Three Colors

Robin’s egg in twigs,
dried moss, browning things.
Spring! Her nest trimmed
with last year’s ribbon:
shock of Santa’s red.

Some optimism for Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden



Your voice
in seven awkward syllables
leaning to maladroit:
Heavy rain through an eavespout
mimicking your tone of voice,
echoing meaning
in low tympanic verse,
symphonically flooded,
a thunderflowing noise
like mallets on a prayer bowl.
     Rhythm me your voice--

Love this new (to me) form introduced by Gillena: FOLD


Listening to an Interview with the Filmmaker

After the introduction,
the listing of accomplishments and accolades,
thanks for being here and thanks for having me,
and a short clip from the film,
the first question was asked
about inspiration,
the director took a heavy breath
as if to signal the weight of his response,
and then the audio cut out.
A message read “temporarily unavailable”
and no amount of clicking returned his voice
to my waiting ears.
So I opened my notebook and wrote about it
and felt glad.

Sharing on the Tuesday Platform in the Imaginary Garden


Portrait of a Woman Buttoning Her Blouse

In a window
romantically shadowed
by streetlight
pulling a stray thread
thinking about all the ways
to pronounce the word

For Kerry’s micro-poetry prompt: AND THE MOON


Love Songs In a Language I Don't Understand

Please accept
my billet-doux
I love you
and you love me too
Oohblay oooh

Valentine's Day in the Imaginary Garden


Nine (and Counting)

Sundown shoveling
packing troubles
at the approved hour
Plow pushes worries aside
in hegemonic heaves
Dig the heavy shit
at the end of the drive
a different tomorrow
if only we had chosen
a warmer climate
Still we persist
tossing memories aside
This stitch in time saves
and we’re shoveling

For Magaly’s prompt to the Real Toads: RECYCLE A SAYING 
(A stitch in time saves nine.)



under my eye
carrying necessities
like a runaway’s satchel
earnestly overstuffed
Hurts headed
too close to the brain
expertly cordoned off
and shunted downcheek
in a steady stream
of incongruity

Occasional music prompt in the Imaginary Garden: WALLS

I was struggling to title this poem and my son suggested this title. :)



I found myself crying at the end
of a movie about writing poetry,
and promised to write more poems.
I’ve felt small, unable to address
the fear and artifice and wonder
that adds up in frequently unequal
measure to make a life. The cat
sits on my lap as my family sleeps.
Fingers twined in her fur, I wonder
about sleep and dreams and being
awake at this time in human history.
I’m still thinking about the movie,
and figure so long as I’m here
I should document the hell out of it.
So I start with this February morning:
coffee, cat, a promise to write poems.

Sharing in the Imaginary Garden on The Tuesday Platform.


Dear Julia

Living on Magazine
there’s no time for novels
op-eds only
fiction if we’re lucky
serialized over months or years
They think proles want glossy girls
with clever captions

Soon there will be no fiction
just approved opinion
will be renamed Truth Street
No poets here
but writers for the Overground
and readers of regret

For Flash 55 Plus! in the Imaginary Garden