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Tarns & Ridges & Ghost Vessels

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You can see life on the tarn's bottom,

Where dark umbrums fall from the ridge above,

Screaming for sunlight

I'm glad the mountains afford us this view,

For the tarn's bottom is a riveting place

Pipes spread across it like weeds,

And ghost vessels dance in its wake

Grasses and flowers of another time preserved,

In trepidation of the coming days

Church Towers

Shadows plummet from an angry sky

dwarfing the morning commuters

held in the dual towers of a church

that extend the depths of time...

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Jaded, Floating

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Two jaded fortresses on opposite

sides of a mercurial lake

Both fit with wooden docks

unbroken by the hands of time

But twisted and cracked in

like false teeth

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And those two wooden doors

watermarked and aging

To be dwarfed by the staunch

grandeur of the mountains

And for what to hold

from floating away?


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Dark clouds run feverishly over tight city streets

Made of cobblestone and time

The houses that line these streets

Seem to inch closer each day

And the connection between them

Becomes less of an overpass

When visitors stroll by

Left: Missing Roses                      Right: Trinity


It’s a mix between Macadamia and December. Washed and gliding too easily

between the tips of your fingers. They call it ‘white’ but it arrives with such darkness

your eyes fill your mind with doubt. There’s no way every color of the rainbow exists in there, like they say. It seems more like the absence of color. The dream of a painter

or nightmare of an artist. I can’t stare too long, or else be overtaken by a certain melancholy. 

And not the guiltily welcome sort. Instead I look up- and wonder. Where have all the roses gone?

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Ornate curtains of green-

     "the light of child you may never hold"

Magenta frames held in the high ceiling-

     "the warmth of love's tender kiss"

A shift in time to the new wooden brown chairs-

     "the softening shades of years gone by"

And in the center, a bursting yellow

With the burning passion of a summer sun-

     "a hue of warning; death may lie hidden in this            delight"

Filled to the brim with a false sky of blue-

      "they say it blankets most of our home,

       when I see it on a hydrangea, I believe them"

Until reaching the black of the zenith-

     "the void of color is no void at all,

      but rather,

      all things good in the world dance together,

      cloaked in darkness,

      so as not to give too much back"

Oil paintings of olive robes-

     "a welcoming falsity; where is the feast we were                    promised?"

And not to continue on without the other golden yellows-

     "may not have thought he could fool anyone yet,

       but he is fooling me"


Walls of ceramic tiles

The dark blue of a night sky-

     "or dark horse? racing the stars to the light of day"

And finally the hanging gowns of blue-

     "one last look out across the horizon

      before we pledge ourselves to the book of time"

Mountain Bowl

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When they fall into crystal water,

A bowl of mountains comes apart at the seams,

Their reflections echoing a blurry sky...



Moody skies roll over one of the most famous blocks in

Munich, Germany- Marienplatz. This photograph depicts the New Town Hall,

the residence of the city government. Marienplatz is also home to St. Peter's Church, the oldest church in the city. Despite several rebuilds,

St. Peter's Church dates back to the 12th century.

Traditional German Dishes

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This dish, known as Schweinshaxe, is

a slow-roasted pig knuckle. In the town

of Andechs, a Benedictine monastery

serves up freshly brewed beer and

Schweinshaxe with aged Sauerkraut- A

German classic!

This German dessert is more like

a meal. Germknödel, as it's called,

is a fluffy dumpling filled with

spiced plum jam, and topped with

butter, poppy seed, and powdered

sugar. It is often served in a bath of

vanilla sauce, as well. This dish can

usually be found in the mountainous

regions or higher elevations

of Germany.

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When the fog slowly lifts, this scene is exposed to me:

The mountains are gorgeous as they stretch down

below, dipping into choppy waters that look somehow still.

The rain droplets rest on the boat like freckles,

as the wind carves tiny perforations onto the

water's surface.

Water falls.

This mountain scene is too grand, like another planet,

like an animation, like a giant's bathtub.

I begin to wonder how far the water level rises

when he steps in. I wonder also if he has

ever thought to add bubbles and make a bubble-bath.

As our boat pulls in, I wonder once more:

What will our giant do when he returns to find me in his tub?

Drenched in Shadow

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Castle walls hold back an angry sky

For those who enter drenched in shadow

Will leave burning

Facing the ignominy of their unholy visit


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The Amper

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