King Solomon Overlooking Jerusalem

Best seen Large. Discovered this on the back of a dried mushroom.

No Ordinary Peony

When I saw that face
among the flowers
peeking out at me, I smiled.

A moment ago, it was just
an ordinary peony.
How could this be?

I had never seen
a flower that resembled
a human face,

especially
one that whispered,
"I love you."

Suddenly, I realized
that I had been deceived
by the one eyed priest

whose God did not reside
in Nature's Paradise.
And then,

I said aloud
to the face in the floral crowd,
"I love you too,"

and knew
I had communed
with God...


c. Douglas Fireman

A touch of paint, and some
shaping helped to create
the face in the peony on the right.
Posted by Doug at 11:42 AM 0 comments

A Silent Friend

It isn't everyone
who has a silent friend
a friend

who doesn't say a word
but just listens.
When I found him

in the bark of that old tree
I knew that we would be
the best of pals.

Lately I've had the need
to share my grief with him.
Sounds crazy, but must

a caring, listening, friend
be Real to heal
a broken heart?

c. Douglas Fireman

My friend is wearing a hat,
a camouflage jacket,
orange pants, and black shoes.

Recurrent Midnight Dream

There is no end to the imagery
found in marble walls.


Last night
I rode a marble horse
through a marvelous

moonlit dream.
When it stopped to drink
from a silver stream

you were there.
How that came to be
I'll never know...

Yet every time we meet
by that meandering
silver stream

we ride through wind blown
canyons in a recurrent
midnight dream.

c. Douglas Fireman

Wrestling Match

The other day,
when in the forest,
I saw a wrestling match

that to some,
would seem
a mighty strange one.

black birds
cawed incessantly,
while I,

bent on hands and knees,
refereed a match
between two angry leaves...

c. Douglas Fireman

Ancestral Visions

If my heart song
is melancholy tonight
and my silver flute
reflects the darkside
of the moon

it's because
my people's past has
disappeared
all too soon.

Once...ancestral voices
sang in unison, blending
with shake of rattles;
the beat of drums.

And as I dance
the tinkling bells
upon my moccasins
evoke ancestral
visions.

Hypnotic sounds
of sacred seeds
rattle through
my memory.

The ancestors
are beckoning me.
I hear their songs
echoing soular
canyons.

And then
save for the graceful
flap of an eagle's
wings

all is silent...

c. Douglas Fireman

A bit of Reimaging; a touch of paint
with Picasa Tools.