Loom of Dreams

My poetry, art, and vocal recordings on the expresson of life and our dreams

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Being in connection with my loved one
Is like communing with an entire sea–
From water warmed both by the brilliant sun,
And Earth’s magnetic core of molten heat.

Often I float in a vast pool of grace,
Or am caressed by vivacious waves;
By passion engulfed by a surging storm–
Then gently returned to a calmer shore…

Fatherly, he shields me always with love;
Though in angst, refuge he craves like a son.
A kindred spirit, a twin without end–
Always my lover, in truth my best friend.
Our souls flow as one– like water, replete;
The pull of his tide, I feel as I breathe.




Impassioned, he wrote:
“My soul rises to reach yours,
just before the fall– in the moment when our love is all.
I feel my soul leap to touch yours in a flying breath,
High like the sigh of our voice in songs!”

I replied,
“You are the inside-out version of me.
Deep down, a hidden, profound poet; outside, a warrior to the world.
On days like this, you give me the diamonds,
And I simply polish them.”

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presto, Vivaldi’s “The Four Seasons”


The sound of bound fury flying,
Of ribbons of sound like threads of alarm
flying, flying–!
Madness in a coil:
The cry of the soul’s striving
Thwarted by propriety,
Of will checked by reason,
Yet undying self-determination.
Of pure life force caught in
The symbolic maze of a French formal garden,
Desperately trying to find its way out.

The sound of life caught in a lie.
Of flesh caught in corsets,
Of passion prevented from circumstance,
Of true love forbidden by the lust
Of soulless marriages of greed and convenience–
All dancing within circumscribed boundaries.
The sound of Europe reaching—breaching,
And the resolution, the sure certain stride of the violin’s last breath,
Resolving so majestically on the note of G;

Life’s music and the music of life,
Resounding so proudly
To escape its chains.


Ode to a Cello

How I get lost in a cello!

Its wood-rich, world weary sounds

Assuage my heart, with catharsis to impart.

Waves of vibrato pour out from the tones

Pressed from beneath the bow—

In pitches that produce tactile shades of emotion.

There are waves so evenly spaced, so engrained from the wood,

Washing ashore on my welcoming soul,

Slaking the thirst of my heart.