Tarns & Ridges & Ghost Vessels
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
Shadows plummet from an angry sky
dwarfing the morning commuters
held in the dual towers of a church
that extend the depths of time...
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
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?
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?
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,
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"
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
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
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
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
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
Castle walls hold back an angry sky
For those who enter drenched in shadow
Will leave burning
Facing the ignominy of their unholy visit