New Project

For National Poetry Month, I labored fiercely over a self-imposed project of writing “letters” to poets using a specific form that I concocted by piecing together a couple of different odes. It was nothing short of a brain buster! I’ll admit I’m glad I finished it, that it’s over, and I can move on toContinue reading “New Project”


For the past few years, I’ve written poems for the Inktober prompts, because I can’t resist a ready-made list and I love the randomness of it, plus the challenge! I have completed all 31 a couple of times, but last year I pooped out partway through. My dream is to find an artist to partnerContinue reading “Poemtober”

Publication news!

Well I write a poem about rejection letters and then a couple of days later I get one that’s acceptance! It’s like when you finally pull over to ask for directions and are told that the place you’re looking for is right around the next bend. I went out on a limb and submitted aContinue reading “Publication news!”

At Work

The Romantics wrote poemsto pay for European walking toursWordsworth and Coleridgetraipsing across the Alpswith boots and packsmade of words. Jules Verne quit his jobon the stock market, havingbrokered himself such agolden position, penningthe extraordinary, he pouredout jingling tickets withhis morning cereal. In classic Russian novelsthere are poets by tradenot just by name or naturefiery broodingContinue reading “At Work”

Between the Golden Bars

From a bird in a gilded cage Pecking at the walls of invested desireFeed the well a doubloonIt spits back an ingotVaults of piggies full to the brimGenerations of interest ensuredBut coins in the mattressPoke holes in retirementGreen paper wallsTear and burnBetween the golden barsGleams a life with all the trappingsLuminous bowls in the lapContinue reading “Between the Golden Bars”

Ch-ch-ch-changes. . . .

Welp, it’s been a challenging year for me so far, and the way I’ve responded to it is to push all creative endeavors to the background (except piano, that one is my outlet). I’m not writing much, and I’m not photographing much. By not much I mean barely at all. For a while, I’ve feltContinue reading “Ch-ch-ch-changes. . . .”


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”