Wednesday, March 28, 2007


as in a glass, reflected there,
night is the noon
sun is the moon

this verse is one of my favorites.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007


Golden slumbers
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
A drowsy maid snuggled down But the earth is not asleep.

After much bog work of filling the pitcher plants and picking flies out of the sundews and such, the fair maid retires to her fresh nest, and she bundles down amidst the moss for some rest. Consciousness of the world is suspended, but the world is not at rest. It never is.

Monday, March 26, 2007


When there's a cloudburst
by willows, in a blossomy brook valley.
against a big, whispering fir wood,
You achieve a radiantly
healthy look.
and you're set to relax.

Then away she flew to gather more grass
and twigs and string for the nest.
clippings of boxwood, spruce and cedar, and snips of holly and pine. Add pods,

Water is the source of life .Cloudbursts, showers....The water flows. This is a bog, after all. Without water, a bog does not exist.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007


warm showers
gently back and forth
washed the time away

A sunshiny shower
Won't last half an hour.
Summer breeze
send the showers,
come and smell my flowers.

She enjoys moments of repose in the sparkling moist bog. Standing among the pitcher plants, allowing gentle water to shower on her, she is nurtured by that which she nurtures.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007


She could not stop staring at
into the otherness of nature, and see ourselves.
believed in the magical side of nature, dabbled in al-
chemy and mysteries, and was constantly experimenting with
magnets that would produce family harmony, or universal
salves, or celestial water

Just because you can't see things, doesn't mean they don't exist. The fair maid believes in things that aren't always seen. Sometimes there are powerful hidden forces, alchemy and mysteries, that are best left unexplained. The fair maid peers into the bog, looking for a harmonious experience with nature.

Monday, March 19, 2007


What a fine place to build a nest.
She went away but soon came back with some twigs and grass.

Like a bird, she was away and came order to find the parts for her nest. She literally IS going away and coming back by her body structure.

I immediately found in creating a book like this that endless images of one particular person don't exist, at least not 100 of them and in different facial expressions! By simple force I must have each page hold a different fair maid. But how fitting this really is, because the fair maid is universal and timeless. She is a persona, not a person, hence her lack of a real name--or specific facial identity. Even in her lack of identity, she is typical of most females in most societies, playing a crucial but background role in life. She fills the typical female roles, tending to the home, cleaning, gathering. She accepts the duties, knowing no other way.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


The fair maid who,
Goes to the fields
And washes in dew
brush the flies off her and
is building a

The fair maid could be anyone, anywhere, anytime. She is represented by many faces, and none are the same, just as any one of us could be anyone, anytime we choose. This particular fair maid is a she, and fond of corsets. She is a maid, a servant, subservient to the world, and like most females she feels the worlds' needs come first, not hers. Before she builds the nest, she cleans her own person, brushing flies/debris off her, almost a sanctification and purification, a ritual. She wants to build her nest her way, the way she needs it to be done, by herself.