Thursday, January 29, 2015

Words and words


...of wisdom are strung
around whatever you like
and who you most love.


The thing that stops
or I say stops me from what
you would not believe. 


A shot to keep warm,
the rest to relax, sound smart.
Home you'll be tripping.

Sunday, January 25, 2015



We never
bought a teapot. In
all the years we lived together,
that was the one thing we did not buy.
We bought that little shelf for tea and cookbooks
that spun.  We bought film and bike parts and tools and
food -lots of food- garden gloves and tickets (art, music, art,
theater, art, travel, dance dance dance dance). We bought
 socks (for each other) and a camera and a puppetry course.
Paint that still stains my clothes, lemons to bleach our
hair, many cans of cider, bottles if we were feeling
fancy. Emergency mustaches, cheese in all it’s
 forms, a lime green radio named Cedric for
the kitchen. Always we split it, with
the knowledge that one day, it
would all belong to herWe 
bought everything we
could justify from
every art supply
store and a
lot we
And tea.
But never a teapot.




she sits across from me, paints black on page
the coffees getting cold, the sugar sinks
we once, together, shared a room of mold
and now we share again, better I think

outside on lower road the cars drive by
inside we sit, our new acquired space
i want to ask what’s going on, to pry
but time is ticking by, the day’s a race

she’ll hate me when she sees this on my blog
and knows that I was watching her create
but I have always been here in the fog
that’s just what happens when you’re friends since eight

will we go out to eat next time she’s here

or next time bring the other musketeers



This word is too big-
unless you mean just our own.
In that case, too small.


Repeat and repeat.
Change slightly each time. Constant.
Everything, at first.

The Collector

The Collector

Some people that you meet with come and go;
among the masses few will hold your heart.
But only one collects their inner glow.

He travels far collecting all we know,
the things we like the most- our looks and smarts.
Some people that you meet will come and go.

Your love of life, your joy to fly and crow-
others applaud, admire all your arts.
But only one collects that inner glow.

He’ll make you feel like he’s someone to know,
and that you want to have what he imparts.
Some people that you meet will come and go.

He’s taking all your talents, leaving woe.
This life is not his own, he runs and darts.
And only he collects your inner glow.

This man has lost his own soul long ago,
but yours he keeps in jars and tracks with charts.
Some people that you meet will come and go,

but only one collects your inner glow. 

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Many words; I am very behind.

I am still playing the poetry game this month, I'm just horribly behind. Excited as I am that the new year has been so busy and full of promise, I also wish I had at least a little more free time to write more than a bunch of haikus now and then. Although I do love to write haikus.


The bits of paper
dotted around my bedroom
are worth more than gold.


What you don't know is-
What you want and wait for is-
What is, really just is. 


I am going to just build some bridges
over land and sea and rock and bone.
They will be smooth, devoid of ridges,
and help us vanquish the unknown.


I wear a wig, yes. 
And it is blue, yes blue, yes. 
The mystery: yes. 

('...and yes I said yes I will yes.')

The last word I've skipped is 'Collector.' If you know me, then you know my personal connection to this word. I can't just haiku it, I need more time. It deserves more consideration. Stay tuned. 

Friday, January 16, 2015



Is it a shape, or a design?
And what is with this beating?
A body part or holy shrine?

We live and grow; I cannot whine-
but this thing, I am just meeting.
Is it a shape, or a design?

My brain and she do not align-
I find them there, competing.
A body part or holy shrine?

This piece inside, I can’t define-
good sense, it seems, is fleeting.
Is it a shape, or a design?

Some days it doesn’t seem like mine-
mistakes keep on repeating.
A body part or holy shrine?

But when it’s good it is divine,
all gloom we are defeating.
It is a shape, and a design-
a body part and holy shrine. 

 Skin a snake I can shed... 
"Begone! You are not welcome!"
...people like skin. Stuck. 


On the floor she sweeps,
gliding by, collecting cards,
connecting the dots.

Tuesday, January 13, 2015



Inside, their made of
glass, surrounding what's most frail.
Delicate beating.


 Different types, different
gripes, different things that people
find so important.


Thick heeled boots with a
bright red coat, ready for my
close up with no one. 


through clothes your limbs are tangled-
 unsafe direction.

Monday, January 12, 2015

The Conflicted Alphabet

The Conflicted Alphabet 

A is for Abacus- we are counting down the days.
B is for Bike chains- we will set our lives ablaze.
C is for Car Crash- we want to look away.
D is for Diagnosis- know where we’ll one day lay.
E is for Evermore- we’ll try this year- no lie.
F is for Fallacy- flat and fickle we cry.
G is for Giant- a hunting we will go.
H is for Hashtag- our generations woe.
I is for Imply- let’s do less of this, this year.
J is for Job- less secure: can still buy beer.
K is for Karaoke- sing loud and all will listen.
L is for Love- a lot of good does glisten.
M is for Museum- my collector heart’s true home.
N is for Nebula- can we spot one from the dome?
O is for Ophelia- we mourn her watery end.
P is for Pygmalion- make ourselves a friend…
Q is for Quandary- isn’t everything just.
R is for Refrain- what we have is a lack of trust.
S is for Serendipity- here and now.
T is for Tabard- must be tougher to allow.
U is for Ubiquitous- we try to no avail.
V is for Vaccine- we seek the Holy Grail.
W is for Wisteria- the door is almost covered.
X is for Xenobiotic- love, like a virus, hovered.
Y is for Yieldless- despite it all we are this.
Z is for Zenith- an end we can seal with a kiss. 


Friday, January 9, 2015

Light Bulb

Light bulb

is a comfortable
between not wanting
and wanting



We never were good
at laughing at our own faults
as our world all watched. 



Fixing things, but not them all-
the world’s all words and stress,
Hit the ground, but never fall.

Nobody can stop the crawl-
it’s all the game, unlike chess.
Fixing things, but not them all.

Humor to one may cause a brawl-
Freedom is such a mess.
Hit the ground, but never fall.

Engineers, please hear my call-
we cannot live for less!
Fixing things, but not them all.

Now here we are, against a wall,
strewn with creations caress-
hit the ground, but never fall.

We fear our neighbors, we confess,
but only together will we stand tall:
fixing things, but not them all-
hit the ground, but never fall.