Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Glass and wire are always close to me now,
like the amulets and fetishes worn
by a tribal shaman my
discount store glasses
are always within my grasp.

On my bed stand, in my desk, around my neck
I reach for the seer stones, the Urim and Thummin,
I find in Dollar Generals and Family Dollars
that miraculously bring clarity to the
hieroglyphics written on the backs of medicine bottles,
the cuneiform directions on soup cans,
the runes of recipes on cracker boxes,
 and the faded imprints of credit card receipts.

It is the irony of aging,
the paradoxical evolution of life,
that finds my eyes fading
as the vision of my mind resolves,
clarifies and focuses. My younger self
could see the tracks of birds on the
the uppermost limbs of trees, but my
elder self is just starting to glimpse
what is really important.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Poem by my dog:

Last night I howled in my sleep,
I dreamt I ran in a forest deep,
Hot on the trail of a frantic deer,
A man ran next to me holding a spear.
I was no longer small, white, and frail,
I was six feet long from head to tail,
With seven-inch teeth, and terrible claws,
Not my normal fuzzy, white paws.
The moon was bright, the scent was clear,
My blood was up, my prey was near,
The deer stopped his running, his antlers caught in a bough,
The man brought back his hand, the time was now.
The spear sailed through the air, towards the deer’s head,
And I woke up in my little red bed.

Monday, January 05, 2015

I am already behind in this cycle of the Writing Novena. I've only posted one poem on the Facebook group and we are supposed to be on the fifth poem already.  Aaargh! The poems this cycle are to be "surreal".

Last month my dog
ate a black licorice nib
of a catepillar. He gagged once,
and then went on his business
sniffing leaves and weeds.

Three weeks ago
an iridescent dander appeared
on his bed, as if a woman
had dusted it with her
blue mascara brush. He left faint blue
paw prints around his waterbowl.

Two weeks ago, I noticed
his tongue was now a pink jellyroll
under his chin. He licked every flower
we passed, and bacon no longer
held its old magic for him.

One week ago,
as he clambered out of
bed in the morning, two
spider-thread thin wings
blossomed from his shoulders,
unfolding as he shook himself
like he had just emerged from a pond.

Tonight, on our evening walk,
he circled my head, his leash holding him
to me as if he were a rock I was about to throw
at some invisible Goliath., and pee'd on
the tree's branches instead of its trunk.

Now, he bumps gently against the window
with fluttering wings and scrambling paws.
It is the moon that pulls at him, I know.
And now I wonder, do I let him go?

Friday, January 02, 2015

Starting the writing novena again....

Perched on my stool, safely through security,
I watch people stream, wheel and turn
in front of me. Some children, a school trip perhaps,
travel in a line, like migrating geese. Some travel in small,
whirling flocks, sparrows crossing the concourse,
pecking at vending machines, feeding in airport shops.
Some stroll in pairs, hands clasped,
swans mated for life. A gate change is announced,
and passengers rise, a flock of starlings, fleeing
from one tree to another before resting again.
Out past the the security gates I see two
people, they can only be reunited lovers,
fly to each other and embrace, the way
two eagles will join in flight and tumble towards
earth in ecstasy as they join in the sky,
risking death to create new life.
In front of the cold, gleaming,
deli case, a lone traveler eyes the prepackaged salads,
motionless, like a heron standing still
in a pond, waiting to strike. 
Do we have the same ancient homing
instincts as birds? We plan for years, drill
for fuel, move earth, pour concrete,
pave fields, and light the night
to travel the heavens in
the same way a hummingbird,
without prior thought or intention.
and fueled only by the promise of flowers,
flies. Maybe we are just birds, cursed aeons
ago. Birds whose bones have grown dense,
whose feathers fell, whose beaks
softened and withered. Maybe that is why
we try so hard to reclaim the sky.

Sunday, December 07, 2014

The Novena Prompt is about winter. As usual, I am way behind.

I waited for you,
as the snow muffled the fall
and laid the fall leaves ro rest.
Ringed by bare trees,
I sat looking as my single 
trail of footprints filled
and were erased,
like your memory of me.

Tuesday, November 25, 2014


The fragrance counter
gleams brightly on my
left as I stride through
the department store.
It's luminous jewel-like

bottles distract me not

but the sudden scent

of the cologne you wore
so many years ago,
leather and moss
and holy incense,
nearly brings me to
my knees.
1/1  Love/Hate Poems

Like two birds
returning to the nest
my lips are drawn
to that smooth space
just under your jaw
to feel your pulse
and taste the salt
of your desire.

Saturday, November 22, 2014


I imagine this being sung in a prohibition era nightclub in New Orleans.

I ain't got no money,
and my face is kinda funny,
but my outlook's pretty sunny,
'cuz I got me a honey.

Now she's the bees knees.
and a bit of a tease,
so I've got to say please,
give me that honey.

When she walks in the door,
my jaw hits the floor,
gotta get me some more,
of her sweet, wild honey.

Now I don't like to boast,
but the part I like the most,
is pretending I'm toast,
and she's spreading that honey.

So take it from me pal,
gotta get you a gal,
a sorta femme fatale,
and get you some honey.