Proof of Life

It'd been a while since last I wandered deep
among the thistle wilds of Brightwood Park,
Sadly taking note of Winter's toll
(strewn trees lay heavy-felled upon the floor),
But knowing all was well, for snags are homes
to birds and beasts who nest and rest and roost;
survive and thrive within decaying trunks.

A  flutter-fest, as crows and crested fowl, 
fled fast the tremor of my brash footfall.
While o’er the bramble carpet, doe and stag 
romp free (for now),  unwarned of culling arrows 
aimed their way…until it’s much too late.
I warily proceed but grieve for fallen fawns,
Nature’s balance nudged by arching bows.

Sprinkled ‘cross the vast woodland expanse, 
Baby-blue sky patches, glimpsed between 
The elder trees, that yet unbloomed, stand tall.
Spring will soon return to Brightwood Park,
When red buds sheet across the wood’s preserve, 
Preceding wispy pods of lemon-green,
Emerging shoots and leaves, new growth from old.

Inhaling deep the forest’s wafting scents, 
       I spy the proof, a hint of coming spring- 
the wild-sown crocus, jutting through the depths 
       of fallen, crackled leaves and layered stalks.  
A shock of vibrant blooms amidst the gray,
       As if to say, “Though oft presumed a loss, 
I’m breaking through (despite the heavy thatch),
Strong, exquisite, hopeful, bright and free.” 

Written for The Sunday Whirl

An Unexpected Gift

T'was nights before Christmas...(which scarf shall I wear)?
Snow scenes sprinkled broadly or red-green silk threads
Perplexed, which to choose, perhaps I'd defer
to simple Noel pin with garnets,  instead.

My choices strewn carelessly on my made bed,
I turned for a moment to survey the rest,
When quick 'fore my eyes, little munchkin leapt up,
to snuggle atop all my Holiday best.

My options now thinned, only one could I grasp,
How could I disturb him from his comfy seat?
So soundly asleep, snoring loudly and deep,
My Bandit had deftly secured his retreat.

Of course, I surrendered, sans pin, scarf or shawl,
His peaceful visage was the best gift of all!


Photo Friday: #Holiday

Return to Carnegie Hall

How does one get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, Practice, Practice!

The Masterwork Chorus will be joining forces once again with The Worcester Chorus, under the direction of Maestro Chris Shepard, to perform the dramatic Verdi Requiem on Sunday, October 2, at 2:00 pm. After several cancellations due to pandemic restrictions, our long-awaited and anticipted return is imminent. Join us and be a part of the special audience that welcomes us back to the concert stage.

Heat Wave

Aloha! Another awesome evening sky, as seen from our lanai at the Polynesian Village Resort. They are having a heat wave up north, while we’ve escaped to our own heat wave paradise – here. A storm may be brewing, but I’m completely immersed in the dramatic grandeur of this sunset. Aloha!

O Fortuna!

Join the Choral Art Society of NJ when we return to the concert stage on Friday April 29th, at 8 PM, presenting Orff’s exciting Carmina Burana at The Presbyterian Church in Westfield – 140 Mountain Avenue, Westfield, NJ. In addition to professional soloists and musicians, the Choral Art Society will be joined by the New Jersey Youth Chorus and Latticeworks Dance Collective. It will be a fitting extravaganza to celebrate our return to the concert stage after the long pandemic hiatus. Visit for more information.

Balance of Nature

Focus and finesse,

On guard, yet calmly resting,

perched precarious at blue water’s edge,

yet peaceful, watching, waiting

on lagoon-side ledge,

for signs of prey.

Today, fulfilling nature’s way,

the fiery sun and golden breach of day

call to her to stay, to play,

to thrive and long survive,

in balance and


Photo Friday:#balance

Across the Bridge

Come, take my hand

and walk with me,

hushed within the winding paths

and vines, spell-binding.

Come take my hand.

Come walk with me;

escape to days when ways

were gentler, softer, loftier

than they seem today.

Come, walk with me.

Come reminisce, step back,

into the past, across the pastel bridge

of sighs and billowed, rising

from lily-laden pond below.

Come, reminisce.

Come, breathe with me.

Inhale the cool, moist mist

emoting from floating

lily pods below.

Come, breathe with me.

Come walk with me,

two once-young lovers, still content

to, hand in hand, review

and gay renew their grand affair.

Come walk with me.

Photo Friday: #walk

While dining, waterside, at Rat’s, located on the Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton Township, one cannot help but be transported to Claude Monet’s exquisite garden in his beloved town of Giverny, France. This photo is one of many I shot that lovely afternoon – each scene more evocative than the last.

Sheffield Fog

Across the glistened, grassy glens

of verdant, fertile vales and dales,

she drapes her flimsy fronds.

I’ll meet this day in my own way;

not seized but gently swayed.

Allayed, I view, through lens of misty grey,

Nature’s stirring from the ebon night.

Inevitably, as comes the waking day,

her cushioned folds will warm.

She’ll rise, grow thin – then silent fade away;

nudged aside by day, as if to say:

“Now go away”.


Our planet

steeped in sequestration, segregation

from the fateful, faceless foe,

unreal shunts from normal,

Pervading every place 

and sacred space

where voices are no longer raised 

in praise.


Inside, we shelter, seeking safety,

safely burrow’ing deep 

within each

tenuous, burst-able bubble.

Huddled close, yet ever distant,

shy away from

those we now need,

those who now need us



A solitary bloom

upright, soft and quiet on the sill,

Thin window pane away from fatal frost,

Delicately strong,

As if to say:  Be gay – the chill will soon away,

Together here, we (surely) can survive

and thrive 

and strive to bloom


Photo Friday: #black_and_white

America … reconsidered

I republish this post, in consideration of the horrible actions and events of January 5th and retrospectively, in reconsideration of the sense of awe and respect I felt while standing beneath the dome. I couldn’t imagine that day, that one day there would be some who would not be similarly inspired.

Blooming outward, scrolls ‘tween swirls embed,
Simplicity of form each rounded side,
In shades of palest blue and pastel red,
Each going its own way yet unified.

Symbolic of the majesty it hides
beneath its vault, the chambers of our state,
Tempestuous tempers, diff’rences magnified,
But always striving to elucidate.

Through sessions bearing witness: freedom’s fate
enwrapped in fervent promises fulfilled,
‘t was touted loud – the people’s common slate,
Debated endlessly t’ward laws and bills.

This dome inspires all who pass beneath,
A prayer is raised for wisdom’s wreath bequeathed.

While en route to a Seton Hall – Georgetown game, we stopped at the Capitol. I was speechless viewing the dome, and thought how unifying it seemed. These days we need a unifying message. I hear it and I share it here.

Published: October 12, 2019

Fallen Feather

White, well mostly,

bright, as night recedes to dawn’s entreaties,

Resting, softly lain upon the tide-moist shore.

Grains of sudsy sand,

rushing, gushing in with shifting tides,

flinging, clinging grains between my toes.

Leaning closer still,

beneath the feather, delicate and clean,

I spy the remnants of a furious scene.

Each day, at break of sun,

the fluttering flocks dramatically compete,

completing nature’s vast dramatic scheme.

A snow-white feather,

ingeniously designed, balanced and sublime;

Awesome, grand, exquisitely Divine.

Photo Friday: #white

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