"Our Waking Dreams"

"Our Waking Dreams" was a three year project designed to speak for those of us who live life somewhere in the middle. In this body of work I really wanted to ask questions like "why do we make the choices we do" or "who's running this circus," while also pointing out the ridiculousness of societal extremes. Together, poetry harmonizes with watercolor paintings, both hoping to say what the other is unable to. At its core, this project is about wrestling with how to thrive amidst the chaos of today.

“What Matters Most”

From pine needle beds
To snow capped stone peaks, gleaming
Shields defend the small;
There are many, who disguise
death dealing as compassion.

12×18 Watercolor on watercolor paper

“Tyranny Waits”

Summer grasses yield
To resolute stances born
Of ancient conflict;
Two sides of one coin wage war,
As hungry tyrants bide time.

16×20 Watercolor on Watercolor paper.

"Where"

You're welcome to walk
the path nearest you, seasons,
like people, will change.

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Different Kind of Same"

These stumps we sit on
are covered in bark, time, and
a few well worn scars;
just look and see that our hurts
are a different kind of same.

12x18
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Non-Compliant"

The pines shake in winter's wind
content to bend when needed.
Why do tyrants try to prove
that trees break for them?

Like the pines, we choose to stand
despite the gusty leaders.
Why do the crazed and slimy
fear our wilder souls?

They may threaten wind and hail,
still we won't comply.

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Be Warned"

First they tried to take our cave
with a claim that it's for all,
then they said "the fruit is ours"
basing guilt on fur.

When they saw our cubs nearby
strange new songs filled up the sky.
"We'll convert your children" sung
these radical priests.

In response we sang the song
of our claws and fangs.


12x18
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Light On the Path"

Look up the path and listen for
the morning life that calls to us.
Our Mother's song and Father's light,
come to help you drop those stones.

Each new day they call to you,
with living words and fresh made hope.
They're working hard to see you free'd
running trails for which you're made.

Despite the dark, you're not alone,
in the past, I had stones too.

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper.

"Heavy Load"

When I lay down and reach for sleep,
the same old terrors reach for me.
And with the rising of dawn's light
they leave more burdens with me.

Again I wake and feel the load
of stones squeezing these worn thin ribs.
But as I try to set them down,
Sunday Pastors just add more.

I hear the moon sing "you'll get by,"
but I'm not so sure how to.

16x20 Watercolor on Watercolor paper

"When All Feels Burned"

Chaos and fear engulfed the cold sky
as near and far the hate began growing,
cheered on by mobs of panicked creatures,
but Ea'hrehed searched for options.

Like flies the torches danced home to home,
yearning to burn down what others built
and fueled by those who posted comments,
angered by Halleth and those like her.

"Why must the trees burn," she wept,
standing near her lover's side.

Ea'hrhed tried to remain strong
while his knees knocked wild with fear.

The fire raged night and day
but they knew not what path they ought to trust,
and with their eyes asked deeper questions
to which there would be no lite reply.

Holding fast to ancient ways,
and trusting the love within their chest,
they gathered up those the heat would engulf
hoping for a sunrise free from smoke.

12x18
Watercolor on watercolor paper



"Competing Tales"

For so long the nights were clear
and long gone heroes filled the sky;
the big grey stag told old tales
while young ones played them.

Now dark clouds are drifting in
and with them these foul creatures,
dressed in cheap ignoble robes
falsehood in their hands.

"These myths of yours sound antique,"
they proclaim through tusk and fang,
"trust our tales and you'll be saved,
or find your life cancelled!"

Who will gaurd our woodland home
when darkness wants to "help" us?

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"We Go Where We Look"

Striding through the well worn sage brush slope,
in between native pine green totems,
the grown bull found the narrow pathway
and gazed into it's river.

Did he only see what flesh and bone
announced as nature's only true view,
or did the river draw down deeper
showing what was shaped by breath?

None but the gazer knows what is shown
and what direction it will take them.

12x18
Watercolor on Watercolor paper

"Who's Showing us the Way?"

The morning star awoke the sky
it's light a food for every leaf.
While owl embraced her waking dreams,
I found the pupil by the stream.

Intent he stared into the flow,
his appetite he longed to sate.
On legs like shaky twigs stuck deep,
a healthy bite he'd like to reap.

Can her perceive the moldy brown,
or the trash so freely tossed out?
Does he breath deep the decompose,
and feel the slime around his toes?

"Jump in with us" they loudly say,
"the eating will be fine today."

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Wholly (un)Natural"

This way of life makes our hope decay
like plagues inside our eco-system
and poison in our flowing river
keeping us from drinking deep.

How odd would it be to watch a hawk
attempt to stop the hunting harpie,
while odder still if the moon were to
stop the stars from shinning bright?

Instead truth shows a jungle mother
hold two cats within her caring hands;
loved is both the coat of night, and his
brother with a spotted hide.

When did our eyes become so blinded
to nature's want for life and balance?

12x18
Watercolor on watercolor paper

"Yellow"

A patch of small flowers are decaying
the yellow bees left searching for fresh blossoms.
Further down the pathway a flower stands
alone and untouched between the green.
"CRUNCH" a toddler tramples the bright floret
generations shaped the indifferent now.

Brightly towering beyond the rest
a clique of yellow lillies grow freely,
they were lifted up for their outward traits
a sign post for the unnatural ideals.
The flowers did not demand this duty,
like the daisy they simply long for light.

In what season did a council convene
to decide the values of yellow buds?
Does the grounds keeper know why he mows down
the ochre field of Spring's blooming harvest?
Or, is he just a blind inheritor
of ancient prejudices aimed at these "weeds?"

If we could only uproot dualism
then yellow blossoms could thrive in the light.
They could freely display their uniqueness
unhindered by the antiquated ideals.
Alas, this balance is long in coming,
the grounds keeper has arrived with his tools.

16x20
Watercolor on watercolor paper