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