Saturday, February 21, 2009


The novel is a hairier project than anticipated! New material will be added sporadically.

Meanwhile photos and writing will continue to flow at:

4ozs

Thank you to visitors of nomadicfishes! You helped fuel this project which has been so satisfying for me.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Fence art near Noe & 30th







Draft 2 of my novel IGNITION! is now in progress; you're welcome to come visit!

IGNITION!

Sunday, February 15, 2009



He took a brush, dipped it into warm water, and painted my body with designs only he could see.

Saturday, February 14, 2009





You enter the same door
a thousand plus a thousand days;
Then one day,
you choose a different door.



Thursday, February 12, 2009





Five men were standing along the sidewalk on Mission, shooting the breeze, half sheltered by a restaurant entranceway. As I approached, a woman came toward me, passing the men.

I saw the men's faces change, the talk stopped, so I turned around to see what they were seeing.

She was dressed in black hose and high-heeled black boots and a snug skirt; her full hips swayed to the rhythm of the clicking of her heels. The men stared like children at her retreating figure. They gazed in open wonder. The woman was a gift.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


A poet showed up today.

I was sitting on a bench by the mailbox next to cafe seventy8 writing a valentine to Ms. Opal. A slender man in a worn jacket and work pants stopped near me. He said, things’ve really changed around here. I kept writing but asked, in what way have things changed?

Within a minute, he was quoting someone’s poetry he once read at a nearby coffee house whose owner has since passed away. Then he recited another poem, his own. He spoke in a low rhythmic voice, facing across the street into the chill gray.

Before he walked off, he crossed the street to tell his boss to come meet me. I put the red envelope in the mailbox. Pierre, a big, strong man, confused to be sent to me, told me he wasn’t the poet’s boss but his friend.

It started to rain. I zipped my jacket higher and left, but looked back to see the poet return to join Pierre at the truck.

The second poem had been truly marvelous, more so than the first. When I'd told the poet that, he turned his head away. I think he cried, and that's why he left.

I don’t have a great memory, but the last phrase went something like this:

break the silence with the thunder of a word




Tuesday, February 10, 2009



He continued to glance at me now and again, see if I was seeing him, which obviously I was, seeing him see me. He threw his jacket over the mountain of neatly folded clothes in the largest laundry basket I've ever seen. I was loading my wash into a dryer at that point, but when I looked up, he was standing outside next to the yellow truck, staring at me. The yellow truck was his? I grinned, he smiled back, got in and drove away. The yellow truck was the only pic I'd taken yesterday.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

street art (on Chenery, I think)


we'll go to the shore
with pail and shovel
and little wood fish
of many colors-

Saturday, February 7, 2009



Love is simple and oh so complicated.

Friday, February 6, 2009






"Butterfly wings have scales that act as tiny solar collectors..."

American Chemical Society (2009, February 5). Natural Solar Collectors On Butterfly Wings Inspire More Powerful Solar Cells. ScienceDaily. Retrieved February 6, 2009, from http://www.sciencedaily.com­ /releases/2009/02/090204170548.htm

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Wednesday, February 4, 2009









fence art somewhere around Noe and 30th-

Monday, February 2, 2009







I'm tired, my body's sore, and I feel very very good.

Sunday, February 1, 2009