Category Archives: Arts, Poetry and Music

A poem that asks not answers

How can we know the past?
By its tailings, lying by the hole?
Do seasons really come again??
Only higher up, burying the one before

Is it worth saving this bit of plastic by filling it with ink?
I could carry it everywhere
and those I left behind would not know
I had ever been there.

Is this the end of lovely?
It is the universal force, and we
wish the stars above were nearer
to overcome it.

Why does the freeway sound rise in the damp
Riding on the vapor all the way to my window?
What is the hissing in my ears?
Either blood, or memories smashing together.

Why do visitors wait for me to come
to a sound I have not heard?
This one I will bring indoors
to last until I die.

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Posted by on November 5, 2018 in Arts, Poetry and Music, My poems




I am over you now.
It was dark.



I do not claim to have developed an airtight business plan

for this dream.

It was a dream, and it came from my root

although up in the air, before you, it has proved to be so fragile.

It wanted nourishment, encouragement,

A chance to live and grow.


I see now I should be thankful for those strong blasts of hot air,

If they have strengthened stems,

the lack of light, at first, that made it reach higher,

and your crap, that turned out to be

nourishing, after all.

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Posted by on June 29, 2018 in Arts, Poetry and Music, My poems


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Hang in there

Get there.
Just get there, she said.
Any adequate means of transportation will do.
The wind might blow though the windshield, bugs splatter,
and wheels rattle,
you might have to swerve to miss a deer,
then run over a possum.

But if you get there,
Intact, together,
You can have the picnic.
Take out the platitudes, piled high,
Say, it was all meant to be,
in retrospect.
Footsteps in the sand.

Or, will it be pedal to the metal
and three sheets to the wind?

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Posted by on January 27, 2018 in Arts, Poetry and Music



Poem for my crotchety neighbor

This time I should call her first,
To pre-empt her from texting me with the usual
“Turn down the racket! What’s wrong with you people?
You don’t live on twenty acres!”
I would say to her, “Pam, would you pah-lease
get those crows in your yard to cut out that racket at seven in the morning?
and your cypress is shedding all over our woodpile.
What do you think this is, a public park?”

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Posted by on November 7, 2017 in Arts, Poetry and Music



Ten second poem based on discarded packages

You’re the 70% cocoa of us
He’s the Kraft Dinner
But I? I’m the pickled beans.

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Posted by on November 6, 2017 in Arts, Poetry and Music



I had no idea where this was going. I remember you said it would be like that sometimes.

I drank another glass of that tangy, sparkly, just a little sweet, juice,
which was defrosted, bottled, pressed from apples and aronia–September and October,
then mixed.

Couldn’t get enough, though my gut ached, unaccustomed to filling up
After going all day on nothing but coffee, tomato soup, and roasted almonds.
Barely time to pee between classes.

I sip again, then, hands to the keyboard, keyboard on my lap,
lap on bed, shoulders propped by pillows
against the headboard.

It snowed today, five inches or more in early November.
A wet, cold, day, windy like home, except without the smell of the bay
and red sandy loam tuning the snow pink in the ruts.

This morning two of my fingers turned dead white and tingled
even inside my wool gloves, and I shifted my weight
off surfaces irritated due to the failure of certain inner hammocks.

I don’t like you any more.
It’s not your fault–it could have been anyone,
present at the failure of certain other inner hammocks
like the one held up at one end
by you.

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Posted by on November 3, 2017 in Arts, Poetry and Music, My poems