my shadow is tallshe can reach all the glasseson the top shelf she fills them to the brimwith strong cocktailsbecause alcohol doesn’tbother her stomach,and neither does anyquantity or combination of food she drives fastand says “f*ck it”more than I do, becausethat field of hers really is barrenand she lords over ita lanky scarecrow inbright redContinue reading “Shadow”
Tag Archives: poetry
Skin
. . . . so many maps
and destinations
burgeoning, just beneath the skin
After the Front
After midnight the storm’s breathcame fast and fierce betweenthe houses, snuffingtrees and patio furniturelike errant candlesit gripped the stars and stripeslike a sail, unmooringour flagship with a single blowso it drifted into thedepths of the gardenfences folded like ahouse of cards, harkeningto the maelstrom’s beguiling whistle But you would never knowit now – if itContinue reading “After the Front”
Breath
The wind will shift from south to north again
as the earth tilts her way along the year
and my breath will enter the tapestry
as I weave my own way along, in time.
Morning Song
This morning a song is happening. . . .
Scrutiny, 2
ridiculous: the difference
from aquatic birth to
solid earth, so far north
to deepest south
espresso sings: hand to mouth
Scrutiny, 1
Floating in my cup of tea:
the bric-a-brac chunk leftovers
from the small scoop of flavorful dust
I stirred in, along with honey. . . .
A Pair of Italian Sonnets
Pristine Sistine: at the Vatican I walked and walked through halls of wondertil at last I reached the endwhere God’s own voice resounds like thunderfrom images well known as friends In awe beneath that gorgeous ceilingsequestered as a holy choiceoverwhelmed with thoughts and feelingsbrought back to earth by recorded noise Quiet! and No pictures, please!LoudlyContinue reading “A Pair of Italian Sonnets”
Prose Pose
Baudelaire said to be drunk, always, so this morning I am choosing tea and sunshine. . . .
Autumn (45)
n this fading comes regeneration
(even the most robust things must sleep)
so the trees light up with celebration
while within the soil their roots stretch out deep. . . .
The Poetry Patio 