Garden In Progress

Garden Through the Years

Autumn Beauty

Black and White Images

Black Bear Visit

Edisto Island, SC


Folly Beach, SC

Fripp Island, SC

Homer's Gallery

Hunting Island State Park


Pollywog Pond



Sunlit Interiors

Textured Images

Water Magic


Red Bubble

About Our Animals

Homer's Pond

In Honor of My Mother

In Memory of My Father


Nature Journal
My Writing



Homer's Vietnam Experiences

Homer's Room

Tib's Room

Never Lonely


I live in a liquid land where waves of vision

spill into daily habits -

where animals speak with spirits

and those who care to hear.

Advice is delivered

by a passed over soul

in a whisper barely heard

and a touch like smoke

leaving signs born of time's wisdom

that dissolve into psychic confetti

falling like rain on outstretched night arms

to be caught, examined and returned

to their rightful owners

on the telephone by day.


The House

In the bedroom an emerald tree frog

clings flat and panicked like a wind-tossed

ivy leaf to the smooth white wall

chirping for home.

Cooing comfort, I capture him in a fish net

and deposit this pulsing jewel under a rain-dripping hibiscus

covering him with a leaf topped with a feather

from a sparrow's wing.

A red-bellied woodpecker taps on the window

to wake me on work days

and mourning doves call to me

in my grandmother's voice

while the granddaddy long-legs that visits my tub

forces me to rescue him each morning

insect-feather legs perching, tickling

the hairs on my arm.

Waiting on the porch to capture

the sun's first light for luck

a gray cat-bird lets me know when breakfast

is burning on the old gas stove

by screaming my childhood name

and a green lizard sits silently

trying to become invisible

by my coffee cup.

Crickets sing in the house-plants at night

while Bobbin, the kitten-cat

speaks to them in tail-speech

trying to lure them out for dinner.

Lady the Tramp sleeps in the curve of my legs

smelling rank and fishy

from the junk-yard swamp and

erotic adventures with the pack.

The shabby gold-fish in the kitchen tank

grows cantankerous with age

and demands his dinner by banging

his head against the glass

while the black cat-fish that sleeps on the bottom

thrashes wildly in her confinement

sending a rush of song-like bubbles

to explode and splash the spider who spins

her endless maternal web around hatchlings

on the dusty recipe book.



Frozen snakes lie coiled

under my bed awaiting the night

that will bring summer storms

inside like prayers

to thaw and heal them so I will know their power

and offer welcome words of light.

But now, in all worlds, even while you are reading this,

the seals sing deep under the ice

visions dance like hummingbirds

darting into nests of dreams

and the lung-fish lives buried in a desert.

And it is all one world - one universe

where everything is everything

and endings are born again.