we all are gypsies of a sort wandering traveling through this life other lives space and time here there and yon on roads less traveled - this is a written and visual journal of my own travels - imagined and/or real - come along with me - we'll dance among the stars under the sun and over the moon - share our stories around the campfire - come along -

this site is simply a streamofconsciousness rambling of words and images in which i find meaning and beauty - there is no organized order of thought or format -
poetry painting and writing on love and life and things thereof from the heart and through the eyes of a louisiana gypsy spirit travelin' roads less traveled...enjoy -


My photo
A...WOMAN IN MOTION WITH HAIR AS DARK AS NIGHT HER EYES WERE LIKE THAT OF A CAT IN THE DARK... SHE WAS A GYPSYWOMAN... she danced round and round... from the fire her face was all aglow... she was dancing... dancing... waiting for the RISING SUN... loving caring relationships are like THE RISING SUN...we are nourished by their warmth...we are energized by their strength...we grow in their light...we find shelter and solace there...they are our sanctuary... born in the sign of the sun, i am a true LEO-love the sun and its hot orange red fire-passionate in and about everything i do-i believe in instant chemistry charisma love/lust at first sight-in the magic of the eyes and the beauty of the soul-in the instant recognition familiarity in meeting someone from a past life and in the knowledge that we might meet in a future life-i believe that we are each ageless and flawless-i believe in the beauty of the moment-the whisper of yesterday-the hope of tomorrow-the power of forgiveness for even ourselves-the absolute and total beauty of love---[credit to brian hyland and curtis mayfield]

to dance with life

to dance with life
come dance with me...

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

she sits...

she sits
poised expectant ready
her heart beating to the  

rhythmic stirrings of ancestors
to nights of yore
her spirit no longer here but flown to

caves of primal passion
to her place in the sun
her voice silent her soul throbbing to the

chanting of her tribe
to her own gods she does ascribe
she sits
poised expectant ready
for she is

Monday, October 26, 2009

les feuilles de nos vies...inspired by "L'automne qui se meurt"

their generative veins of
red and orange and gold and brown
struggling straining suffering
holding together the decaying
fragments of a life now gone

in their autumnal sacrificial demise
in the moment of their budding birth
valiantly the indispensable victuals
for life


Sunday, October 25, 2009

they come...

they come from another place 
another time
they come from the dark recesses 

of our soul
they speak in 

voices still unknown
and soar on unseen wings 

by the gods’ design
to earth they came

the human to extol
and we, the human, 

for our sins
must now atone

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

the sacred forest of the snow tiger...

he had thought that he was safe
there in his forest of ice
he’d left the world of light and warmth behind
choosing instead a life of dark and cold
he had feared the heat of the other world
feared it with a passion most never know
feared it as most would love their mates
but fear it he did -

for he was the snow tiger

he’d painted his hard lean body
in stripes of shadows and light
the black of black the white of white
he’d painted it like the stripes on the trees
with their ribbons of frost
not to be seen by day or by night

and so he lived in the vast wasteland of steel and cold
there he’d worked feverishly to uphold
never allowing another in
guarding the glacier that was all him
never leaving the safety of his self-made lair

he’d thought that he was happy there
that he was safe
but only one as frigid as he could survive such a place
there was no nourishment to be found in the arctic woods

he hunted here he hunted there he hunted everywhere
but the gnawing hunger remained
it gnawed through his belly and into his cold dark heart
leaving a hole that could not be filled
and soon he knew there was nothing left
in his forest to be hunted - to be consumed -
to ease the pain of his hunger as it grew
the hunger he had felt before
but which now became a ravishing sword

and then one day at the forest edge
as he crept closer and closer still
there stood a vision he ne’er had seen before
but one he feared nevertheless -
he feared to the bottom of his lonely soul
and knew in his gut that this vision meant danger
danger to him and to all that was his

the vision remained - there it stood -
starring straight into the windows of his barren soul
something familiar something once known
or maybe just a dream
but no - it was a mortal creature the vision he feared
a mortal creature with long dark hair that softly swept
the snow beneath her human feet

the sight of this mortal soul struck a chord of primal fear
her haunting black eyes never left his icy stare
her scent attacked the spirit he’d long forgot
he thought perhaps she was just a gentle breeze
blown by the dusty figments of his empty imagination
for the trees in his forest had long since lost their leaves

he could not strike and he could not flee
he was transfixed frozen in her light
and what of that light - it was not white, that must be it
this light - this unpure light - emitted something evil - something sinister
it had color - and that evil that he most feared - 

the one her light emitted
to the gods he implored - not this not this - this he could not survive
this would surely kill him - this - this was his most dreaded enemy
this was warmth!  life, even!  life, with passion!

and in that moment of time stood still
the she-creature fearing not his warrior stance
edged closer and closer again
moving toward him toward all that was his
he roared at her from the icy lobes of his fractured heart
threatening threatening again
but she did not fear him she did not retreat
closer still she edged into his sacred trees

her smell permeated deeper still
leaving his core needing more
his mind abandoned him
he could not think as before
and he knew that she brought with her
weapons the likes of which he’d never dreamed
and then his great claws began to lose their grip
their grip no longer holding to the frozen ground now turned liquid

her eyes never left his stare as she came toward him
bringing with her a strange never before felt sensation
it was foreign to him it burned his eyes attacked his nostrils flared
and invaded that secret part of him long held captive by the cold
this light that surrounded her now surrounded him
what could it be
his worst fear brought to reality?
what could it be?  who could she be?  who was she?
this mortal who walked in light and warmth and color

this light that once attacked his senses
somehow now seemed to ease the ravaging pit of his hunger
further and further she encroached
it seemed her odour ate at him it conquered advancing ever more

the light and the warmth that was her invaded even deeper
deeper into the darkest recesses surging but never retreating
until it reached the stalwart chambers of his heart of stone
seeping down into the crevasse of cold that had been his life
it left him dizzy it left him alive

then he realized that thing - the thing that she brought with her -
that light and warmth thing - it was something he almost remembered
from the other world - something he need not fear 
something that could be cherished, even -

 it was a thing called comfort

and this other thing, this she-creature - 

this mortal whom he had first feared
he remembered her now, too
from once before in the land of light and warmth
he remembered her now - 

she was the gypsywoman-

she had traveled far suffered much to reach him 
to save him from the ravages of his own frost

from the hunger that consumed him

she had come from the other world 
and she had come
for him -

the gypsy's petals...

the petals of the
you will find

Monday, October 19, 2009

the melancholy dreamer...

only the sea
to caress her
she sits with her lover
and dreams...

where is the justice?

Where is the justice of political power 
if it executes the murderer
jails the plunderer, 
then itself marches upon neighboring lands, 
killing thousands and pillaging the very hills?

Sunday, October 18, 2009

the rhythmical creation...

is the rhythmical creation 
of beauty in words.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

my wild gypsy steed...

come to me my wild gypsy steed
neither reins nor bit to guide thee do I need
i’ll sit upon your coat of virgin white and blackest black
and mount myself upon your back
that bears me long and bears me well
and from this earth we shall dispel
i’ll hold your rippled mane
and taste the power within your frame
ride us high and ride us low
into the whirlwinds shall we flow
with fire and grace to spur us on
through the night and past the dawn

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

lo zingaro...

virgin and child
antonio solario

ca. 1465-1530
from one of the earliest roma gypsy settlements in northern italy, solario was born in abruzzo - he was known as "lo zingaro" [the gypsy] and began his life as a traveling smith like his father - but he went on to be one of the most recognized painters of his time - he was a naturalist and his background landscapes were better than any of his contemporaries - the monestary of san severino holds his best known work, a series of twenty frescoes -

Sunday, October 11, 2009

the beat of our hearts...

let's dance to the beat 
of our hearts -
dance with the gypsies -

Friday, October 9, 2009

she heard...

...each day mankind 
and the claims of mankind 
slipped farther 
in the forest 
a call
was sounding, 
and as often as...
this call, 
mysteriously thrilling 
and luring...
to turn...
her...back upon the fire
and the beaten earth 
around it, and to plunge
into the forest, 
and on and on...
she...knew not where 
or why
nor did...she...wonder 
where or why, 
the call sounding imperiously, 
deep in the forest...

Monday, October 5, 2009

gypsywoman gypsywoman -

i see you here i see you there i see you everywhere
but who are you gypsywoman with sweet words and a pretty smile
your spirit tempts taunts but do i dare 

would you could you be the gentle breeze here today and gone tomorrow 
softly fluttering sooth my aching heart ease my hidden sorrow
a gentle breeze i am not i am the storm of storms a gale force wind
the temptest fierce the raging tsunami taking with it all defenses
sweeping away washing away the debris of yesterday - this life transcend

so do you want to know - to really know - the who and what of me
or would you rather just imagine me on the playground of what if
where your heart of stone is safe and sound from the likes of me this wild banshee

love is...

love is an absolute 
quality and energy
it does not stop
with our
it continues on
to the other side
and returns here
it is the
epitome of the
spirit's quality
and the body's
it is life
the afterlife
it is our goal
and all of us
in this or
future lives
will attain

Friday, October 2, 2009

the remaking of OURSELVES...

human beings
our greatness lies
not so much
in being able to
remake the world -
that is the myth of
the atomic age -
as in being able