not unusual for Arcata

A town in Northern California

Blessed with Redwood Trees

Twenty miles south

Of the Oregon border

Where we walk the path

Around the lagoon

Of the Arcata Marsh

Looking for herons

Ducks     egrets

And other birds

That come and go

With seasons of the



Tall reeds wave in the breeze

From the water

Bushes     small trees

Grow everywhere we walk

Framing the gravel path

That now leads us

Almost full circle to where

We began

And there     in the middle

Of the path

Stands a giant white egret

Like a spotlight

Its brilliant white

Shines in our eyes

Still as a statue

It signals

Come no closer

We wait

Still as the egret

But take our fill of observation

Never before so close to



The egret turns around

The giant wings reach out

Fold in again

Then making an obvious decision

It walks regally into the waiting



We remain motionless

In wonder

With gratitude

Then walk the rest of the way

To our car

Drive home in the gray light

With the memory of a brilliant

White blessing

“Arcata Marsh” by Brian McQueen




Dry Spell


written spring 2015

I have lost the magic

In my words

As I’ve lost the moon

The stars are gone

From my portion of sky

I grieve them all


You and I once watched

The sun as it sank

Behind the Jemez Mountains

In New Mexico

Leaving a glorious fire

Of orange     of gold

Of deep crimson

That reached into clouds

High above     it’s descent


Where is Orion now

Where are the dippers

I search the indigo

Of early evening

Before windows in homes

Across El Camino Real

Reflect lamplight from inside them

So many streetlights

So many lit windows

My portion of sky

Is no longer mine

My words feel as tho

They’ve escaped into a

Starless sky

In a starless night

*photo credit

Listening In & Missing You



Listening In


Where I am now

There is soft chirping

From small birds


Out my open window

I listen to them

Hear their conversations

Like the ebb and flow

Of human voices

Around a dinner table

It feels somewhat like

I am eavesdropping

On their privacy

But I do not understand

Their language

Have no idea

What is being discussed

So what can it matter

Anyway                              –2013


Missing You

It is in another time

Another place

I hear mocking birds


As they claim their territories

In the mating months

Of February and March

Our Southern California spring


Each bird owns their own


Of rhythm     trills     melodies

Culled from the sounds

Of other birds

Their songs resonating like bells

From hillsides around my house



I remember wonderment

Remember my joy

To hear a mocking bird


In the silence of midnight

Moon music     I call it

A lullaby into sleep                         –2013-2014


*photo image found on Pinterest