Kosmic Interstellar Space Baubles

Thurl was a bright Brilliant sparkly girl but an unusual girl who morphed into an even more unique unusual woman.

A Spicy Feral Octogon living that Stealth Life

A woman whose Memory kept falling out all over the ground floor spilling like a fast moving river underneath the closed green door.

Thurl gathered Her nerves carefully packing them up inside a Lime green Holdel bag. Pushing a few items to one side She even found space for mirrors reflections and toasted Dreams.

Carrying it outside burying it under an equally Lime Green Tree. Creating a Discovery Timeline Capsules.

Patting down smoothing the earth in a different direction She knew that crystal green eyed hazel Honey skinned Zohar would rise again. In the meantime She decided to let his untamed havoc rest. For She knew that in a few weeks that there would be a familiar face among the Leaves.

Zohar his being a mixture of Holy Water and Fire water.

Hit with the back buckle of the Bible belt. Only the Quiet ones are Left.

After pouring Libations She concluded Snapping her fingers She disappears.

Thurl the Gurl went Home in Style.

May The Choir Never Cease Singing


The Land of Yesterday Yesteryear became a Raging force strongholds more powerful than any hurricane, tornado or scirocco. Then everything went sideways and upside down.

Old World Images

New World Sculptures

Lost in Space yet Found on Earth

Rosie from The Jetsons

R2D2 and C3PO

Wall-E and a bit of Steampunk Courtesy of The Students, Alumni and Professors at The Fashion Institute of Technology

The Boxer

Here we were in the great Outdoors singing improvised Coastal Sea Shanties. Remember the Past for it Contains Future’s Seeds.

An Elfin Fairy Moongazer.

Ignore it. Ignore the internal Primate Music. Chatterbox Chatter.

The Dying Cries of Men… | a cooking pot and twisted tales


Jacqueline who is a Queen Poetic Genius captures the heart, soul, and mind of an old soldier recounting the hurt pain and sorrow of war.

The voices of warriors are the same everywhere.  Will we heed the voices of old soldiers or will their agonies of battles past succumb to false future glories.


While there is still time: Trees, Curators of Time


Trees are keepers of Eons.  They hold the earth’s genetic memory like caves, rocks, boulders and stones. They have seen births, deaths, wars, Lovers, sinners, mourners, celebrants, friends and fiends. Trees are silent yet not so silent witnesses to the passage of time and the secrets of mankind and animals. Along with the rocks, stones, boulders, caves, all flora and fauna are the original ancient libraries.

Akashic records. I await my ascent to astral plains. 

Once Asleep in other lands I will awaken to new life.

Out of dead stumps come new life.

The last recorder of human life. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Covered in shroud. Laid in a pine box.

Trees ~~ Naked and glaring in the winter.  Full and Luscious come summer.

Trees — Speak to the eternity of the Ages. Our connection to the Universe and the Cosmos.

Trees bordering lakes, rivers, beaches, oceans and seas. 

Trees | Multi-Branched Limbs gather up broken souls with tender root tendrils.

Trees lift up their branches in Praise to Almighty God.

Isaiah 55:12

New King James Version (NKJV)

12 “For you shall go out with joy,
And be led out with peace;
The mountains and the hills
Shall break forth into singing before you,
And all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.

Hodgepodge Poetry

Sweet Woodland Nature hiding captured souls. Sparkling early morn glimmer diamond dew stimulates Lightening thunder zap synapses. Shimmer. Exploring deep brain subterranean Archaeological Repositories.

Finding dense Psymbionic Crystal Castles. Hot wood-chips sip Bass Nectar. Beating out ground breaking pinewood tunes. Rescuing me from my Galactic Funk. Yet still wondering Why We kill the ones we Love. Safe Space and Sanctuary are needed on fluctuating earth planes. Don’t Shatter my Peace. Betrothed couples planning married wedded bliss. Later Yield Forever Sleeping Babes in the Woods.  In the forest a Whisper is Louder than a scream.

Every forest land creature came for the Woodland Blessed Sacred Earth Mass. Ceremony, rites and ritual calms troubled souls. Mossy glen altars I can smell the firecrackers in the night air. Populace gathered. Nostrils flaring the High Priestess decides and declares. Scribes Davenie and Dagmar sat poised with mind-generating Quills hovering above tablet-con scrolls.

False Prophet Trembling at the thought that his myth might collapse.

Panthers, Cougars and Mountain Lions calmly grooming themselves by her side. Straight ahead protective eye stares. Solve the riddle of the Sphinx and you shall receive eternal life. Beware the imps and gremlins of the Forest who sell you bursting fresh temptation baskets of produce leading to sin. A Twisted Fairly Tale that springs upon unsuspecting travelers on uncharted territories in mystical clearings. Wickedness never walks alone.

Maternity stroll down Memory Lane.

Ceding ground to no one. Seeding farmland of hungry empty souls. Will these dry bones live? Only time will tell. If one believes the Sainted Oracle. Excuse me Don Cheadle but the Green Man is on the line. Shall I ask him to hold?

Taiga Boreal

My repast. My future. My all consuming desire. O’ Beloved Tree let thy branches and thy roots be my grave markers! I’m Just an Indigo Girl on her way home. Both Banyon and Bodhi point the way.

In the warm summer rain I plant my feet into the soft moist earth and extend my arms, hand and fingers to the sky mimicking my arboreal ancestors.  As I touch the Moon/Sun I touch the earth. Wrap me in your branches. Surround me in your foliage.  Reclaim my soul unto our mutual Creator.

“Trees” Joyce Kilmer poem “I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree”


Moist. Paper. Shells.

Tree as Protector, Teacher and Friend

A Monster Calls (20160


My cousins and I scattered my Aunt Helen’s ashes by this tree located in Marcus Garvey Park located in Harlem. When my Aunt Helen was growing up in Harlem during the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s this park was known as Mt Morris Park.



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Spun Golden Woven Fibers of Fate

Spun Golden Woven Fibers of Fate

Foggy Misty Morn
Foggy Misty Morn

Mother was held in a panorama spun by coveted lovers, who were harlots through celibacy. Invasion of the Body Snatchers whilst the Queen Borg keys jangling at her side hovers and wanders abandoned cells. Caught up in super glue strong web awaiting sacrifice to whatever gods may brought forth. Brain septic by glowering imps sowing discord and muddle.

Reminiscences dance in the fog of false recollections. New realities dawn upon hazy cloudy dew kissed shores. Sand castles washed away by strong willed breakers. Molecules and atoms dripping essence along rosy silt coastlines. Scamps and scalawags populating geographical dungeons.

With this confession my Mother’s Soul residing within me is at rest. She rages no more, her anguish has been extinguished.

My mother and I share broken lives, shattered in similar places we cut ourselves on shards of pain, our fractured lives seeking to mend.

Madame Sultan with no edit button or filters to gauge this new animation wondering where to fit in. Butternut pancakes with a side order of Squash.

Now I attempt to retrieve the scattered pieces, seeking to restore the scattered jigsaw puzzle of Isis, long in disarray, bent and twisted from misuse, abuse and false accusations. Fraying the edges making impossible even imperfect fits.

Sitting across from her flesh & blood ghost, linking hands we grant each other absolution long sought from others outside our circle but only possible for us, from us. I am she and she is me into perpetuity.

Misty Foggy Morn