Maxfield Parrish

Girls on rocks artist
his blues so luminous they
named one after him

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David Bowie

The man who fell to
earth left us too soon, stardust
in Major Tom’s wake.

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Morning ritual

Light breaks. I heed the
call to darkness, cup rich black
magic in my hands.

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House near Woodstock

A’s dream–a fairy
cottage in the woods–simply
too good to be real.

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Haiku of the day

Wisdom’s spark. Fortune
cookie poetry message
ignites hope change growth.

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Snow blind

Spiraling flakes, like
small hands opening wide, feel
their way down to earth.

Afternoon rendezvous

She blithely sails out
the door. No explanations
save her secret smile.

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Dull lives filtered take
on romance, mystery, masked by
Low-fi Sutro Rise.