Fell behind. Must catch up…


Well, ok, I got sickish.

Then I had work and it all just started tumbling away from me. I’m nine days off, but I have nine more days to make up for it. If I do two or three a day, I should be caught up.

Luckily for you readers, I have been scribbling poems down on paper!

Also I’m working on an epic poem as a bit of joke for a British friend of mine. More on that later!

4.13 Bitch on a Train

Your instincts told you that the foreigner wouldn’t know to pounce.
Safe in your prejudices.
Know what you did not anticipate?
This foreigner has been riding the rails for months.
I’ve lost my fear.
I’ve lost my patience.
That seat is mine.
I claimed it ten stops ago.
You may want it,
But you won’t get it.
Sorry, Junior.
You snooze.
You lose…that seat.

4.14 Sakura Philosophy

Sakura season is but a breath of spring
A flippancy, a dalliance, the barest floral fling
Two weeks tops of cherry blooms under which we dine
Staring up at flowers while drinking sweet plum wine.

Such times seem held in stasis as though to last forever
And yet the trees are stripped with the barest hint of weather
Seeming snow-capped branches shaken by a forceful gale
Spring begins by shaking off the prettiest of veils.

Perhaps that is the lesson that we are meant to learn
That we are the like the buds that bloom and fall in turn
So take heart, my blossoms, that spring will come and then
Upon our fall new sakura will burst into bloom again.


Small Moment


I heard the truth of your voice at one time,
and at that time I understood you just a little more.
And in that space of time we were permitted
voices open and eager.
Time is measured as needed.
I take small moments as large minutes,
better to counteract the heavy hours that will fall
with silence and better judgment.
I will hold the one times safe,
As one does perfect shells, unbent feathers, and truthful voices.



I’m eating goldfish crackers

All the way down to the salty crumbs.

Then I eat the flakes too.

Walk in ineffectual circles,

Listen to ineffectual music.

Recite ineffectual mantras.

Because when you told everyone to leave you be,

That today was your “writing day”

Then suddenly you need people

And you can’t bring yourself to ask for help

Or speak of the hurt

Or untangle your necklaces

The only thing you can do is wallow.

Eat all the crackers,

Avoid the whiskey in the closet,

And hold tight to the main mast

Until the squall passes.

Because deep down you know – I know –

That the storm may not pass entirely,

But it will eventually mellow,

Which will give you the space you need

To breathe, to write, to speak,

And push through to to the next, new sun.




All that a Writer Can Do


All That a Writer Can do

When my tires went flat
I mused and sat
Out on the grass of a hill

By the freeway’s shoulder
Upon a boulder
I took out my modern quill

And composition
In such a position
Is all that a writer can do

To pass idle time
With humor and rhyme
Until the tow truck comes through

When my heart got broken
I pulled out your token
And promised never again

Reclining in bed
With an angry head
I took out my ballpoint pen

And composition
In such a position
Is all that a writer can do

To soothe the hurt feelings
With drama and peelings
Until the heart mends anew

When the sun shone upon me
I walked in its bounty
Through parks and fields fair

And out in the flowers
Spent carefree hours
Writing my musings there

And composition
In such a position
Is all that a writer can do

To capture sublime
In meager rhyme
Apologizing when through

And when I die
I will not cry
I’ll hand the journal to you

To write me with care
Be I foul or fair
So long as you write me true

And composition
In such a position
Is all that a writer can do

To send me on
To the great beyond
Where I’ll write something new.

Margarita Moon


Margarita Moon

Howl to the margarita moon,
The bourbon stars!
Stretch out your arms to the tequila sun
And smile, my new friend, smile.

Life a shore strewn with broken things
Pounded by surf and crusted in sand.
So reach out and smile a whiskey dawn smile
And rest in bliss, my new friend.

This ease will not last till sunset.
The tide is constant and true.
So howl to the margarita moon my new friend,
And I’ll stretch out my fingers, and howl along too!

Murder of Crows


A murder of crows

Flew over the boughs

But the children did not heed them.

For every child knows

That the carrion crows

Leave the bones of those who need them.

For one day all men must feed them.

As children grow,

And run below,

The crows above will heed them

For every crow knows

We to ground must go

For one day all men must feed them.

Leave the bones for those who need them.

Observing Death at a Sickbed


I can see you, though I don’t know what to call you in passing.

You are not an angel, but you are not a monster.

A shadow without darkness,

A solemn thing without judgment.

I can see you, old bird, faceless man,

I know you smile gently.

I tried screaming at you.

But you did not hear me

I wept at you and begged.

But you did not see me.

I raged.

But you did not need me.

Now I nod and smile gently in return

Now we catch each other in the corners of our eyes.

So you are with us again

A caressing, skeletal hand

Down a dress,

Cupping a breast,

Murmuring eternal nothings in an ear –

We cannot hear those teeth

Those tongueless mouths.

Hearts drown out the sound.

The Italian Renaissance showed it best-

A voluptuous woman

In a yellow gown

Braided hair and rosy lipped

A bag of bones draped around her shoulders,

A hand gently plucking back a bodice

This is the particular beauty that we cannot see

Not life but death

Nor life yet death

But life and death

The constant, the beautiful truth

The unchanging and informal caress

Of a promise which is always kept.

I wonder – will I see you when you drape your arms around me?

It would not be a bad thing

To track your progress in the room

To count your steps to my side

Perhaps that would be better than being tackled by you on a highway