Hi! The Traveller, like all my art, is a combination of photography, collage, and drawing. No AI.
4 comments on The Traveller
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The water is cold near this spring and I watch the first flakes of late autumn snow land on tree branches. The flakes form a textured coating resembling an artist’s touch. They fall like ashes playing amongst a thick mist hugging the forest. The mountain is somewhere behind these trees, somewhere behind these foothills.
Wild mist is elusive, skittish, a feral kind of weather with no city lights to reflect the symmetry of urban yellows, greens, and reds. The mist fools you into believing this stream does not follow a path of least resistance, but it does, even if it looks like it’s wandering, like a fragment, a lost sentence the mountain has thrown down upon uneven parchment.
Soon the snow will cover everything, branches will be weighed down and the only thing seen is the creek slicing its way through white.
I cup my hands, holding fingers together…tight. There’s a seam where they meet, one hand layered over the other.
Images by me. To be Published Schedule
Rooted Literary Magazine - 12-31-2025
Juste Milieu - Issue 19 - 2 Items! Winter 2025
Press Pause Press - Volume 13 - Fall of 2026
Published
Muse-Pie Press - Issue #52 Fall 2025 https://www.musepiepress.com/ -
Watching November. Stories of leaves and lives, the paths of weather and wind. The naming of storms as they move across oceans. Characterized. Rummaging inside the stories, among their array, thoughts detained by tracking their descents, following the arc of their flaws. Outside, the leaves are in wet piles, soon to be gathered up in a blend of red and gold from clutter to compost. There is no catharsis here. Only fiction contains them. The blue jay parents who caused such a fuss protecting their young last spring are still around. Quiet now. One of them still tilts her head, listening.
Blue Season. An unfinished project of mine. You can find my recently published Fibonacci poem on Muse-Pie Press. Just follow this link –https://www.musepiepress.com/fibreview/index.html
Upcoming art to be published in the winter issue of Juste Milieu Zine.
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Rain falls hard
Upon paved cities of fortune
Dressed in gowns of glass.
Once she had thought cities held melodies
That singers know.
Now that she has sang
Her throat seems parched
Yet melodies still pour
From lung and breath
And her heart
Looks in upon itself
Even if only as metaphor.
Lazy Concrete – Image is mine as all of them are. Click on image to enlarge. Upcoming publishing schedule
- Juste Milieu Zine – Winter Issue
- Muse-Pie Press – https://www.musepiepress.com/fibreview/index.html
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Late summer sun caught
Inside a young fall
Pokes a warm beam of light
Through a window, stirring up
A ballet of dust within
A slow tangle of choreographed chaos
Dampened only by early evening’s
Crisp air hinting of shorter days
The first fallen leaves
Curled, cooked and crumpled
By autumn’s summer mask
Resemble large beetles
who scurry like scarabs
Upon sunbaked sidewalks
Dancing with determination until
Fall’s chill settles into season
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You smile, that crooked little smile, and the pendant you wear, the one of the moon, lies upon your chest, where I’ve listened to your heartbeat...that safe place where I felt the coldness of that pendant become warm. Fate plays with fools just as much as it plays with winners. I’m not sure which one we are.
This I know.
We are speeding up, like the universe.
You and I, faster and faster.
Someday we will be nothing but speed, eternal hurrying, a blur, consonants & vowels blended into mush. There may be times in the future when we misunderstand each another.
But I’m here
Now,
To form no words, just caress our created warmth, hold up the sky with you.
Forget reading the stars, their letters are in disarray, light years away from creating sentences. We will move and become nothing but movement...yet still lie together, inseparable like Earth and moon, while dark matter stretches galaxies into nothing but the faintest of glimmer and all stories cease.
Another little art fun piece by me. -
The roads are young
Next to old mines
Their abandoned tools
Rust under partial skies
Between pine, cedar
& fiddlehead fern
Scattered as remembrances
Remnants, filtered, fill
A monochrome story
The history of desire
We take pics
Searching, digging
For images & stories
Miners with phones
Manufactured from extractions
By otherness who unearthed the
Silica, Cobalt, & Lithium
To preserve the likeness
Of the barn that leans
Of the old growth
Of the green gems of water
Its opal pools
Repurposed
A group of teenagers
Run around the wilderness
Sit under a coniferous
Writing poems with emojis
Acronyms and abbreviations
While an app wants to know
Name
License plate number
Car model
How many in the party?
Reason for your visit
Peep. Click on image to enlarge. -
The path follows a simple circle
Through hemlock, cedar, & ash
Smooth
Like a freeway of dirt
Only the creek works hard
Passing under footbridges
An August trickle
Today, I hear the rain fall
Slicing the month
into two dry halves
Branches droop under
the weight of the new moisture
Fresh drops, warm
With summer inside them
Apples will begin to fall
Blackberries ripen
Hanging on to the moisture
of last spring’s slanted rain
From seed, plant, growth
Love
and again
Fall lies in the distance
Patient
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Hi everyone! I’m pleased to announce that Spillwords has published my poem The Ocean in their Featured Posts column. Check it out below using this link or the image below! Give it a little love by liking it on the Spillwords site. Thanks! It’s kind of ironic, since I’m on my way to the ocean right now!
I wish you all the best and hope things are well.
Take care!
T. Ahzio
MoonCat 