the damn rain

the damn rain

won't stop

its monotonous drumming

foretelling flood, this year

before winter solstice

above my roof

sounds of cracking branches

send me cowering

as I curse the fickle moon

alone in our bed

I can still hear you breathing

~text & photo by leh

San Francisco Beat

Broadway at Columbus

Chinatown fades into

little Italy, blessed by

Saint Francis of Assisi

omne ignotum

Chianti and Brad

at Ristorante Franchino

photos of young mama and

papa hang on the walls

buon appetito

City Lights, across the alley

Vesuvio Cafe where

50s Beats spouted prose

while pissing in the john

cool man

Ginsberg's Howl banned

Burroughts was Junkie

pre Condor and Carol Doda

Kerouac lived On the Road

the Beat bible

In that flicker between

when The Gate glows sienna

and neon lights Broadway

young poets of North Beach

hear the rhythm of the Beats

leh

unquiet repose

electrical energy triggers

gates in the brain, synapses fire

impinge upon nervous system

grand mal, dis-ease
inflicted by the gods

activates pineal gland

supernova center eye

electric current overwhelms

causing failure in consciousness

mc2 = Energy = liberated matter

information travels faster

than light into the future

kundalini flow of energy

order out of chaos

photo & text by leh

Measured Moments

Staying ahead of the darkness

I return to one of the moments

my life is measured by...

laying in the open bed

of your pick-up truck, snug

in sleeping bags, except

for our noses--the scent

of sugar pine refined

by our campfire, its smoke

ascending precipitously

toward jagged silhouettes

of Sierra Nevada peaks

--awaiting

satellite flybys

you explain to me

Russia and the United States

navigate opposite orbits

tonight, both cross

Scorpio's full moon

...not knowing at the time, only

the persistent memory of you

would stay with me.

~photo & text by leh

Bora Bora

The massive Pacific pummels
the mile-out barrier reef
like ancient Polynesian drums
beating an alpha rhythm

on Bora Bora
coconut palms weep
the tepid sea bespeckled
as clouds of perles noir
mask the Southern Cross
jagged bolts of platinum
set alight the vulcan sky

quixotic as the South Seas
clusters of perles creme return
mirrored in the transparent lagoon
while Otuu struts the water's edge
sun ripened Maohi's
wrapped loosely in pareus
their beauty crowned with Tiare Tahiti
sway to the beat of ancestral drums
at the foot of Otemanu
on Bora Bora


~photos & text by leh

Passing Through...On the Way to Infinity

First breath, Fort Smith

on a snowy afternoon.

Willits to Cecile Street

South Bay, the nuptials

East Bay to Chico

Shakey's Chicks, birth of a son

the Big Valley to North Bay

seasons of my father

politics, wine, dissolution.

The River, where everything

unknown became known.

high tea at Withywindle

a failed love, a lost love

the candlelight vigil

Main Street lullaby

birth of a grandchild

ladies of the PenHouse
naked writings.

The Baja 1000 with Arlaine
interrupted by Federales.
Ruperto stalks ratones
at Casa de la Pacena
Miguel arrives for breakfast.

Las Vegas, The Strip

land of perpetual light

where everything known

became unknown.

the color of mango

I look to the moon

seeking familiar.

cicadas buzz in mesquite

Mojave palette

magik connects with spirit

ancient ones guide my way

to friends tarnished, laudably.

The South Bay
under a familiar moon
a lost love returns
little sister departs.
paradox, the sanity of madness.
spirit connects with magik
ancient ones guide my way
to Markham's poets.

~ photo & text by leh

Main Street Lullaby

Tentacles of fog drift up river
navigating around redwood crowns
obscuring stars suspended in cobalt

In cadenced harmony
tires roll over damp pavement
crooning the lullaby of Main Street
as a lingering street vendor nods an
evening greeting to passersby

Faintly visible under tangerine streetlights
the vendor's hand-painted sign
Crystals Gems Minerals Rocks Fossils
still hangs on the side of his van
while he packs his hallowed wares

Hey, Rock Man, still open for business?
I'm in need of a special stone tonight.

The Rock Man reaches for rose quartz
and listens to one more story while

tangerine mist blankets Main Street

~ leh

Casa de la Pacena

house of the woman

Church bells chime seventh hour
First light shines on Benito Juarez
Columbian coffee on balcony
Yachts sail on Bahia de La Paz

Taxis park along The Malecon
Vendors gather in town square
Young man collects useable trash
Federales drive by in unmarked car

Ruperto arrives with machete to stalk ratones
Scent of freshly squeezed orange juice
Fish frying in tempura batter
Miguel arrives to breakfast with Arlaine

gecko pauses on ceiling

~ photo & text by leh

Patchwork Path Books

Patchwork Path Books

Piecing Together Our Lives

Grandma's Choice

Dad's Bow Tie

Friendship Star

Wedding Bouquet

Christmas Stocking
Treasure Box
Mother's Life

Tena Beth Thompson, Publisher

Gregory A. Kompes, Production Director
Ellen J. Dugan, Introduction & Quilt Block

Leslie E. Hoffman, Editor

Like a quilt, our lives are pieced together

with memories, stories, and experiences.

Sometimes, our lives are designed and planned,

all the colors and patterns match well.

At other times, our lives resemble crazy quilts,

pieced together from the remaining scraps.

The Patchwork Path books capture our

stories to preserve them for future generations.

To order a Patchwork Path book,

and for submission guidelines,

click on (above) link.

Mojave Palette

Thunderheads broil
above Mt. Charleston
as jagged strikes of platinum lead
roar of thunder rumbling
like a herd of wild mustangs
stampeding down canyon narrows

Vertical sheets of charcoal loom
on horizon, warning
avalanches of water rushing
down arroyos toward desert floor

long after
obsidian sky opens to reveal
a canvas of crimson and lapis

~photo & text by leh

Cloud Wisps, a Pantoum

Cloud wisps, like
Snowball garnets
Mercury retrogrades
We regret to inform you

Snowball garnets
Hot wind through mesquite
We regret to inform you
Loving daughter

Hot wind through mesquite
Sun sets behind canyon
Loving wife
We regret to inform you

Sun sets behind canyon
Scent of cut lilies
We regret to inform you
Mars at perigee

Scent of cut lilies
Mercury retrogrades
Mars at perigee
Cloud wisps

~photo & text by leh

Where Is Home

Is it white with green shutters
Does it have a picket fence
and a gnarled hooker oak
with a tree house for my son

Is there a porch at home
with a rocker and a cat
Do the neighbors ever
ask your name -- or care

You see, I must find home
before winter so I can sow
a garden full of daffodils
and stay to watch them grow

I'd raise a goat, a friend
or two, and never be alone
Then, in fifty years -- or so
I can die -- at home


~photo & text by leh

Little Sister

Not so long ago
I found you in the Poet & Patriot
drinking Guinness, laughing
under a poster of Che.
I fell in love that day
with your Che
and you
my free spirit sister
the activist
ghost dancer
catcher of dreams
seeker of illusions.

Today
I find you on a bench
in the garden at Villa Soquel
gazing out to sea
ferals rubbing against your ankles.
I sit by you
you smile into infinity.
confined, they say, for your safety
yet, still my free spirit sister
dancing with resident ghosts
weaving dreams
dwelling in illusion.

~photo & text by leh

Today, a Son of Africa

Presidential Inauguration of Barack Obama
January 20, 2009, Washington, D.C.

Sevenscore years ago
a race of people bled from the whip.
Twoscore and fourteen years ago
they sat at the back of the bus.
Today, a son of Africa
holds highest office in the land.

Yes we can...

This son of Africa
speaks of our patchwork heritage
while voices from the past
chant, We shall overcome.

Yes we can...

One generation removed from
the ground that Lucy walked
this son of Africa leads
from the house built by slaves.

Yes, we can…
sustain
The Audacity of Hope.


~photo & text by leh