I remember somehow a mist or a fog, a thought of an image, barely tangible. I would reach out and through it; ectoplasm, and it was you. Then a form like a shadow, or a silhouette, you became more clear,

Tonight my co-host (Jerry) and I have a conversation with Kim Ulrich. A fascinating woman to talk with on many fronts, but as the topic of Nox Mente is about Dreams, Dreaming, and Dreamers we will stay

One of the things I find rather sad in modern life is the detachment from understanding the connection between food, medicine and natural ways of production. Most people live daily life without questioning

I'm a slow working painter, partly because I work wet into wet and then let a piece dry for months sometimes (oil paints are my preferred medium), partly because I wait for the story line to surface and

As the heat has finally come to my garden I decided to make a Victorian confection from my great grandmothers little kitchen Witchery book. I always love things that are minty and floral in the summer.

I do a lot of creative things. I've never let limitations stand in my way when I want to learn something and often I've had to work within the "make do" mind set as tools and supplies for so

You dip into me Languid from behind, Hot like steam, Stamen stick sharply While pressing my spine curve, Arched chalice yearn, Ever so plump and swollen upon you, Wanting fills every moment, Pushing against

I want to see that look in your eyes, the same as mine, to feel your lips on my neck, pushing against the pulse of my life with your teeth, your hands through my hair, reaching to my wanton desire of you,

I stood sinking in the sand on the beach looking out upon the water You floated by silver and blue flashes in my eyes War, this is war

Little heartbeat Murmurs come like stabs With the promise to end it hard and fast Always the threat of another go round Wash it away a bit at a time Slowly gone the sparkly parts My crimes will see me

This post is directly inspired by a post that the lovely @artedellavitta posted today, here is the link to that post: Here at the cottage I've been slowly adding large rocks (boulders) to outline pathways

There is nothing That can be said of me That stains Words, so many words Truths, all the sides of truth Maybe I’m an Alien Or a boy Maybe I’m a girl Or a toy How 'bout that little pile of debt Or regrets

Simple blueberry breakfast custard that I made this morning, I had to stop myself from eating the whole thing! Fresh lime zest gave it a very bright taste & aroma. I also made spicy salsa with my other

Come see what I got from the woods… I went walking in the night thinking of you and your death. How you never came back to me, how I collect Ones like you, but they are not you! In a root cellar I dreamt

Look into my void with eyes of lust for the unknowable, to my shadow, afraid of the light, and sing of dusk. Bring before me the valor of nobility from the hands of a peasant. Reach through the pyre relentless

This is a test to see how this plays on steemit. This is actually one of my all time favorite pieces I've written to date. This particular photo is of my mamo (not me) -- she died a very long time ago.

This is a raw cut just to share how I write in my journal; not showy and polished but still of interest as this kind of entry is where I pick my thoughts apart to create a poem or short story if I need

Listening to this as it starts to thunder outside :)

This is my favourite show to watch on Saturday mornings on my local PBS station. I love the tours of renowned gardens, easy and creative ideas for the home gardener, and fun recipes to try. i find that

I love how Padma uses her celebrity to bring voice to things that she is passionate about and bring awareness about her personal story.