Sunday, August 26, 2012


Bands keep coming
as they did night before 

I sit out in it  
remember the precursor
to what is now

green sky all day deluge
been wind raging
we’re homebound

I click on the cursor
my world lights up
connected to the internet

Yet, I can’t leave the storm
for it is all around us
swirling the ficus trees

Thunder abounds and now
sirens and I wonder who
would be out there in this

Thunder echoes
wind shakes trees to their essence
they hold

So do we

Saturday, August 25, 2012



Dusk is my favorite time of day
I put on music, whatever my mood
pour a glass of rose wine, find a recipe
hunt for the essentials in refrigerator
spice closet, the sage is empty
I remember  she took her pencils
left no trace of her whereabouts 

I try to find her, there is an internet link
we know each other forty-eight years
we once had a bond, we once gave
to each other, then she moved on 
it hurts me I am no longer welcome
in her sphere, though once I was 
her lifeline with nothing to be forgiven

Written for  The Sunday Whirl #71 with these words:

Friday, August 24, 2012

Spot On

Spot On,

I'd like to be spot on
but I always fuck it up
perhaps that is my spot on
to be who I am what I be
not spot on and happy


Anniversary of 1992 Andrew, 2012

No one can tell me what just passed
isn’t an outer band, thunder still roils
tropical storm of great magnitude
thunder has given up roiling
it is legitimately roaring

The rain is a deluge, thunder
still roaring, an angry beast
this is no small storm, can’t believe
they were so naive downplaying it
It is coming on strong, raining hard

slowing down, dripping, roaring
roaring, pouring, I think we might
float away it is a magnitude storm
you’ll read it on the news in the morn
with coffee due to electricity

Wind is roaring through the ficus
the gutters are pelting down
the news says its unrelated but I
know they’re wrong, we are in 
for it one and all

This poem is linked to Poets United: Poetry Pantry.

Saturday, August 18, 2012

My Neighborhood


Narrow black snake
meanders the valley
sinuous through town
one store, our store
we were the big banana

Railroad tracks bound
each end of town
no parents checking
on anything

In school we did air raid drills
hide under your desk
arms over your head
our parents spotted for 
enemy planes

The world was not safe

we were good kids
played good kid games
in the land before time
baseball, hide-n-seek
blind man’s bluff

Written for Mary's Mixed Bag: Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, where the prompt was Neighborhood.

Friday, August 17, 2012


Preludes to perform
I fix their tinted wings
at just the right split                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Drifts of vivid butterflies
gentle waves of limbs 
tinny dance insidious

they make their rounds
sashay between seats
be careful of their nick

For Sunday whirl:
words: tip, fix, tinted, preludes, vivid, tinny, drifts, nick, waves, gentle, limbs, insidious, split


She sashayed underneath her crown
with skeletons beneath her feet
she wore her gem ancestral gown

for what was going on downtown
with skeletons beneath her feet
she danced and danced and danced complete

she thought him nice beneath her feet
she thought him sweet with every frown
she liked his mustache sweetly brown

she thought he had the best in town
and he could brush her real sweet
whenever she would lay him down

with skeletons beneath her feet
she liked to dance the dance downtown
she sashayed underneath her crown

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Not my Song

I want to write a song
a psalm to fill the loss
living my life too small
yet I lived life zealously
my life was quite large
not my song

Support Group

Support Group

Twice a month we meet
for an hour we have a facilitator
we learn about all the things we did wrong
and how to do things right
to make life better

It is a class in letting go
of how it was and getting real
with what it is
its still hard to get it emotionally
what I know intellectually

Wednesday, August 15, 2012



An island
thirteen miles long
two miles wide
of skyscrapers

one would say
densely populated
yet people get along
you have to get along
in the city

Manhattan is magic
microcosm of the world
from rats rich or poor
to the multitude

Manhattan is horns
from the outer lands
impatient to get home
whether from work or art
that disturb our peace

We hate horns, but drop
hate because it only 
accentuates aggravation
as we walk the street
try to sleep

I grew up on Manhattan
my Mom lived there
I wish she had lived
to join me
revisit her dear city


Beat taut skin
two fists  one fist
hands raised high
imitate the sound 
thunder reverberating 
pressure releases
against black sky

Tap skin   finger tips
ba bump  ba bump
softer  slower  softer
substance of anger
dissipates beating skin
arms above head
drops explode

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Let Us Play

Let Us Play

The game we play and why   
mostly I think I’m real

I catch myself mid-sentence
it is always about game
never real  

Gaming the game is the best fun
the game, the gaming, the gamers

always I think I’m real
the game we play and why

written for Poetry Jam: The Games Poets Play.

Monday, August 13, 2012


My dwindle hands
ricochet over curvaceous lace
then back again
past invisible warp and spin
inside flooded alcoves

Thursday, August 9, 2012



I value life
I hate war
I disparage hate
it causes war
I drop hate

I value essence
orange of a carrot
zing of a pepper
veined leaf of lettuce
pin prick of blood

I value vision
everything I think
everything I see
color, form, freedom
from constrictions

I value nature
in its myriad forms
animal, vegetable, mineral
the magic of existence
how can there not be God

God is
God is everything
everything is God
I value God
God is life

life is God
God is a coat of many colors
a magic carpet on which to ride
woven by skilled hands 
Godly hearts

I value love
God is love
love is God
I am not a religion person
I believe in the spirit

Religion is like government
it has its own agenda

This was written for the prompt "What do you value?" over at Poetry Jam this week!

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Against the City

I sit to write my thoughts
hear the hum of the highway
no its the air conditioner
that just shut off

I sit to write my thoughts
hear the hum of my MAC
turn on the radio
that just shut off

I sit to write my thoughts
hear the hum in my head