12.09.2018

Mise-en-Scène


One stubborn apple
frozen to a branch
of the lone wizened tree
in a clover meadow browned
fractalled under frost cover

-- this path slants romance --

Hazed-vantage horizon
painted from a dirt road
of an almost forgotten
cheap & ramshackle adventure
in may-as-well-be solitude


Playing with PUENTE in the Imaginary Garden

12.03.2018

Sunday Night Tanka


Pizza
& scratch ticket
indulging fantasies
last cash til payday
    pizza’s a winner

11.29.2018

Subject to Change


Our little ecosystem
is subject to seasonal impacts
as we become heated
risk of contamination strong
but feels irreversible
this feeling
this bloated feeling
seems new normal for our environs
in a warmer taxonomy


MONO NO AWARE in the Imaginary Garden

11.24.2018

Maybe It's Just Me


Despair
settled in my chest
flutters like a bird
struggling to get out

It could be me
but I think you know
this fluttering
inside of you too

It could just be me
but maybe
this is how we are bound
in the post-world

When the bird
of despair
catches in our throats
let’s struggle together

I hope it’s not just me


Giving thanks with love poems in the Imaginary Garden

11.11.2018

Backyard in November


I should rake leaves

but I decide
to do something else

when thinking about
leaves and wind
and justice


photo by Marian Kent

Night Descent


My belly

rockets for the ceiling
as though hung by the moon

towing the rest of me
hips and shoulders limp
fingers brushing the floor


Playing with the CHERITA in the Imaginary Garden!

11.02.2018

Any Friday Afternoon


What would happen
if I spent this hour
watching my clock
like it might sprout wings
latch on to my mousing wrist
with its desk-clock feet
and launch us both
out the sixth floor window
over the YMCA rooftop
and three tenement high-rises
to I don’t even know what’s
beyond those
beyond my imagination
far beyond my expectations
for a clock-watching Friday
afternoon
at the office
wishing to fly

10.30.2018

Confession


I confessed to tears
at news of slaughter
from my old neighborhood
but in reality didn’t cry

I stopped crying years ago

Now I store suffering
behind my eyelids
and wonder
when the storage will be full

And what will happen then

Meanwhile I realize
it would take real courage
to admit being unable to cry
or ask for help

So that’s not what I’m doing here


10.20.2018

October Tanka


An autumn archway
of just-so bending branches
crowned with chimney smoke
rising on cold air
through star-frosted windows



Notebook poetry for Kerry in the Imaginary Garden!

10.17.2018

The Eleventh Hour

One of my poems appears in this gorgeous volume, Silkworm 11: The Eleventh Hour. Silkworm is the annual review of my beloved Florence Poets Society. I am so proud of this book and our group, the members of which I am endlessly grateful to and inspired by, wonderful poets, each and every one. Here’s my poem from Silkworm 11
 “Just a Few Small Things I Like”
I like the way
you open windows
in any kind of weather
as if to say hello morning air
thank you for visiting

I like the way
your fingers
navigate a messy ponytail
on weekday evenings
when you let your hair down

I like the way
you say you love me
even when you’re pissed off



10.05.2018

The Floating World


When despair
fills your body so fully
that breathing
becomes a focal point
bringing memories
of floating near ceilings
like a quirky witch
observing reality
from relative distance
you realize
that the upside-down
is actually quite familiar
and you possess the tools
to move through even this
in power

10.01.2018

The Building Shakes When Trains Go By


It’s hard to understand
dreams from which screaming
I must be shaken awake
but have no memory

And what about
this waking nightmare
we are all walking alongside
in broad daylight

The nights are getting longer
as horrors grow bolder
lying outright
under penalty of perjury

Shakily I wonder
when the trains start running

9.13.2018

For Now


Clouds
drape the mountain
like a blanket
comforting
us valley dwellers
who peek
with one eye open
as from under covers
relatively safe
from the incredulities
to come tomorrow


Music prompt in the Imaginary Garden: MADE FOR NOW

9.09.2018

Contrary to Popular Belief


Blue sky is but the underbelly
of human collective darkness
a crucible within which
sinnings like cymbals crash
brightening stormclouds
cornfield drummer’s
rap rings out
like a
shot


Trying NONET in the Imaginary Garden

9.07.2018

Avoi-dance


One
with
quiet
three over
under-emphasis
on urgent-gravitational
case for revolution against
        silent-misery


For Toni's prompt in the Garden: STEP INTO THE VOID

9.03.2018

Lover


Blood
red
lipstick
brightening
her cannibal mouth,
dewy-fresh cheeks, a grinning fool
for love, for everything she’s lost,
    purposely avoids.

9.01.2018

A Sketch, by Nashawannuck Pond, on a Sunday in August


My daughter
sits by the water
sketching a figure

She uses a pencil eraser
that can be pinched and shaped
to accommodate needing to remove
small details from small spaces

She is free with her pencil
confident with her lines
knows just what she wants
to go where

She sketches two women embracing

Mostly she draws them
looking at one another
or eyes closed
rapt

But these two hold on
with strong eyes
focused out of the page
against the viewer
as if
to keep one another safe
from gaze


Camera FLASH in the Imaginary Garden!

8.31.2018

Curves Ahead


I wish
I could see this world
and especially myself
through my daughter’s eyes

She draws beautiful women
with impossibly voluptuous curves
while I feel my own
and sigh

8.11.2018

Might As Well Jump


Almost arrogantly tall, striding light
but unaware
that epic height offers no protection,
fly without care
as those with power to envelop you
come from nowhere--
If martyrdom awaits, better to soar,
rage your warning to tomorrow’s tall child--


Forms in the Imaginary Garden: CAVATINA

7.26.2018

Mostly Uncomfortable


I want
to wear a t-shirt
with your face on the front
and stride
all bold and pushy
hollering
toward the light

It would be like me
to find my footing
and set out
seeking the Big Revelation
only to learn it’s contained
in specks of dust
floating by my window