September 23, 2015 in Coping, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts


the shattered glass reflects
a thousand images

where lies reality?

the ordered world breaks down
into a random spray of neurons

matter over mind
free radical chaos

sanity is a dangling rope
reach out, grab it and
hold on for dear life

The comeback kid

August 4, 2015 in Happenings, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts

hey, comeback kid!mic_on-stage

after all these years,
your dreams and desires
put off, sitting
on the back burner,
but simmering,
ever simmering…

how sweet is it
now to clench a fist
and whisper low
in affirmation
‘I am back!’
‘by God, I am back!’?

The Blank Page

July 26, 2015 in Happenings, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts


the blank pagetypewriter

the white space, void of words
would return my stare
and seem to ask
with fingers drumming,


its opaque nothingness
would leave me
twisting in fear,
irrationally wishing for the
words to suddenly appear,
for the ink to magically flow


I would carry the blank page
with me through the day
and at intervals remove
from my pocket and unfold,
hoping for a different result

but it was always the same –
the judgmental air,
the mocking tone,
the pounding pulse

at long last,
at rope’s end
my dander up,
I cried out
‘what the fuck do you know?
after all, you are nothing!’

the blank page


a silence so profound
that it overwhelmed me
and enveloped me
in a delicious stillness

I stared
at the white screen
and felt it reflect
its glow upon me
it was a light pregnant with
ideas yet to be born,
words yet to be shaped

I just had to chill out
and let the ink flow

I broke out in laughter
at the realization that
the blank page was
and always had been…

my friend

Eaten Canyon

November 17, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts

Eaton Canyon

Autumn in Eaten Canyon Photo by Patsy Faragher

This poem was inspired by a photograph taken by my sister,
Patsy Faragher

Eaton Canyon… still, peaceful canyon
Tucked between mountains to the north
And foothills to the south
Safe from the ever encroaching sprawl

Eaton Creek’s cold, clear water
Dropping fifty feet over rocky fall
Then streaming gently in quiet meander,
To flow into Rio Hondo, destined for the sea.

In the crisp autumn air we walk
Following well trodden path that for millennia
Knew the shuffling gait of grizzly
And light-footed step of moccasin and sandal

Veering off the trail now, we find a secret shady spot
Under a scruffy little California oak
That streams dappled sunlight through its canopy.
Beneath its branches, the leaf and rock strewn ground
Is aglow and sparkling… ocher, gold, silver, green…
A harvest basket of color

The tree knows about life
It has seen fire,
It has seen flood
It has thrived in nature’s bountiful seasons
And hunkered down to survive through the lean.

Listen to the silence. Focus on the silence.
To our assaulted ears it is overpowering
We may hear the soft rustling sounds of wildlife,
Creatures that hear us as we breath
Creatures keenly aware of our presence.

Listen even deeper…
Do you hear… in the breeze
The low dreamy murmur of female voices?
Tongva women speaking and laughing
As they gather acorn for meal
And wiregrass for weaving,
Dipping and filling water baskets in the stream

Oh, that we could linger here in this spot.
We must dip our basket into its essence
Take it along to nourish our souls,
Knowing we will soon be back to replenish




a dry spell ends

November 4, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Poetry

a dry spell ends –
the drenched earth exhales
a sigh of satisfaction

After the rain. L. A., California, November,2014 - Photo by Patsy Faragher

After the rain. L. A., California, November,2014 – Photo by Patsy Faraghera sigh of satisfaction

parched lips that feared
this blessed day
would never come to pass

now give voice
to joyous song with
moistened words of thankfulness

the squatter weeds
will seize the chance to
pose as lush and verdant guests

’til summer heat returns
to wither and expose their
hidden cache of thorn and sticker

and the sun resolves
‘enough’s enough!’ and vows
again to re-impose his reign supreme



Singing Our Mother Farewell

October 7, 2014 in Poetry, Scrolling Back, Thoughts, Uncategorized

 Singing Our Mother Farewell

we raised up our voices and held grief at baystock-footage-sunset-on-a-ocean-shore
singing our mother good-bye
siblings united on a sad mournful day
singing our mother good-bye

we sang as we sailed o’er an ocean of tears
singing our mother farewell
and the cries of the sobbing surf played in our ears
singing our mother farewell

we sang ’til the sun disappeared from the sky
singing our mother on home
and angels in heaven could hear our good-bye
as we sang our mother on home



Mary Louise Faragher

Mary Louise Faragher


the poet

August 27, 2014 in Happenings, Poetry, Reflections

the poet

she reveals herself in incrementsSan_Francisco_at_Night_from_
of verse upon a printed page.
brief snapshots – human moments
imprinted on  the reader’s brain.

the vulnerability of the words
belies the boldness of the art.
her longings become our longings,
her loneliness ours to share.

each poem is a point of light
discernable to our eye even among
the  million others gleaming
in the chill air of an urban night scape

my mark

August 14, 2014 in Coping, Poetry, Reflections, Thoughts

my mark

to make my mark… to be seen and heardmeteor2
was my purpose, my desire
to blaze like a meteor across the sky
so young, so full of fire

but with the years I’ve shed this edgy
need to prove that I exist
watching, listening, I now hear and see
the myriad things that I have missed

‘hit your mark and tell the truth.’ –
so said the actor sage
it resonates less in the heat of youth
than in the cool of age

The Blues – a poem

July 7, 2014 in Coping, Poetry, Reflections


The Blues

when Regret presses its heavy palmsWail
down upon my shoulders,
looks me dead in the eye and nods –
‘I told you so’

I shrug,
return the gaze,
grab each wrist, and smile –
‘Hey, motherfucker, want to  dance?’


white peacock

July 1, 2014 in Nature's Backyard, Of the World, Poetry, Reflections

white peacock



white peacock

a white feathered peacock
meanders down a garden lane
in solitary gait

he tiptoes on the edge of a world
where beauty is defined by one’s color
he walks alone