Saturday, August 30, 2014



From Fireman's Park


Have I posted this before?  Meh, I'll probably post it again. I love this part of Tacoma.  In the photo I took from Fireman's Park, you can see Brown's Point in the upper right.  This is a photo I took during a visit to the lighthouse--a visit I've relived a thousand times.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

My son totally looked like...

My Son Totally Looks Like Peter Lorre


Tug, sitting on my work...while I'm working.

Monday, August 18, 2014


"In Sulaymániyyih, for the space of one year, the Blessed Beauty confined himself almost exclusively to a stone hut with its doors closed".

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Backyard in Mid-August

Work in progress.

I had an blank pallet to work with 13 years ago.  I've enjoyed the challenge.  

Friday, August 15, 2014



Sunday, August 10, 2014

Bahá'i House of Worship, Kampala, Uganda

I drew this while standing in front of a framed photograph hanging on a wall in the Pilgrim House on Mount Carmel, Israel, in January of 1990.  I was on my Bahá'i pilgrimage.

Saturday, August 9, 2014


Cool CD cover.

Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Nathan La Franeer


I hired a coach to take me
from confusion to the plane
And though we shared a common space
I know I'll never meet again
The driver with his eyebrows furrowed in the rear-view mirror
I read his name and it was plainly written Nathan La Franeer
I asked him would he hurry 
But we crawled the canyons slowly 
Thru the buyers and the sellers 
Thru the burglar bells and the wishing wells 
With gangs and girly shows 
The ghostly garden grows

The cars and buses bustled thru the bedlam of the day
I looked thru window-glass at streets
and Nathan grumbled at the grey
I saw an aging cripple selling Superman balloons 
The city grated thru chrome-plate 
The clock struck slowly half-past-noon 
Thru the tunnel tiled and turning 
Into daylight once again I am escaping 
Once again goodbye 
To symphonies and dirty trees 
With parks and plastic clothes 
The ghostly garden grows 

He asked me for a dollar more 
He cursed me to my face 
He hated everyone who paid to ride 
And share his common space 
I picked my bags up from the curb 
And stumbled to the door 
Another man reached out his hand 
Another hand reached out for more 
And I filled it full of silver 
And I left the fingers counting 
And the sky goes on forever 
Without meter maids and peace parades
You feed it all your woes
The ghostly garden grows