poetry

Ronald Reagan Was an Idiot (and other observations about my birth year) I was born late. I could give any number of reasons I wanted to stay put. Every birth…

THE NIGHTLIGHT ANNUNCIATION Last night I dreamed that my front lawn was littered with the bodies of elementary school principals. My instincts tell me this speaks to either the death…

Small things I admit to after 44 years of finding dirty dishes in the dish drain     I’ve decided to stop complaining and put them away dirty   when it’s time…

THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE I am the invisible bridge the bear tiptoes across (Oh, you thought, maybe, he was jumping into the stream?) Wrong! I am the invisible bridge the bear…

It keeps pouring    how the green rain Oh don’t say   love    rain    green Her vigilance    her lightning    her absence Oh don’t say again   how the green rain Pours on oak that drinks it…

  The exegesis of all outside, on the porch Us three in faith agreed life would end in fire, For we began in water—piecing together pieces Of the book we…

    displayed in a grid of squares she is saturated, oblique, a shape bearing no relationship to the smell of a ham sandwich or the night her uncles beat…

We do a lot of work behind the scenes, but the writers create the work so they deserve the most credit and profit for it. They are the reason we even have a project to work on in the first place.

  IS TONAL   jump over is Dutch for here is English over there sentences line the water hold them don’t let go clamber onto the rocks over here the…

  I. I wanted to find it. I memorized the route to grandfather’s house. On the street, I loosed my six-year-old self. I watched her gather her childhood like a…

  Cumulus: You can’t see the sun — its watery glow tumbles from bellies of clouds and pools on a slice of blacktop. You’re there with your friends, peeling pieces…

I felt that artists who were out there working the community, trying to create change often did not have time to do the “business” of writing. I hoped that there would be a way to help those artist by “gifting” them published books as that would only help them further in the community service goals.

Love Song for My Lemon Hare   Green trees, sap green—streaming the interstate and hemming the fields, ladled as if from Constable’s brush, from Manchester to Nantwich, muted, yet golden,…

  Also she appeared to be floating, breathing a kind of game or to make sense of the gravy- pond plates, the castaway serviettes dolphin-finned or carpet coral, barnacles, moats?…