Survive high desert No hangovers, drunk dialing Not one shot, no lime Survive
Tequila 2 – Mighty Agave
Tequila! – Mighty Agave
century plant blooms once, celebrates with aplomb a round for the house
Celebrating Smart Women
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 →
Gray Choices
Gray Choices I come from the dry cleaners chemical steam staining my shallow breath like my brother’s ashes that cannot stay on the mantle watching us wondering where to put them I come from the tulip garden tall stems like picket fences that need painting petals drop and rest in dirty sunshine sullen remnants of the bloom... Continue Reading →
Roots, Worms, and Blossoms: for Maureen
Roots, Worms, and Blossoms How will the promise of age rest upon my skin? As it does the forgotten apple? The sad Macintosh left under a tree withered and no good for a pie? Will time brand me with pinches smudge my shiny skin and deplete my rightful size? Or will I be the old... Continue Reading →
‘Protecting Women,’ a found poem, Aisle 7, Walgreens
This is one of my favorite performance pieces, and while I haven't performed it in a while, my daughter Riana and I were in Walgreen's recently, and it came to mind, so I pulled it out, and thought I'd share. Imagine me on a stage, wearing a pink pussy hat, of course. There would be... Continue Reading →
Life Is Only a Borrowing of Bones, a journal poem
I journal, somewhat obsessively. Nearly every morning. The sunrise and me. I write. It rises. I have had this partnership with the rising sun since I was a wee little thing. My day is just not right if I don't begin it writing. (And funny, the day wouldn't be right if the sun didn't rise!)... Continue Reading →
My Dad Kneeling in Front of a Flower Bed on Abington in Detroit
My Dad Kneeling in Front of Flower Bed on Abington in Detroit I look for lilacs to steal or forsythia even lilies of the valley, those shy bells of fragrance any handful hanging over a fence in an alley along the sidewalk in this mountain town some forgotten flower I can take home each spring... Continue Reading →
Walls, a bop poem*
Let’s build a super Wal- Mart’s on Main Street in the heart of 'Merica Mom & Pop’s stores close we’ll breakfast on nachos redefine patriotism: nobody comes, nobody goes. Willaby wallaby woo an elephant sat on you We’ve all heard the secret to Wall Street: mix greed with fear, remove humility, turn lead to gold,... Continue Reading →
Burn the Bedlam, a Sestina
In these days of rage and reflection, I question everything, everything more than I ever have. One question, always gnawing at the loaf of bread that may be my brain is 'why do I write?' And now, blog. Answering this questions is a life's work for many writers, why? What drives us to do it?... Continue Reading →
pocket poet 