My brother’s bedroom was off limits, but that never stopped me from many things in my youth. Having eight siblings, 72 first cousins, and hundreds of class mates at St Mary’s of Redford grade, middle and high school—let alone thousands of parishioners in our little corner of the Detroit metropolis—there was always someone not to... Continue Reading →
Word Jam Words, words, wonderful words; never enough, words are birds Rhythm, rhyme, keeping time; words are magic, before, behind Into gold, out of blue; there's not one thing that words can't do Tell me more, teach me chants; let me show you how words can dance Every letter, each dotted "i"; makes my pencil... Continue Reading →
Survive high desert No hangovers, drunk dialing Not one shot, no lime Survive
century plant blooms once, celebrates with aplomb a round for the house
I'm not much one for make-up. Never have been really except perhaps for those early days of adolescence. When the discovery of blue eyelids and long lashes had a timely empowering factor. I could change how I looked, quite dramatically, or subtly. But I had that power. And I was something. It was that simple. I... Continue Reading →
This Dress It doesn't fit, Mom this dress, your death it's like a net, in satin wrapped around me, I'm trapped in this collar, I flounder I can't get it right it's not my size I wish I was naked and you had your breath. It's a straight jacket in black, I'm crazy like burlap,... Continue Reading →
Drums that Heal No now, no next. Ma. Who knew that on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in the Flagstaff Public Library, I would find the word I needed to capture my current state of affairs, and from Taiko drummers at that. Five performers pounding out their hearts, and pounding right into mine. This group's performance... Continue Reading →
for my girls, even Riana, who doesn't like poetry The Cranberry Line Follow the cranberry line of dawn, go home reach far, the moon is only a lost star looking for sunrise, for the saffron tide; waves like Aurora’s children on the verge of morning, stretch and rub their eyes. Be a poet. Be that... Continue Reading →
for Kay McKay I wondered today how long it takes for someone to become an angel. Is it instantaneous? Now you're dead, now you're an angel? Is there a waiting period? A series of hoops and steps and paperwork to get desensitized from life and ready for death. Like an immigration process? A job interview? Is... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 