Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The young, fledgling child Tests wings and parents’ patience With uncaring joy The maturing child Sees parents growing smarter With each passing year The aging child learns Parents will now burden him As he once did them The dying child knows The road he now slowly walks Is his parents' road Turn, ...

I cannot write about my father. Not yet. Not while his life is a pale shadow Behind the blinding glare of death That floods my mind. Sh’ma, Israel I cannot find the words To tell the world Of his gentle soul And generous heart And boundless love for those about him. Adonoi, Eluhainu I cannot find t...

Lucy, deranged cat
purrs on her window sill throne
we, her staff, await

today
forever
the sun stands still

The only thing that works for me is to sit quietly some distance away, and use a nice, long lens...

haiku is like gold
few words carrying much weight
and thus worth so much

Shakespeare may be best remembered for the memes that filtered through the mass of verbiage. We few, we happy few...

Meter? What meter? I don't have to show you any stinking meter...

Meter is what feels good, like the click of pullman car on the rails on a long journey, punctuated by the occasional clack and thump that add to the drama. Compelling, relaxing, and nothing metric about it...

shipsong The ship sings In the night she sings Her bow knifing through Obsidian waters of a distant ocean Tall, black mast sweeping slowly Across the sky with the gentle swell Stirring the cauldron of stars. And she sings A Song known only to a ship That sails the sunless seas And her sailors In th...