A little light

for the new year


And Now a Break From Our Usual Dreaming


I had

a delicious dream

of my kids

as young children

I can feel

their small arms

around me

this morning



The Dow Jones Industrial Average Soars, And


Sacred money

sacred market

sacred gain

sacred profit

sacred wealth

sacred power

  We the People

         The mudsills

           the workers

          the proles

     the tools


       for balancing

The sacred scales





Found Poem for 2020

We are facing




broad community spread

across the country

reaching most counties

without improvement

but rather

further deterioration

*report from the White House Coronavirus Task Force, November 2020


It's Overcast Today


hanging low

contents pressed

weight against flesh

thundering like acid

my belly full of rain


Limitless Possibilities


I was in a Zoom 

about the pandemic 

how things are changing 

and require being open 

to new possibilities

In all seriousness

I thought WHOA I could try

making chocolate chip bars

instead of dropping them

by spoonful






           In dreams

    my teeth crumble

       into napkins 


from peering pretty people

     I greet

 on waking

   with a pursed smile

   and a mouthful

of surreptitious verse





about seeking a source

in the deep end

of a flailing life

means I’m not sure what

but if I could find it

I’d tie a rope

around its energy

and save myself

from drowning 

in wishes

instead of swimming

in the Poet’s possibility


Carry On















Join me in sharing poems on Instagram




  Dreamed I lost you

& sneaked a peek at you

like when you were little

& me spooked in high winds

     Now my spooking

is crowds engulfing you

fueled by cruel winds

& you out of your element

    which maybe is earth

& I hope will keep you 




If I am green

maybe that explains

my tendency to retreat

preparing for seasons

of browns & charcoal 


Maple & Moon


Why should I describe

my feelings for the backyard maple

and the moon I spy

through branches like a lace curtain

as it rests upon mighty Mount Tom

that from here I must conjure

from memory and imagination

as the neighbor’s house blocks my view

I mean the maple is not really so old

as trees go

kind of middle-aged I think

or maybe assume stemming from my desire 

for companionship

I don’t really know

having only lived here 13 years

which is the longest I’ve lived anywhere

but not so long if counting

against the life of a solid maple

and the moon is the moon 

to which poets greater than myself

have written many a rapt epistolary 

so there hardly seems any value

in my tepid musings on moonlight

and what it reveals


High Risk



outside the 7-11

is minding a stroller

mask bunched below her chin

cigarette dangling from pursed lips



Sunday morning 
blows curtains
across cat-hair window bed
cars still streaming by
but weekends are a reprieve

From dump trucks
and heavy equipment
so far no one has revved up
yard machines and I’m grateful
for the relative peace

Third cup of coffee
laundry waits
everyone still asleep
including my kitty twitchy
dreaming in her bed of sun


Straw Dog Writers' Guild Pandemic Poetry Series

Friends, I'm thrilled and honored to have my poem included 
in the Straw Dog Writers Guild Pandemic Poetry Series today! 
I honestly love this poem, it's a good and lovely thing 
that came to me in the pandemic. Please take a look 
and scroll around, lots of wonderful writing to enjoy.

My poem is found at THIS LINK


It Would Be Just Like Me

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 in my window

Gentle Readers! I’ve been sharing poems on Instagram. 


Dreams in Pandemic

Even the tenor
     of woolgathering’s 
Dream edge sharpened
                     for battle

Two lines on the spot for Kerry on Instagram


Battle Medicine

Your heart’s machinery
must be a mess 
of soldiers
all on the same side
trying to keep formation
but breaking rank
with increasing 
when one goes assassin
and the rest spend 
their energy
no one speaks 
to this as admission 
leads to admonition
so all keep quiet
and steadfast
each illustration
of your broken heart
coming quicker than the last

For Kerry’s June word list @skyloverpoetry on Instagram
Reminder that I am also there @runawaysentence


In These Times

Pandemic poems are elusive
like snapshots
seemingly from another timeline
remembering mostly unretrievable
as if a dream sequence

Did I have small children once
did they love the backyard
kiddie pool
soft serve
what is soft serve anyway
and were they afraid of bees

Words fade forward and dissipate
before the chance to write them
as new horror barges in
rendering poetics irrelevant

But still some stay
as if to hold me in their arms
(I need you to atect me)


May Flowers

66,000 dead?
Unsure and unknown
where to find out
or whether it’s true
once I do

But I do know
we’ll suffer in June
for our collective enjoyment
of May
in America


Broken Heart Emoji

Unmasked chant 
while demanding to work
as cogs 
    in the machine ~~


At Ten

Ten years
meanders like riverbends
then soars
ever cloudward
peeking shoulderwise

Everyone blinks how
we arrived at this place
damply imagining
what lofty follies might follow
at such heights

The Runaway Sentence is ten years old today! *cheer*



I like
the way it feels
lying next to you
the way it looks
outside our window
and the way your breath
warms the unspoken
everywhen of this moment
soft like sunrise
brilliant like fresh snow
clear like yestervision
hopeful like tomorrow morning
but still persisting
in cracking just a bit
like I am

For Friday Flash 55 offered by Joy at Verse Escape