Monthly Archives: October 2009

Indigo Shadows

i come to you wrapped
in crimson speckled gauze
broken spirit my greatest gift
unable to discern the future
hearing only whispers of the
wistful spirits of ancestors
i choose you over crystal ball
standing at summer’s end watching
sunset usher in your indigo shadows
clinging to the wart of carnal vice
seeking easy distraction, shelley, stoker 
like trick or treat housing idle threat
but what of my autumn harvest
faithful fruit and divine offering
can i shed this costume and
return to eden

An Invitation

I recently was extended an invitation by L.K. Thayer to be a guest squeeze over at her Poetry Juice Bar.  If ever a place was filled with creative juices, this is it. Be sure to stop by and check out the inspiring photos by V.C. Ferry, incredible poetry and lyrics by L.K. Thayer, and the guest squeeze spots by visiting poets. You won’t be disappointed. I was really nervous about writing a poem for someone else’s blog – so that’s what I wrote about. Let me know what you think.


i felt a deep panic, like before an academic test
or waking from a dream of being naked in a crowd
that it was silly didn’t calm me, uneasiness remained
distractions with a purpose, this could be the solution

out came a very old file, papers dingy and faded
i began to read, line by line, faster then, page by page
sentimental words of youth, deeply colored clichés
the pee-chee folder was supposed to lend authenticity
serious words don’t belong in flowery notebooks
somehow sporty figures on fields of orange fell short

then i noticed it, up in the corner, looking bold
first initial, last name, was it in times new roman?
onion skinned paper as transparent as the attempts
i looked you up, in a sphere unknown to us then
the about you told me more than i could have guessed
there it was “poetry was a quick road to starvation”
somehow the print more credible, script faded, flimsy
empty praises for rigid writing, clandestine coffee hours

i know now that all the paper held was desire, no skill
passionate youth, misguided by youthful instructors
with curls that fell over banal brown eyes of seduction
arms that reached from behind to jot notes on my paper
begging me, let go, let loose, be free, show me all of you
a young girl, naive, fresh, too lacking in experience for poetry

now i rehash trite thoughts that led me to yellowing paper
letting youthful trepidation fall from shoulders like a red dress
daring myself to believe that words might feed our unclad souls
on slow roads captivating men with dark hair will never travel

Yellow Umbrellas

how would things be
if seagulls were seen as glorious birds
dandelions were hearty flowers
city smells were worth capturing

how would things be
if sad memories didn’t stop us from full lives 
the living didn’t wear black to funerals
old men didn’t send young men to war

how would things be
if we all learned to dance when young
we all learned to sing when young
we all learned to play when young
and didn’t forget when we grew old



i keep squinting to see the limited view

we cast colored glass to the bottom

took turns spinning the tube

every time i look  i see a carnival

in the distance, just out of reach

bright lights, fast rides, the midway

promising too much fun for a quarter

perceptions shifting and changing

playing tricks with eyes and mind

reflections bouncing off angled mirrors

making us seem as one when all we are

is overlapping pieces


Little Boys


little boys make me think of
pockets full of treasures
climbing trees

but little boys can surprise us
with thoughtful pauses
childhood crushes
sad hearts

because little girls
with long curly hair
100% on spelling tests
quiet laughs
aren’t always ready
to think of little boys at all


Cinquain Aim


fleeting days

laughing, enjoying, immersing

never last long enough


Happy Weekend

so easy to forget the camera
after all, it’s only the weekend
just time with children i adore
just kicking back with loved ones
just hanging out with longtime friends
no fancy backdrop in this moment
no cash backed spending spree
no special occasion to gather near
after all, it’s only the weekend
why spend it holding a camera

1 oz apart

one ounce apart can make all the difference
like a tequila sunrise and orange juice
a lobster sunburn or an island tan
this time it means I have to watch close
see who launches the running double hug
because the one ounce won’t feel different
when i catch them both running to my arms

The Cow and The Moon

for michael
there is nothing odd about breakfast for dinner
though i admit to being drawn to the eccentric
what makes me smile at a nightcap of cereal is
the easy shift of perceptions, the liquid mind
that lives a life of poetry before picking up a pen

a bowl of milk and grain beneath a harvest moon

Chapstick and Tackle Boxes

you ask about my process
like fishing is just about a hook
i’ve seen you standing there
silent by your stream
steeped in silent thoughts

i remember standing next to you
tomboy with bobber only drifting
lips itching to fill your ear
questions, observations, the moment
your eyes always on the water

now we speak of chapstick
found in your father’s tackle box
returning us both to different times
watching fishermen consumed by passion
finding answers at the water’s edge
as i cast words to an open sea