Thursday, July 27, 2017

Under the Ridge

Our Lady of the lake, the valley,
Lady of rotting trees.
Pine needles in cobwebs
Are weathervanes, spinning me.  

Our Lady of father-son camping,
Make tomorrow as good as I know it will be.
We will name the unnamed lake.
Hide this ridge for history.

Our Lady of heather hillsides,
Lady of ridges of aching green,
Fill the old campsites with grass,  
Grow moss among the scree.

Our Lady of the snowmelt,
You freeze, you drip, you feed.
A trickle, a stream, a river –
We cross it, and are free.  

Wednesday, April 12, 2017


A flaccid supposition -
no instructions were given.
There is no bough that cannot hold
the whole of nuclear fission.

A hunch, she had, a vision
of the suit man's truculent mission.
That supple bough is bending
into oblivion.

Friday, April 20, 2012

"Half Drowned Hope"

I’m bearing your grief, dear acquaintance -
Exhaustion comes so easily,
Your tired eyes make sense to me.
Taking your cues from the soaps,
You tried to hide the rope. 

Friday, March 2, 2012

"Bloo Berries"

The apples from the apple crisp
are ears for mister potato-head,
who will try to mislead you:
He's really a melon.
His little lips are cherries,
His eyes are halved kiwi runts.

He has a friend named Coconut,
who really is one,
brown and shaggy,
hollow fleshy noggin.
His soft blue eyes
are ripe blueberries.

Mister potato-head often blushes,
Strawberry nose,
Apple crisp ears.
Coconut kept his friend's melon secret
For a number of years.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


Ideally, style becomes substance,
A ballet that revolves on the rim.
Triumph is only relative,
Hardwood equilibrium.

Loose limbs translate motion
Into superstitious spin,
Just past outstretched fingers,
Two points. Retreat and square your chin.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Just as fine as before

I used to wonder: it was great.
I used to dream at a startling rate.
"What does he do now?" is an
Insightful follow-up question.

Crouching in this stone-stiff chair,
Weighing every pin-pricked word,
I fine-tune, always at the source,
And swear I'm still a dreamer.

Yet paths we take get narrower,
From plains to plots to houses.
Barefoot at birth, untied at twelve,
Now we stack our shoes in closets.

Through my window, the city swells,
Flexes, moans at bolted seams.
Edges curl, suburbs slide central.
The strip mall's guts will fertilize trees.

I rub my eyes to smear the specters,
My heartbeat staves off dread.
My elbow guides a wisp of cursive,
I funnel the stream in my head.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Cracking with Spring

The potted plant man beckoned,
And we approached courteously.
And eyed his windowsills of product,
And patiently heard his offers of plenty.

He told us that spring brings him stress,
The roots crack his pots from within.
But people like their plants to be potted,
And they all know where to find him.

I turned my head down and chuckled,
And plucked a leaf from my girl's hair,
And crumbled it in my fingers,
And remembered the tree that put it there.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

A Twin

Wide-eyed and composed,
Sturdy and delicate,
Stubborn and unblinking,
Occasionally perplexed.
Always partway at rest.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


I like to imagine she danced while she held me,
Balloons fell from the sky,
Passersby watched as I gurgled and smiled,
Taxicabs chorused nearby.
The day I was born, the earth's rotationFlung thousands of people away.
Minding their business, walking the street,
Sucked up by the sky from the fray.
I felt no disruption, all was kin.The sun set upside down that day.

Monday, October 18, 2010

Brush With Death

Skin so taut that it no longer wrinkles.
We gather around, he lies apart.
Meat on bones consumed, to nourish
Brimming soul and aching heart.
He withdraws so apparently,
Inching back in sight of me,
Shaming my sense of trust.
I fumble comprehension
Of an end that’s so unjust.
He didn't get the chance to rust.
I hope that my appreciation
Of this life we're blessed
Returns and sweetens with rest.
But bitterness prevails today,
Rich and blameless, foggy grey,
Each passing day
Relieves my helplessness.