I’m pleased to share with all of you two of my poems, The Body is a Well and Soul Vacation, … More
Every spring,my son’s syncopated sneezes,water the green duvet covers,his cough, a predawn chorus,followed by a birth bath laughbut whether he … More
God is a mirrorball;
see yourself in his gaze.
His name reflected on your forehead.
It pleases him to invite you in
through fog machine clouds
to the rainbow dome, his throne,
I am excited to share with you a new poem, featured today on Visual Verse: Anthology of Art and Words. … More
Cocoa butter circles,
the deep soak of essential oils
and songs like playful waves;
Curdled milk cloudsafter-Christmas crowdszombie skin skyseparated lane divides,the year is decomposingand the golden nuggetheadlights are fool’s gold,‘cause this highways no … More
The snow flowered overhead like cotton constellations daubing the wound of the cleared forest. Most of the trees were plucked, … More
My love’s a lion’s maneundersea massive beingtangled tentacles outreachingburning soul mate stingingthe perfect knotsuch a sweet spotno real eyes needing.
My poetry pays rent in a pop-up tent
under a busy overpass,
growing like marram grass by a brackish sea.
It dwells in the mosaic empty spaces left behind
by winter’s nudist trees.
I penned this brevity for a contest last year about this same time. It was a great exercise to try … More
Thankful to know when the landscape is shining,When warm winds are blowingAnd nature is fair,Thankful to find that your smile … More
Blind worms sting as often as seeing worms would. Prick of parasite rips open our most impenetrable tomb final resting … More
Awake,a windowpane remains up,a foggy brown tank, and I lurkinside an unfiltered reality,my aquatic soul surviving,simply waiting,for the next underwater … More
Leaves pressed into the path,a permanent scrapbook of fall.
My fall fantasy comes true!Who knewyou’re a blonde backyard bush,a sweet surprise,my autumnal blind date.
The stain smells sorta like a pine, but every grape can’t be pressed to wine.
Woolly, thick grey worryitching in the black of night,tossing, turning, spinning;the knitter stitches by starlight.
Pocketless, seamlessthe chill of the wind–a reminder that nowis the only moment we’re in. One day’s warm breezeis another’s needy, … More
Black bags triple tieda mountainside of mistakesstretch-marked sidespuddles of toxic probitypoked free from last night’s leaksrot smell lingers for weekssomeone’s … More
Instrumental Attitude Response to FBTF #18 Adante Flashback Track Friday #18 If you were describing yourself as a musical instrument … More
Time is a candlelit at birth,burning through your life.extinguished by strength,a harsh wind of a worryor the slow burn of … More
Fell asleep beneath your fallen boughs, woke with luck at dusk. The thickest air, my private patio, your fallen black … More