9.26.2020

Source

 

Something 

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


9.20.2020

Carry On

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Join me in sharing poems on Instagram

9.07.2020

Wildfire

 

  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 

                   grounded 


9.06.2020

Palettes


If I am green

maybe that explains

my tendency to retreat

preparing for seasons

of browns & charcoal 


8.22.2020

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


8.10.2020

High Risk

 

Neighbor

outside the 7-11

is minding a stroller

mask bunched below her chin

cigarette dangling from pursed lips


8.02.2020

Breezy


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

7.29.2020

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


7.26.2020

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. 
Join me ON INSTAGRAM

7.23.2020

Dreams in Pandemic


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


Two lines on the spot for Kerry on Instagram

6.08.2020

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 
regularity
when one goes assassin
and the rest spend 
their energy
quelling
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

5.17.2020

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)

5.03.2020

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

5.02.2020

Broken Heart Emoji


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

4.24.2020

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*

4.18.2020

Now


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

4.10.2020

Proper Usage During a Pandemic


This week
marked my first use
of panic-spiral as a verb
to describe us together
washing cans of black beans
packages of basmati rice
and birthday presents
as though they held 
land mines
ticking to explode our hearts
already full up
with quarantine anxiety 
but then a sudden rush
of sequestered desire
incited in me 
a gratitude-spiral so profound 
that I pray this kind of love 
goes viral

4.02.2020

Math Problems


Math was never really my thing
but I used to take
3 trips for groceries each week

There are 4 people in my family
and 13 veterans died last week
at the local Soldiers Home

They say best-case scenario
is 100-240,000 Americans dead
there are 16,000 people in my town

162,000 in the whole county
7 million in the Commonwealth
where we’re to stay home this week

And for the foreseeable future
so you’d think in this circumstance 
the streets would be empty 

Against exponential increase
but from my front door and screens
I’m watching everyone walking by


We should NOT be taking it to the streets now, friends
Day 2 of Poetry Month in the Imaginary Garden

4.01.2020

Poems From a Distance


April
is poetry month

And we fools
now are told
100,000 to 240,000
Americans will be dead
by summer

So this is my poem
for April


The Imaginary Garden is open in April for Poetry Month!!

3.28.2020

The Virus Is the Clock


The virus is the clock
we’ve learned
struggling to do our part
protecting

While others
like schoolyard bullies
calculate what they’ll do
with nobody watching

But now is different
with clock-watchers
following rules
of both charlatans and saints

When breaking them 
means vainglorious achievement
in running out the clock
or that we’re out of time


For Friday Flash 55 offered by Joy at Verse Escape

3.22.2020

Contamination


Close your eyes
for messages
at doors locked
against heart-sick
pinking from grey