Sevenling: Calamitous Autumn


Calamitous autumn

follows farcical summer, hell

a whole year of melodrama

As butterfly belly

flits to hawk belly, pivots

to soar the belly of the ocean

It’s not at all clear

whether reversal is possible

Using words from Kerry’s November list on Instagram

Reminder that I share stuff there too @runawaysentence


Gaining Altitude

So thrilled that my poem "Gaining Altitude" is included in Silkworm 14: Rise, the annual review of the Florence Poets Society. Wonderful!





Me & my rube-soul

sorried our journey

pennies to worries

fractioning wholes

always alone 

trying to fly home






on my notebook

   begs the question

What you got 

to write about



In Which the Poet Requests Guidance


Raise your hand

if you’ve been where I am headed

because I do not know

this no-footed cat

or any of these boxes

full of promises

The air breathes different here

but it is still still

I do not know tenterhooks

which might be like eggshells

and I am almost out

of eggs

This latest place

is already taken

so I will keep on wish-packing

but if you’ve already been

where I am headed

please let me know


That Late August Feeling


Drenched in hurricane rain

wrung out from all of it


is this right

or do I not know what I am


How would I know what is not

how could you


to the vast whatever of it all

I squeeze my washcloth days

                          & soak


Why Bother With a Title

Can I write

myself out of this place


        hard to say

but if

the lines on these pages

        provide an exit ramp

                one line

                two lines

                line by line

driving toward someplace not here

    I know not

but maybe 

these few lines

        can start me going 





I protect my lungs

so they can breathe in

this breeze that won’t stay

the songs of dawn-birds

your words

the kind ones

all circulating inside me

like antibodies

at the ready


Visions in Granite



of my body as a flower 

decaying after blooming

or a bell slowly ringing

or a tomb


through every mortal day 

holding goodly tones

but there exists a stone

with my name on it





At my grandmother’s place

I dreamed in a pink canopy bed

under a heavy wool crazy quilt

pieced by her grandmother

and embroidered with hope

the initials of family women

Still now the quilt is stashed

in my hope chest as I wrap 

dreams around a girl answering

to the the name of my mother

my grandmother and her mother

and hers and I hope against hope

Today is the 11th birthday of the runaway sentence!

Of course time is weird so that seems like a long/short time

and it seems we’ve lost a year and are working on another

and anyone reading this can tell my writing patterns

have certainly changed and not for the better but still I hope

and dream and have some ideas about changing this place around

so watch for that in the coming year and thank you,

gentle readers, for persisting. Peace and love.


Keepin' It Real


I mean

for real

poetry month

can go pound sand

I mean every month

is for poetry

but I cannot figure 

how to write poems

in these times

I mean

if you want the truth

I am jealous

of people writing poems

today and tomorrow

and every other day

I've written a poem a day in April for a long time 

but am a little broken now and would be glad to pull 

just a few out of my scrambled mind this year. 

Probably will delete this because it's too whiny LOL


Another Pandemic Spring



my forced hyacinth

is cloying and sickly

sweetest blooms turned sepia

in a wash of melancholy

like sunbathing topless

in a patch of warmth

trousered against sea air

carrying salt

to cold puritan beaches

where around every corner


might hold witches after all

hungrily sunbathing

in sickly-warm memories of spring

healthier hyacinths

better days

Using words from Kerry’s March list on Instagram

Reminder that I share stuff there too @runawaysentence


Found Poem for 2021: Unspeakable Loss Version


This week,

the USA passed a milestone

    so grim

    so heartbreaking

    so unnerving

       & unnecessary:


*quoting Dan Rather, Midweek Question on Steady@substack.com 2-24-21


Valentine's Day


If I could

I’d use

all my best blues

to paint you

and me 

feeling free

the color of the breeze

and my sigh

your hand on my thigh

as we drive

shades of being alive

me and you

all my best blues

I do


Found Poem for 2021: Big Lie Version



evidence exists 

upon which 

a reasonable jurist 

could conclude 

that his statements 

were accurate 

or not

and he therefore 


they were false

*brief by Donald J. Trump defending against impeachment, Feb 2021


Baking Brings Few Surprises


my batter bowl


always remembering

a busted bread bowl


like the piece of me

that’s chinked off


(protecting my bowl)

   that piece of me   

could be mixed in batter

ingested with these cupcakes


to find its way back

through my belly


A New Year


I want to write poems

on kites

soared across 

the wide river

jammed with ice

like my mood


and stuck

I mean really

what would happen

if I flew verse so high


beyond the oxbow

brown-ice cornfields


and everything


The Hard Work of Hope


Friends, I’m truly honored that editor Elizabeth Macduffie 

submitted and Mass Poetry selected one of my poems 

to be featured in The Hard Work of Hope. If you click below, 

a poem I'm particularly proud of certainly fits this theme. 

In fact, I think all of my poems are on this theme and I covet 

the name of this series. Anyway my poem is called "Progression,"

originally published in the spectacular Meat For Tea

I hope you like it. And I even provided a fun writing prompt.

Thank you, friends, for reading and supporting my work. 

Here's to whatever 2021 throws at us:


"Progression” in The Hard Work of Hope