Posted on Leave a comment

Lost and Found

Were you lost, then


Were you left tied

And standing still

Did the seeds take root

There in your head

Did they grow prosperous

From your own demise

And were you found once

By a ghostly soul

Running barefoot in the shade

And were you captured then

Alight within

Were you glowing to the brim

And were your shadows haunted

By a spirit or a sprite

Did hope grow there despite

The feelings gloom and dim

And were you celebrated

Were you cherished anyway

As she held you there forever

In her heart until this day

Were the past and future stunned

Did the moment steal your breath

Do you wonder can she feel you


So far away again

You can hear the answer

Can’t you

With the rustle through the leaves

She’s bound to come once more

There in the woods there by the glen

And touch you softly with her

Love and with her sin

Wendy Kheiry

Tip Jar

Posted on Leave a comment

Thoughts on Production

Yesterday as I was driving willy-nilly across Southern Indiana, somewhat lost and going in the wrong direction, Fancy Car came up on the playlist and I was so tickled with it I played it twice. This was followed directly by one of the songs from Celestial Tryst, Stargazing, and I played that twice too.

I laughed with delight. All of that hard work became this. If you could see me, I’m gesturing. My imperfect works out in the world holding what value they will to the listeners who hear them and play them more than once. Working with Rosalie on both Celestial Tryst and Patchwork Blue has been extraordinary. She pushes me past my perfectionist tendencies where I would maybe get bogged down by doubt and self-consciousness.

Even as I’m busy producing – audio, video, artwork, CDs, social media content, it was good to be lost driving and going the wrong direction because it brought me to the realization of accomplishment, a moment to enjoy something I created.

I found the way to my destination eventually.

If you haven’t taken a moment to listen to Celestial Tryst, I hope you press play and listen to all three tracks. We worked thematically on these songs. I hope you enjoy them.

Thank you for your support and encouragement.

Posted on Leave a comment

Acoustic Project

I’ve been in the studio playing and recording some acoustic originals.

This is the accumulation of the past year’s playing out at open mics, writing lyrics, composing music, and honing each song. There’s still some work to do before the tracks are ready to master and distribute, but I am and I will be adding tracks up on SoundCloud to preview.

Posted on Leave a comment

I, Caress

I, Caress

Tickling the leaves on the trees

How they dance with delight

I lift a strand of your hair

But do you hear my giggle

A touch on a bare arm

I lift the autumn colors

Swirling and skipping along

The concrete, the grass, the asphalt

In another moment I stream

Warm and soft light from the source

I part clouds gently and touch the earth

Illuminating the flowers, a branch, a patch

The top of your head and the tip of your nose

But do you feel the hum of the universal

A deep breath and I dive and expand

A splash of a gull and the lap of a wave  on bare feet

I rush the shore again and again pushing pebbles

Mixing sand into my rhythm

It is elemental

This transformation

A remembrance of otherness

Free spirit takes any shape or form and connects

I, Caress

Life itself with a tender touch

My friend, I will never leave you without this I spark in the pit flames leaping radiant to the sky

One with the stars

Do you see me there in the fire while you burn inside

Posted on Leave a comment

Weeping for Abigail (With audio)

Sunset certainly the sun glowed orange yellow pink

Near the lake by the huge weeping willow

Glinting lies rippling across the top of the water rustling

Now smooth

And it rained

Circles overlapping one another in impossibilities

It was always raining

The low clouds hugging the spirit in a damp uncomfortable grip

Meaty fingers digging into arms or thighs

Faint hint of juicy fruit gum and aquanet

I should pick better words for the sunset colors

What word is more pink than pink or that shade of orange which

Hovers and blends between the hot pink and the glowing yellow

Golden salmon peaches blues

And the dark dark water under the glinting

swallowing the colors

Until they shine palatable

The grey tabby brushes loose hairs against

Knee high socks

The design is lovely, not quite lace but pointelle

I want to pet her and I reach

The reprimand is as fast

I pet anyway

I belong to no one

Hissed rebukes and I will pay for it later

I would no matter what

Pets or no pets

The tabby and I are commiserating

There is too much noise and nodding and tight smiles

Grief stricken eyes but they don’t know the depth

And breadth of it

They think they weep for the person who died

That they weep for those of us left behind

But in the end I am sure

Everyone is weeping for Abigail

Look at her she purrs

Her fur is soft and gently striped

Her whiskers are white and stiff

A minister says he and she and they are with God now

And no longer in pain

The water glints

Are you sure about that

Why then do we weep for Abigail

If big Ned is no longer

And Sissy’s in the grave

And Aunt Delila’s coffin slowly lowered

And the dirt’s thrown down

A clod

Pad pad pad and a soft strike

Retracted claws and still there’s a snag

On a pointelle knee high sock

It’s grey too the socks

The corduroy dress, the thin kind not that

Ropey thick stuff

Shoes are tossed in a corner by a door

Wooden floors beg for sliding

Even as the dirt comes out in hushed whispers

No one is good enough to avoid speculation

Was it the pills or the heart

Had someone found out about a scandal

Was there a scandal

How scandalous that there’s nothing to speculate

Was he or she or they just boring and dull

And the sun is setting and setting and will never

Fall beyond the horizon and this is hell

This landscape of midwestern church clothes

And sensible shoes

And corduroy and tabby cats who speak in gestures

And rolling throat noises

Feet are sliding on the wooden floors and someone

Says stop that

And someone else says let her be she doesn’t understand

But we are all gathered together for ever

Weeping and weeping for Abigail

I’m sorry you are weeping too

I’m sorry no one escapes it

The Sun sets and the rain falls and the water

Absorbs more water and the circles overlap

And the weeping willow falls into the lake


The earth has a gap now

A ripped up shredded space where a giant

Of motherly love once stood

The secret behind every tear drop

Is the how the blood of the tree flows

Without ceasing and everyone who has ever

Laid on the floor and cried

Or faced the ceiling as silent tears slide onto a pillow

Weeps for Abigail

All weeping for Abigail

And they don’t know it yet

But when they lie stiff in satin lined boxes

Wearing the nicest set of clothes they hated

Their spirit has finally understood what it means

Because the stocking covered feet no longer slide on the wooden floor

No one is there to pet the grey tabby

There’s no thighs or arms to pinch and grab

No laughter shouting crying out defiant

There is a ghost animating a body

Abigail is dead and they can’t see her until

They cross the veil

They know then they were always weeping for Abigail

They know then they were always Abigail

A ghost animating a body and not understanding

The glinting of light on the water

Or how sunset lasts forever

Or that it’s good to be notorious

Posted on Leave a comment

Quill Unsheathed

How quickly some learn

To rewrite reality

With carefully chosen words

Replacing illusion for truth

They have chosen the quill

Wielding ink carefully

Constructing the vision of the world

As they wish it

Avoiding accountability

For they have written only of their innocence

Denying their misdeeds with accusations

Clever, clever

A brief smirk gives them away

Though they now feel invisible again

True nature hidden

They sigh in relief

The one who sees

Allows this for now

Having long battled the quill

Implacable and unresisting

Standing strong in the truth

Knowing the accounting comes for us all

One day

person holding quill pen over a blank paper
Photo by cottonbro studio on