The dreams began with the old womantucked in her cryo-chamber,a botanist from another time altogether. Dreams of young green tendrils wrappingaround her chilled wrists and ankles whileshe slept the iridescent sleep of the edge of galaxies. The dreams spread to…
it’s just a flit flutter flirt wings beatingin a chestit’s just a sip of a nectar floral center yellow pink purple red color explosions behind eyelids swerve dip whisper feather soft touchit’s just a flit flutter flirtof a hummingbird heartApril…
You don’t rememberwhat green means,fresh and burstingfrom snow fed mud.What first bladescan teach youafter many monthsof monochrome grey. You have become unyieldinglike the dry husksof milkweed, sheddingsilver strands of fallwhile you lie dormantdreaming of monarchs. For you I will paintnothing…
Did raindrops land like heartbeatswhen they ran for the fields,when night came for them?Did raindrops land like scarson the arms of refugees? They didn’t know that orangecould be a sky or a fruitor an escape from the windin her hair…
I have come to think that January 1st is a terrible day for new beginnings. It’s like setting ourselves up for failure. In the northern hemisphere, the days are dark and cold and short. We’ve just been through an exhausting…
Should we starteach day with poetry?With words scoopedinto mouths,tumbled smooth,held on tongueslike lemon drops? Sweet, sour,hard, and sharpas broken glass? Swallowed as tiny cuts,each word absorbedinto every cell.Reborn as another poemon another broken morning. January 1, 2023
In a long life, if we’re lucky enough to live one, we will go through hard times. Days, weeks, months, hopefully not years, of challenges both big and small. Sometimes the slowly applied weight of small things can crush us…
Things are incredibly stressful right now and have been for several months. Right about the time I decided I wanted to have a blog and to really throw myself back into writing and creating, everything went a little sideways. There…
I have been thinking about all of the little losses we rack up on the journey of life. How many little hits we take to the soul. And how these little dings and hits can sometimes harden us. They can…
I write poetry because I have never felt like I had the patience to write a novel. Poetry is a quick one off which I usually barely even edit. That’s not a brag. It’s a declaration of my laziness when…
