Wednesday, December 31, 2014


How a day can be so bleak gray 
yet prism'd pierced with solace 
branches sway in a wind sent to remind us of our mortality 
thin-walled fragility of our shared humanness 
gold finches blissfully ignore all loneliness 
to savor seed & other feathered fluff company 
sun dips lower to the western horizon 
in measured cadence to the moon's promise 
winter ... 
bookmark this hour 
light a candle 
for warmer days .... 

Saturday, December 20, 2014

one moment

i will grasp 
hold on loosely - ( thank you Wild-Eyed Southern Boys
-as if there is an equation for that-
the tattered ribbons of our humanness 
fragility ruby-pink & dusty with forgetfulness
hold on 
but brimmed with sweetness
the electric fire of our soul burns 
with this invincible thread of connection 
saffron starred & tender
smelling of fresh mown grass, sex and shortbread
pierced to the marrow of our shared quilted sorrow & joy
steeled, but yielding
broken, but not
present, but removed to the blue of the coming solstice sky 
snow is in the forecast
bring it 
taste the snowflake upon your tongue
this is life 

Thursday, November 20, 2014

eclipse into me

are why I sleep
you are why I sleep
rolled upon the blue
oh you are why I sleep

floral boots upon the floor
sun seeks corners more
choice bred of wired wait
time stands still and takes me away. .

journeyed water falls
tempest of storms thundered call
secrets lie in waters white
as we run across the stars at night

time furrows story-lines wide
dreams take us close beside
warmth comes to those who seek
you are why I sleep
oh . . .
you are why I sleep

Thursday, November 6, 2014

the bittersweet notion

bare feet to gray concrete
motionless upon the sidewalk 
I stand 
November morning 
outlines defined 
by the slight tremble of 
yellow leaves remaining upon somnolent trees 
waiting ....
in this startingly-crisp-spot-of-sun-upon-gray 
I can no longer remember for what ....
but I can imagine 
the who 

come find me 

Wednesday, November 5, 2014


seems I awoke on the left side of lonely
lines pressed to dreams folded tight
to respite's black night 
discarded wool socks hold shed traces of hope 
there against scuffed floorboards
painted in shades of spring-green 
once put on ...
expectancy warms a good 20 degrees 
rising this morning 
....  to the left of lonely

Tuesday, November 4, 2014


most days I ignore it
shrug it off 
remain wrapped in detached presence
able to push it back into the darkened corners :
that veiled punch to the southern cross
that leaves me smiling in some slightly wistful electric want
of all things hungry & driven
most days . . .
and I am fully aware that you are indeed no ghost pressed against my back
flicking open that spark
fully aware
and yet . . .
you are this golden reflection today
grabbing my attention & hurtling me into "going there"
causing my too feel beyond the borders of my skin
grasping that haunting shadow & submitting to
the golden weight of you

Monday, October 27, 2014

was were am

chosen last because I was skinny & my knee socks didn't stay up
I was the girl who thought she could change the molecular pattern of 
objects and create snow 
.... or an apple
I was the girl who understand when ken & barbie started sleeping together, 
It was time to pack up the toys & turn up Led Zeppelin
I was the girl who knew every homeless animals name in the whole wide world
and if I thought hard enough, could keep them safe & warm
I was the girl who danced on her bed while singing Hey Jude & Henry the 8th I am I am ...
I was the girl who learned about music, weed & how to dance from the best neighbor boy in the world . He was 3 years older, gay, handsome & funny. He took me to his senior prom. 
He died of AIDS.
I was the girl who had a golden ticket to Camelot & a green Pontiac convertible
I was the girl sitting alone at the river knowing answers pooled there along the 
sandbars & reeds and if I thought hard enough - prayed hard enough, 
I would hear those answers and I could then fix things 
I was the girl who discovered James Taylor, 
Jack Daniels & orgasm in the same evening - while babysitting 
I was the girl who followed meadowlarks down rabbit holes 
I was the girl who married to escape only to be bushwhacked by the karma bus
I was the girl who found Wonderland under your hands 
I was broken girl; weary & afraid, missing pieces of bone & heart 
only to discover I had them all along
bound to my soul with a ribbon of goldenrod & blue sky 
I am that girl . . . 
And now I don't wear knee socks (or underwear)
I still believe if i think fiercely enough, I can shield animals from harm while changing 
Apples into Snow 
I am a mere 2 degrees away from knowing Robert Plant
So I sing Led Zeppelin with abandon from beds, bars & cars
I have always lived in Camelot 
I have folded my golden ticket into a tiny origami sparrow
placed it inside a wee blue bottle on a thin silver thread
Marriage is ethereal &  a good escape plan. 
All the best stories have an escape plan.
I have been to Wonderland, and some of my best missing pieces are still there ...
Every answer to any question can be found in a JT song, a Beatle's song, or a river's song 
Karma bus - well , shit happens. 
Live like you are dying even when you are weary & afraid . 
I have stopped fixing things. 
And strangely, things fix. 
I am the broke-open-whole girl 
I am goldenrod-blue-ribboned-sky &  a meadowlark's song

Tuesday, October 21, 2014


captured stillness
echoes of childhood trapped in the morning's pulse
from the open window comes 
a breeze from 1964 
stirrring my freckled pale arm 
suddenly ...
am ageless;
socks soft upon carpet 
mindful of my wakefulness 
light lies upon gray 
the rustle of leaves timbres 
still ageless 
and amazed ... 
that this is life 
just this one moment:
soft, gray
with senses buzzed by the light of always 

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

upon a black stallion in the woods ....

Show to me
your saddlebags of words & beautiful
filled to summer's sun with the demons of yesterday
today, the woods smell of verbena & dappled leather
and the light ,,,
Oo the light cuts thru chaos & tenderness
to call the clouds down from heaven's azure fate
weary is the wait, but sweet the story tells -
of a water weave between said heaven & hell 

Show to me
the cities upon your road ;
of silk & sword ,
fire & air
of . . there ... there !
I spy the apricot souls of the truth in your eyes
parsley & collected sighs
to parry & collide on a field between stones
locked in a stonecircle .... our apple-lined home 

Show me the storyline between surrender & strength
transparent now to the echoes we keep
prism'd ... ancient
Oh my brother to hold & stay
Oh my love .... to hold & stay
take my hand to the diamonds & dust of this day
to hold 

summer cooling , , ,

the trace echo of our intimacy
folds me in two
with an ease of embrace that is tender & sure
swallowed complete by the journey lying behind your heart
I am there always
lingering, waiting & leaning into a new song to hum
catching your smell as I dance downwind where the trace is strongest
ribboned in dark midnight blue & morning fog
I am use to it by now
that quixotic company of self & sun
to the hollow & the drum

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

(R + h)^2 = R^2 + d^2

The space is built into the fabric of our passage
held like water calypso & zaffre
untamed in it's waning
waiting becomes the prayer of skin & moonlight
tattooed in silver & sand . . .
wind changes
scent is born
as the ship curves to earth & sky
distance is the ratio of risk to water
divided by
waxing & waning
command & surrender
contentment rising to solitude
hold fast, hold fast
this thread golden in starlight & sorrow
voyages of amber-honey presence -
hold fast
waiting becomes the feathered prayer of fire & air
upon water calypso & zaffre
hold fast  . .

Monday, August 11, 2014

condensation & evaporation

as you
move throughout your day,
if we look close enough,
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky rockets particles of you
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
every hope every desire every memory .....
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
quantum marriages
of indescribable
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy
crystalline darkness


Friday, August 1, 2014

i am flattened between panes of antique glass
thin, fine glass - imperfect & undulating
sandwiched - pressed
held in place for some mysterious-mercury-reason
held  . .
in . .
place . .
feelings illusive & cloaked
laying pressed & folded-in
yearning for air & the echo of happiness
able to quietly observe this august sky-perfection
but can not touch
or smell,
or breathe in
pressed as an ancient prom flower
cornflower perhaps, or stephanotis
with heather & violets
preserved & held captive
this bell-jar moment echoes of the empty
no scent & breeze . .
color seems distant, removed . . . faded
what contraction of muscle will tip the fragility ?
what contraction of will could free the light &  rhythm ?
do i rest or resist ?
when does  resistance create the glass boundary ?
rock, paper, scissors
pause, rest
await the shift
and prepare to shatter this crystalline cage

Thursday, July 31, 2014

July 31

there are no marked days here at the end of July
no birthdays, half-birthdays, appointments, no anniversaries,
nothing stands out
no X on a calendar

2 weeks before my mother died
began randomly and with no explanation
marking days off

one X after another
X X X ....

she died 14 days after that first squiggly X

did she know ?

did she have some secret ethereal clue
or was she merely marking the days off
until i was due home for a visit

she died

love; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
no one seemed to notice
but me

my dad was in the hospital
recovering from yet another round of normal
congestive heart failure

the night before, we laid side by side in his hospital bed
watching ER
he felt ...

( i can still smell his aftershave)

he woke the next morning
and while sitting on the edge of his bed,
drinking a cup of coffee
he had a massive heart attack and

he died

things shifted ~
love; jammed & dammed
anger surfaced sharp & deep
cars kept driving, people kept working
no one seemed to notice
but me

those holes are looming
looming for no reason
on these marked days
anger buried
love recovering
they died in October of different years
it feels so long ago

it is all this rain

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

the secret of summer. . .

The secret of summer is to find your twelve ....
twelve at the feet of the possible, and at mercy of memory
to breathe in the heat
feed it to your soul as if it were the plumpest raspberry
time ...
well .... time lounges by a pool blue as Joni Mitchell
and as endless as
well ....
waiting ....
perfectly, saturated & succulent waiting ....

Monday, July 28, 2014


I talk to you in meter
slow and measured
placing words upon some clock-work scale
3 beats to 7 . . feeling my way thru the labyrinth of weight
how do they feel upon my tongue ?
creamy, soft or tart, hard & jagged ?
are they too sweet, too used, to banal ?
are some too steeped in an ancient realm of weathered time, too faerie ?
some smell sophomoric & nervous, while there are others, hiding
erotic & juiced behind a curtain of dark-chocolate velvet
i talk to you through the spaces of my days,
through the turning of the seasons ;
with the spark found mostly in the deep grass of summer,
the electric pause of thunderstorms & the still-quiet-brilliance of snow
which pulls at the fabric of the missing
open & naked
naked ?
what does that feel like against the harsh armor of the expected ?
i am red-onion-layered
intent on stepping aside from story
forcing a pause for just a moment
there ....
upon a bridge made from bird-bones & blue saffron sky
somewhere near the peony nebula
dressed in shades of forest-gypsy silk with
feathers of pheasant & tall red boots
wait .... there
& listen ....
is that a westerly wind rustling the curly willow ?
fierce & determined
clouds building, darkening
rolling, boiling ....
bringing blessed thunder & rain
to shake me loose from moorings of grey
this self-preserved bridge ribbon-hung on pink crimson stars
a measured hesitation...
3 beats to 7
it IS too soft, too tart & sharp
too jagged & real
too heavy
words have no place here
welcome thunder - come to shake me loose
from my fragile-avogadro perch
thrusting me to the brink of
the edge ...
a fall
into the piercing light
of knowing
our wounded open

rift . . .

to touch the bottom of the well
again ....
to get messy & bruised
to feel less than & taste acrid defeat
to hold the blossom that is days possibility
stroke the weariness of ignorance
and allow the amber fracture to vibrate
again ....
with the stored ache of a thousand years
to the breezed smell of a distant blue-salt-release
hands grasp the carbonate ego'd stone
cooling is required
trust & cooling ....

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

90 degrees

firework me across the sky on this cusp of gemini
smelling of coppertone skin & petaled iris
taste me in your mouth; grass green laced with summer's strawberries
firework me home to Jupiter via Mercury's streets
i will write your swan song disguised as an epitaph disguised as a limerick
'there once was a boy from the river, whose eyes shone with maple-sugar timber'
light the thread that sparks the burn …
golden-crimson sizzling & snapping across the divide
light the thread
firework me
feel the thump-boom in the pit of your soul
thump-boom thump-boom
i will dwell in the sky forever
a raspberry fire-tail
maybe i will be an iridescent stone lying in a river bed at 12,457 ft.
… my wonderings will be of yellow pages ancient & bold,
orange cotton dresses and horses thundering across summer fields,
hands determined
hearts rich
thump-boom, thump-boom ….
light the thread

Saturday, July 12, 2014

300 ft from the top

sometimes the trick is in cutting the wire
allowing the fall
feeling the bone crunch of rocks & recognition
hearts ripped from viscera & the soul's moored memories
patterns of moonlight on
blue snow, blue snow, blue snow
can we be more then where we've been?
can we trace the patterns of forgiveness upon our wounds?
sorrow becomes the morning's stillness
as we hold dear the fragments of our being
sometimes love is in cutting the wire ,,,,.

Friday, July 11, 2014


jet trails of presence
rimmed & rhymed
each smooth movement amplified
by the hollowness of the missing
vibration vaporous & felt
captured in the fragility & textured blueprint
of cowslip spode
there, there
feel it?
how we trace the gap :
the felted folds

rain comes,
grounding & fragrant
adding wash & weight
a knelling of the holes
so defined in the wrinkles of things
the smell of oranges ….

Sunday, July 6, 2014


the ticking of the clock
the passing of hours
the rolling of days and the turn of the moon
our collective purse of felted love hanging
merely wasted
or silk'd in some celestial cocoon

to understand the calling
to recognize the path
the structure of a life tethered to sky
to grab the trapeze with no fear of falling
as we look to the sun
to figure out why …

should we have borrowed the velvet of another
should we stoke the fire ignoring the night
should we have chosen the earth here below us
to steady our steps instead of to flight

the heart-seated sureness
the gamma-ray knowing
the manifestation of all that is true
corals the silk-tale of butterflied purpose
sings to the bones of love aqua-blue

the current takes you . . .

can there be love without sacrifice ?
and is the weight of the penance equal or greater than the weight of the love ?
whenever there is the amber-ember of soulfulness & connection breathed into mortal clay
sacrifice will be endured and suffering will be measured
whether it be that of lovers, brothers, mother to child
friend to friend
it comes hidden with thorns of mortal sharpness
that cut as death cuts a hole
red rocked and blue-river-lined with
an echo of witness & shine
can there be love, ever, without a debt paid to the
the ferryman
the minstrel ?
there can not
and the price is heavy with
chasms song and bells of ireland
we pay and weep for our lost ignorance
our chained retreat from innocence
we are guilty
and through to the other side ...
we love

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

come to me …

Hold your breath coyote …
the path you choose may not lead me to salvation
sunlight drips from the beech leaves
as golden hesitation
divided by desire directly proportional
hollow of your neck
smell of pine & possible

to blue. . .

i am a child of the plains & prairie
tendered amongst open fields of golden wheat, milo & corn-silk
sky & earth i have always known
there are times in the bleed of the day
times under the whiteness of the moon
that water calls me home . .
vast & blue
open smooth water
with winds warm & complete
aqua & infinite
rolling into sapphire wickedness &
bone-chilled surrender
bring me blue & leave me there
gloriously unearthed &
made fragile by wind & water
wounded by starshine & solitude
trust & strength collide in the
hours & bones
bring me blue & leave me there
with absolute bearing
capable & precise
rocked by the spray of the sea
so harden up
bring me blue & leave me there ,,,,

condensation on a June night

as you
move throughout your day
if we look close enough
if we look hard enough
frame by frame
sublimation ...
each movement sparks and sky-rockets
flakes, elements & fragments
of every
every hope
every desire
every memory ..... particles
cascading & tumbling into the air
pulled and drawn into the
other fragments and pieces
mingling merging melding fusing
quantum marriages
of indescribable
black veils of melancholy,
chaotic joy &
crystalline darkness

Monday, June 2, 2014

june 2 at 8 o'clock

sometimes it is hard to write from the flat places . . .
this braided morning of songbirds & coffee
light aligned with contentedness oaked & amber-mine
no lingering dream of surrendered cotton smoothness
no peaked & inescapable yearning
merely a leaning into a shadowed new morning
sure in the knowing
sure of the curve of the flat places
sure in the damp-dove-calling of these minutes
shining  . .


playground ....
spinning red, blue, yellow, green
cool to the touch
wobbling above
uneven ground
thrumming 'round
as this traveling window spins ,,,,
twirls and
spins again
green-leafed trees, brown-dry earth
zoom past
faces, movement, heart-rate fast
hold on ...
don't look down
gaze upon this sparkling june night ,,,,
gaze & breathe & hold on tight
lean into the whirl or resist the curve
you are the force behind the spin
able to slow or push again
this tattered earth toy
this wheel of childhood
listen ?
feel that pull ?
that circle dance ?
you are the reason this tale is told
now hold on tight 
and don't let go   . . 

eclipse of the 3rd & 9th

it is but a fable,
a story told . .
of coyotes & jesters
thieves & killers
moss-agate paths not taken & turquoise held captive ....
the opposition of force & desire struggling across distance & the expected
sparks of jupiter leave their scar-trail in some long-forgotten map of home
while currents of air circle & blaze 
circle & blaze . . 
upon waking :  there is suddenly no sideways struggle
merely a cooling willow wind and
a knowing peace that rests with things you can not see
warrior-love exists there in the quiet places now
a bridge upon which worlds rest & spin
knowing chiron & the sharp pain of loss will find you
breathless & waiting & content
scents of olive & thunder linger in the air . .
fire - air - water
a fable
a story told under mercury's stars ....
a colliding dance down a topaz trail, deeply wooded-green & lined with a swan's feathers  . . .
no pressing of time now that the shadow of the sun has lingered here
breathe deeply of marigold & amethyst
hold fast
accept &
know you are exactly where you need to be
and where you are ....
is love

Thursday, May 29, 2014

the line

disarm me with your Sangre de Cristo attentions
divine connection
threaded in azure across miles & miles & miles
knowing comes without beckoning
forgiveness vessel'd in some seasoned understanding
hanging as it does here upon the cusp of summer
hanging as it does upon the memory of your hands
beauty locked in the acceptance of distance
to the
horizon line
perhaps not so much
tender comes the high plains light
easy the moments

hello sweet night

awaiting the necromancy of the thunderstorms ....

how acutely i feel.....

when i was very small, i would stand on my little bed at night for hours & hours - gazing out my bedroom window at the world as it was - i could see our street, davis avenue in gering, i could see our neighbors house, and the side yard between.  our neighbor's had a daughter named brenda, and i would think about brenda and what it as like in her head. 
i would worry about brenda. 
i would gaze out at the sky and think about all the hurt & pain in the world.  lonely children, hurt & lost animals, the long forgotten causes & missions of long, forgotten people.  i would pray back then, for all that hurt to go away; to be replaced by sunlight, hope & love.
we moved to north platte and i had a beautiful pink & purple bedroom, a french provencal canopy bed over which another window peered out into the world.  i would kneel on my very girly pink bed, and pressing my elbows into the glass,  again feel - NOT merely imagine, but FEEL the world's hurt.  animal & human alike.  they were all the same - same despair, same loneliness and pain. 
by this time, i stopped praying, and just 
hoped. hard.
friendships were felt easily too.  every nuance, every slight, every joy - every moment that was true & perfect like we were gods, happening to land here on earth for 
some brief lifetime.
some moments shone with a timeless brilliance, as if placed under a bell-jar.
sitting on slames brothers bunk-bed, singing along to yellow brick road, eating brownies laced with weed.
all of our little gang, playing down on the river with the sun shining hot, and the taste of june on your tongue.
that night across from the party, laying amongst garden & grass: discovering sex, discovering him & a part of myself.
release under stars and the smell of grass mingled with the smell of us ...
i was home.
i think every moment is like that.  standing apart from the rest, each is perfect in it's chaos and possibility.
time, of course, sometimes was just time.  rolling along with it's own agenda, careening & dashing around the barriers & walls people put up to shield themselves from the truth.
pure, golden moments though raged on always.....
when i was 8 months pregnant, we ran over a rattlesnake on the way to golden from boulder - i cried for 2 hours about that snake.
i felt that snake. 
touching daisy's bristly little red hair as it stood up on her month old head, i could feel every hurt, every pulse of life & hope and it terrified me.
everyday news was approached with caution, and fortitude as sometimes the details were too grim, the reality to harsh to bare ..... or so i thought.
heartbreak & unhappiness, pain & loneliness  -  as i age, they seem to be countered with a measure of wisdom, hope, trust & well,  love.
.... biting into an apple = you anticipate the taste, the feel of the skin upon your lips and your mouth might salivate a bit, yet you hesitate becuase the cold against your teeth will be shocking & hurt.  your eyes shut as you sink your teeth into the flesh,  the juice trickling down over your open lips - it is bracingly chill and your a mess
really, but 
that apple is tart, crisp and filled 
with an early summer hope.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

New Moon in Gemini

tenderness comes at the end of May
petal'd visceral pink, helped along by the tiny pull of tiny things
fluttered ants of forgiveness
purchased at such a cost ....
yet, how familiar the scar tissue now
tight & full
how we learn to bend despite
to feel contentment despite
to love through to the other side
to open and not be defined by the brokenness
to define
fragility & lightness of being
so alive
so pink
at the end of May

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

two o'clock in May

Maxfield Parrish
whirling dervish
of mustard seed
moments resurface
in goblets of grace
darkness to sunlight outline of days
vinca vine trailing along the clay brick
noticed by no one
it's tendrils it lays
circular, intricate patterns abound
wind whips through boughs
love tattoos the ground
trails; whirly-gig-maple-pods ... twigs and wood-green
tell the tale of all the gray space between
surrender to no one
surrender the fight
surrender the hollow
moonlight ...
illustrate these wind-swept hours
perceive beyond this swirling morning haze;
color the space
darken the line
mustard seeds
define these nearly summer days

direct to allium royal

writing comes syrup'd between
the orbit
mercury ...
with the ever-present need for the taste of
honey-salt-sun upon my tongue
and …
the beat of the ordinary 
contrast contrast
of violet anger to sublime all-rightness
contentment voids the hand of ancient immediacy
pull of moon
weight of blood
life held in delicate fierceness
as knowing erases the solitary lines
gravity inked with sureness bold
folded in, rolled in … to me 
ahh . .  the wind breaks the one o'clock hour to mark the repair
 … the recovery
sun direct
pull of moon

Tuesday, May 13, 2014


shelter of blue & salmon sky
shelter of questions
the thunder of why
shelter of wounds as deep as lore
shelter on white & rocky shores
arms raised fierce into the night
as wind whips the artifice of light
lean to the heart of those you know
lean to the salve of bowers rain-glow
spring shelters expectations true
awaken to a day
electric alice blue

Sunday, May 11, 2014

higgs boson

I have this strange attachment to things
it has been there always
as if I could recognize some part of myself buried deep within
the downy fluff of a stuffed rabbit,
along the fragile pastern & cannon of a 3 inch glass horse
I have this strange knack of losing things I didn't know were of value;
my grandmother's quilt forgotten in a kappa delt house
a naked rabbit clock tucked behind a forgotten somewhere,
a spanish guitar left behind somewhere,
an austrian crystal necklace of tiny glass shells & flowers - the first spurge in a new town,
a picture my mother embroidered, over 50 years ago now, of a deer with a fawn, forgotten in a corner of a severed family branch
is tucked a painting of dragons & orbs--still in its thin black frame
"I keep your picture
Up on the wall
It hides the messy stain
That's lying there
So don't you ask me to give it back"
well, I digress and you're beginning to get the picture
just recently I realized a green tufted footstool of my grandfathers is missing
not where it has been for 8 years
just gone
it is more than obvious to me that we leave pieces of ourselves with those
we love at every coming together and at every parting
it is the pieces that exist there in the inorganic ... the inanimate that stun me
the pieces of myself I have scattered to the corners & shadowlands
into hands I know not
the piece of me that dwells somewhere I can't see
is anything truly inorganic
are we not everywhere
in tiny glass flowers, in the soft forgiveness of a quilt,
and the pastern & cannon of horses ?
tufted, missing, fragility .... found & connected .


sometimes it's easy to abandon all musings
cosmic folly & rolling hills
to take up a fist of soil & work the earth thru the passing of the hours
to battle amongst those who can look sky ward and see no stars
see no force there
but blue
to rumble along ignorant of ardor & fascination & truth
merely to delude oneself into thinking that this is how it should be;
hard work and sleep make up the days 
habit follows habit follows habit 
into the yellow chalk-outlined box of tomorrow
something slips,
something tilts ....
into a particle of possibility
perhaps it is a smell on the wind
a song on the radio while strolling thru the frozen foods looking for 
bright green peas and razberries
something awakens in the pit of your chest
the bone of your thighs

the spaces in your heart 
the burn stirs
and you hope and want and yearn and breathe
him .
.... and 

all events and passions and senses
collide to entice you to rattle the bars of your cage
to stomp and shout and
mark your scent upon the piece of 
sky & earth
that calls you

Thursday, May 1, 2014

peacock april

is what it feels like when air hits the bone
the bite, the chill snap
exposed venous structures laddered to purposeful presence
vulnerability freely given
turtle oil pressed against the beveled edge
strick the match
count the # of days . . .
released  . . . snap!

Wednesday, April 30, 2014

to blue ....

i am a child of the plains & prairie
tendered amongst open fields of golden wheat, milo & corn-silk
sky & earth i have always known
there are times in the bleed of the day
times under the whiteness of the moon
that water calls me home . .
vast & blue
open smooth water
with winds warm & complete
aqua & infinite
rolling into sapphire wickedness &
bone-chilled surrender
bring me blue & leave me there
gloriously unearthed &
made fragile by wind & water
wounded by starshine & solitude
trust & strength collide in the
hours & bones
bring me blue & leave me there
with absolute bearing
capable & precise
rocked by the spray of the sea
so harden up
bring me blue & leave me there ,,,,

Friday, April 11, 2014

upon the bark of blossoms

cherry bloom upon the gray of blue
trailing the wounded ... the collateral damage
wrapped in ancient calendar pages & lemon balm
does the inside ever match the outside

Sunday, April 6, 2014

axis part two

sensation sometimes disguises itself 
sophomoric sentimentality
candy apple brightness hurls along causing the hairs to stand up on forearms
trembling to the distant sound of crickets, cellos and bees
what is authentic movement?
the downward-dog of you?
glass crusted 
crackled with the dust of unknown origins
reach beyond the tactile first responder
reach marrow deep to scrap the soul fibers of Jupiter from your tongue
oh petty benign graze of presence ....
soothe the night wrinkles
draw a warm bath
sing to me of
cerise waxwings & marigold 


Every breath a lament for the loss of you
every breath
in & out
cerulean sky smoking past my lips, into me …
living in the corners of soft forgotten viscera
is there a time when i am full ?
full enough of wren song & the new grass of April
cease belonging to myself
instead …
a shell of fire, stars & stories carmen thread
a winged & rooted thing
sitting in the shade on a sidewalk on a cobbled street
in some ancient city
in Spring
somewhere that smells of vellum & apricots
collecting tales
collecting linen minutes
the sky beads from my skin
a harbinger of return
the intangible alchemy of immortality

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

the blue jay

a blue jay calls ....
forecasting ,,,?
some feathered crisis pending in the bark-leaf world?
some theft of spirit or source?
an invitation for company?
a subtle shift in geography ...
a blue jay calls
pushing open an ancient door 
left ajar
by spirits thick with the honeyed ordinary
stepping into a forested hollow
replete with apple pie
gingham tomato trees
pearled iris purple budding amidst earth-wet
the sweet smell of existence
defines the atomic capacity
to be in two worlds at once
to be incandescently wakened
when a blue jay calls

Friday, March 28, 2014

dark moon passing

Molten currents
stardust ...
ursine scarred
mythos lined
flared intention of wool rising
wooliness ... the kinda that scratches and bites at softer things
like skin and ego
discordant by nature
fealty a fault
no tepid passive dance
tango becomes him
gypsy passion drips from lips and hands onto waiting wounds
grizzled roughness that craves the taste of
chamomile silk on the amaranth of tongue
fight yields
the white spaces weep between the poets words
revealed knowing
transcend this day ....

Tuesday, March 25, 2014


green sings in its waking reach for blue
tempted by the day & crane song
echoes of longing tickle the fibers of feathered things ...
as breath deepens
age thickens
petaled anticipation tempered by willow bark smooth
knowledge tilled in soil chilled by winter's heed
loves wing
transience green

Friday, March 21, 2014

current & contrast

Of wings and water lifted
solace & sublime
replete of fear
just dancing
we taste spring's bite defined
chill seeps quietly thru weave of weary
tapped to bone cured with time
we rise with feathers wakened
as goldenrod fills the sky