Path Symbol: As seen in a book of petroglyphs by the author in the year 2000.
Credited to the Anasazi circa 1100 A.D,
while his vision of the symbol came in 1997, confirming its significance.
All This Work Is Copywritten.
All Rights Reserved. © 2013

Unfinished music for "You Can't Stop The Music"

In this Buddhist temple;
I sit and watch.
In this cathedral of saints;
I sit and watch.
In the forest with life;
I sit and watch.
On the banks of the river;
I sit and watch.
On the road to wherever;
I sit and watch.
In my daily dramas...
I find myself.

"Come Into My World"

Come into my world,
See what I see.
Feel what I feel,
It's between you an me.
Don't fall asleep,
Stay with me awhile.
Be like a child,
With innocence wild!
This passion for life,
Be it our guide.
The magenta sun rise,
In the cloud passing by.
This cloud is not separate,
From the sky that it swims.
Or the leaf that quivers,
From the touch of the wind.
Or the voice that whispers,
And calls out your name.
Name name we're one and the same.
Come into this world,
Where movements are cast.
Vibrant, alive,
Without future or past.
Where farmers of nature,
Harvest the dew,
From a forest alert,
Intelligent true.
Come into this world,
Where the wind meets the sky.
And the song that is sung,
Is between you and I.
Come into my world,
See what I see.
Feel what I feel,
Between you and me.

"How does a poem come?"

It comes like a rumble to shake the earth.
Like an unexpected visitor, like an opiate for a hidden wound.
It comes like a bee that sits upon a flower, like a shadow that stalks its prey.
It comes when it wants, like fruit that ripens on tree.
It comes when hunger taunts desire, like a sea woken from sleep.
It comes when it meets someone like you, like wind for a sail.
It comes before conception for conception. From a place that's neither in nor
Out, when the faceless wants to be seen, like a hidden spring finding air and
One and the other are the same, like stone and sculpture. It comes like a hawk
Attacking a pigeon in flight leaving its feathers behind. Like a woman
Riding on the back of a dragon.
It comes when the self dies so the word can live, like a sacrifice
To defeat death through its birth, exciting leaves to dance and sing.
It comes with desire to love, and so I have, as the question imposed now
Knows; whence it comes....

"Your Prescription"

Let me bathe you with poetry
Let my words fall upon your eyelids
And kiss your lips.
Let them reach in to those hidden places
Let them open you from the inside
Raising the finest of your hairs.

Let the words be inhaled
Like sacred smoke from a Shaman's pipe.
Let them dance and sing and swirl
Like vapor, a scented mist
Massaging and oiling your skin.

Let them wash off yesterday
And allow your body to undress.
Let them feed you with food
A manna for your heart.
Suckle them as a mother with child.

Let them excite you and bring you around
To where you've never been,
While leaving rationale to those
Who still haven't arrived.

Let them bemoan and so gratify
Reaching out to the ancient gods,
Let the mores take their leave, as well as fate,
Accepting what they freely have to give,
Knowing well that each word, you; partner.

Feel their caress and warm embrace
And watch them as they singe the western sky
On their way to nowhere soon,
Until the next time you truly bathe
In words that only poets can prescribe…



"Today is a better day than it was yesterday, and yesterday was a great Day"

"May the WIND clear your path, and may the LIGHT show you the way."

"When you say you won't
Wolf says you will.
When you say you will
Wolf gets a thrill.
When you say nothing
Wolf lies still."

An Ode To The Valley
by D.C. Bianchino

This Valley with its splendid views,
Where mountains touch, as clouds they do.
Spirits that will wake in you, feelings deep
Inside, the true.
Our stars will bend
Your knees at night,
When grateful eyes
In them delight,
To send your thoughts
Through endless flight,
While searching for
That inner light.
Washington our highest peak,
Seduces many who must seek,
Their destinies, while Souls it keeps
To welcome others who dare the steep.
Our folks you'll find, you won't impress,
No matter what you wear for dress,
For here the ego comes to rest,
Inside the Valley's natural nest.
Our seasons are beyond compare,
For change they do, as eyes that stare,
And this is what we seem to share,
The folks who come to settle here.
The pace is what you make of it,
A place for everyone to fit,
To face whatever seems to sit,
Which is today the rarest gift.
This Valley is a special place,
You see it in each local's face,
(At least I found this more the case)
That welcomes you to share its grace.

Photography by Joanne Swirka (09-2004)

[ View article from The Conway Daily Sun ]

amazing counters