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

Carry On

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Join me in sharing poems on Instagram

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 

Palettes

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

 

Neighbor

outside the 7-11

is minding a stroller

mask bunched below her chin

cigarette dangling from pursed lips

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

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. 

Join me ON INSTAGRAM

Dreams in Pandemic

Even the tenor

     of woolgathering’s 

       changed

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 

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

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 

     FREEDOM

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*

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

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

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

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!!

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

Contamination

Close your eyes

for messages

at doors locked

against heart-sick

pinking from grey