Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Soul Frost Between Samhain and Solstice

Breathing in shards of glass, air so sharp it cuts
 the lungs and rakes the nose raw-
lips red, raggedy, whipped by the wind.
Heat and light flowing from the fire
warms the body, but leaves the soul chilled
the coolness winds around my legs
and, like old ghosts at my feet
coldness settles in the bones
In November, O Sol sets much too early.
The wintery twins Woe and Dysphoria
pull me down and sit on me-
I try to leave them home
where they belong-
but they follow me

Looking down now, my hands
this year, they are
like my mother's hands
dry and cold and
slippery with wear,
i hold them out to the fire
as a kind of offering.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Lament of Apathy

O blubbersuit!
rounding rotund
in astonishing
O plump pumpkin!
direct cause
and affect effect
of voracious feasting,
sweet tooth
and sloth-
O mindless indulgences!
Generous helpings
of pinguid pizza,
buttery buns,
chunky chocolate
confections mask
insecurity and sadness;
the sin of gluttony
and excess-
O unctuous edibles
alas, brains devolve-
and the walking dead
inherit the earth.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Disquietly discordant depressed deranged arrangement of morbid thoughts

melted molten melancholy melding mouldering marauder
apathy assassin angst allure assure adore abhor amore
aging asking making taking lying scheming screams
unseen invisible transparent see-thru ghostlyeerie
unseeing blind unkind myopic microscopic
dumb daft dim obtuse callous sarcastic
denied demoralized disrespected
numb deadening leaden weight
sleepy drowsy lethargy coma
insomniac sleep walker apneic
despot maniac narcissist egotist
desperate hungry hurting bleeding
ploting plans scheming scammming
falling crawling shrinking disappearing

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

an unraveling

 a wicker woman
woven tightly into a shape, a form
work of weather and worn down flesh
felting all together texture and temper
down and wool marry,
 and a loose end waving
craving notice and freed,
taken apart and reshaped-
reworked, reraveled.


Evolved erectly upright
never contrite
always forthright
seemingly not so bright
superior to lesser things
inferior to greater beings
wishing for wings
higher order genes
 heavy footprint

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

running away weather

Another season comes chilly
sullen morning air
freezing at your mouth
like frosting on your lips
Tastes like running away weather.
backdrop colored in
orange and gold and red;
a blinding autumn sun
low on the horizon.
Feels like running away weather
it seems like the end of something
or maybe it's the beginning
wood fires burn distant
over crystal glowing hills
Smells like running away weather. 
short fast days and long slow nights;
cold silver moon stands watch
at the fall
and rise of restless sun.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013


Flight over fields of fiddleweed
bumbleflowers and jackabells
Zigging and zagging in their
ever evasive aerial errands,
erratic distraction for those
seeking the secretly seeping
and hidden honey hives.


 She looked over the edge and was shocked to see a vast sea of in situ and empty of viscera. No substance nor safe haven. Just more empty space. Forever into infinity. Endlessly falling and tumbling over that edge. Crushed in spirit and heart, she drew back.
She had hoped for rescue, but now she knew it was a dream and falling was her option her, and she knew she had invested too much in hope, yet she would make that mistake over and over. 


Plump Pumpkin

O! Plump Pumpkin...slumped over on the stoop
slowly rotting-now forgotten, we were never really friends.
You know your lot in life, ever evil-with triangular eye
you sit quietly peering at the imps who came for candy
and wonder at your former orangeness
still grinning and grinning saw toothed and oozing
as the leaves fall
and the wind shifts.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Wiki me D.E.

Diatomaceous Earth
dead diatoms
Dna purifier
dead diatoms
Diatomaceous Earth

Tuesday, July 9, 2013


at the strangeness
of the world-
 the pursuit of
sanity is
like grabbing at water
you think you have it
but you really don't
only a residue
a wetness
i frequently find myself
 in the company of the mad
yet i do not struggle and 
 understand the ranting
the need for understanding
as i find myself rather...

i read somewhere
the center can not hold
that the bees are maniacs.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Memoirs of Memory

Holes in the place where only gyri were before.
Gyri and sulci,; pons, oblongata.
Blacked out spaces with no neural ganglia
only memory footprints, echos and hollow.

A longing to let go,  let it go
lingering longingly to recall
but not really knowing what
went wrong or when.

Or even what it was to be recalled
if anything at all.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013


Heart like a Texas tumbleweed
traveling, tachycardic through towns of ghosts
destination unknown.
Gathering speed and dusty lust...
Turning. Seeking.
Rolling on.
Passing by a burning bush
bouncing upon rutted roads
of long ago love.
Forward moving and always
with a fickle wind behind.

Which way will the wind blow today?


Just a short little verse today for

Trying to break out of my writer's block...the topic for  Open Link Night..

Wednesday, May 1, 2013


The symphony of renewal
begins again on time
greens creep in
we blindly watch
not seeing what we sense;
primal green so dense
so lush the branches sag
the familiar weight of leaves.

The grand reunion orgy starts
and the birds join in,
the bees join in
the earth joins in
and the sky joins in
pouring down the wetness
that keeps the greening coming.

Thursday, April 18, 2013


Pauses of pulse, at the edge of eternity,
as the fall begins it starts up again
insistent and onward.
The face of death shimmmers
in mirage, only to vanish
with each breath and surge-
each pulse is wealth.

Now only thoughts are visible,
filled with air and echos-
hollow tones and holes.

Death dances like
the edge of firelight
flickering warm, inviting-
gathering fear like harvest
soul seeding with belonging
as all are joined in endings.

But with pockets turned out
at the river,
all is poor in death.

Reworked and RePosted for Dverse Poets Pub

We are writing about catastrophe, whether public or personal.
And in the face of recent catastrophes people are speechless, in shock and amazed at how violent and unstable is this world we live in. The candy coated world is revealed for what it really is...

The great question is asked, "But how can you write POETRY about catastrophe?"
Poetry is a form of expression. It is voice of the soul. The best work is the raw work of raw emotions. Now, strip away all the media hype and what you have been told to think, and write something down that you feel strongly about. Then you have something, something that is yours only. It belongs to you, that voice. Listen to it sometimes...Let it speak.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Ode to Benedryl

Spring is screaming
Blooms looming
Pollen is callin'
with a sheen of green
upon everything

The itching's a bitch
there's a groat in my throat
The inside of my face
feel like it's been maced.

Nose is closed
Eyes red and wet
I fear my ears
are plugged with bugs.

"Spring has sprung
Fall has fell"
And my allergies
are giving me hell.

It's Open link night at Dverse poets pub...come by and give us a read....

Friday, April 12, 2013


watching you unfold slowly
jagged and edgy
a hope emerges
one so dashed upon
rocky shores
knowing your heart
you look through me
when you look to me
eyes see nothing
lost in a vision
seeking only
beautiful madness
righteous anger
and angst
restless heart
in a red haze
to stop is to die
to die is to stop.

to die is to stop
to stop is to die
in a red haze
restless heart
and angst
righteous anger
beautiful madness
seeking only
lost in a vision
eyes see nothing
when you look to me
you look through me
knowing your heart
rocky shores
one so dashed upon
a hope emerges
jagged and edgy
watching you unfold slowly.

Over at Dverse poets pub, In the Forms for all, we are playing around with pallindromes. its an interesting form where you can reverse your words or your sentences or your lines and it still makes sense...its actually a very fun form.

Koi Pond Haiku

A Koi pond he said
of the deep hole in the ground
but i see no fish.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Jasmine Haiku.

aroma of new romance
jasmine scent drifts in.

On the other hand
When love is old and jaded
Smells like dead flowers

Posted for Haiku Heights...Subject Jasmine..

Inspired by the theme at

Thursday, April 4, 2013


No really, I'm fine
No need to worry about me.
I've been through this before
I don't really need any help
but can I get you anything?
Call me if you need any help
and I will always be there for you.
I can work that shift for you
and you don't owe me a thing.

What do you want to eat for dinner?
I really feel like cooking tonight.
Sure I can give you some more money
for cigarettes and weed.
I know you are stressed trying to
figure out that video game.
I wouldn't mind working full time
so you can sit around all day.
We certainly can put off home repairs
so you can have your mid life crisis.

come check out what we are doing at

Victoria has us writing poems on IRONY ...However it felt like sarcasm.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Neelix the Husky

Faithful friend
of fifteen years
forgive me
as I plot and plan
your demise
on Friday after five

for that is the time
the death dealer comes
with his big black bag
of syringes and sedation
and a big hot helping
of potassium chloride
to stop your
big teddy bear heart

no more fur flying
surprise piss puddles
nor piles of poop
nobody to patrol the perimeter
pacing and waiting on bacon

In doggie heaven there is
always bacon and ice cream
Bo will be there with his stick
waiting to get you back
and you can both run
like the wind
without the pain.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

The Quietest Thing

After all of the words;
the verbal victories and defeat,
the examinations, ruminations
dissections and assasinations.

The Taking Down
and Tearing Apart
inspection, introspection
justification, reiteration
retaliation, annihilation.

After all of the the weeping
and wailing
thrashing, gnashing,
lashing and bashing
lying, crying, sighing
and dying.

After all is said done, signed, sealed
delivered, dumped and disposed of,
the only thing left standing
residual or real,
timeless and tangible
stiff with substance
silent and solid
judgmental, intuitive
unmovable, immobile, rooted.

Is the persistently quiet of Knowing
with invisible eyes closed,
hiding behind the veil
of delusion and doubt.

Waiting for the freefall
of faith and courage
into the abyss of truth.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Rules are for the orderly

two four
then six eight two
as if my muse would sit
for me to lock her up with rules

We are writing cinequains over at, and as usual, I am having trouble with Rules. Also known as Form.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013

Mirror Poem ...Synaptic Gaps

Murky recollections
a tainted memory
delicious slipping
once wide open spaces
slowly sealing over
with the spackling of age
expectations fall away
neurons blink cerebral
synaptic gaps once shackled
now free to glide the halcyon days.

Now free to glide the halcyon days
synaptic gaps once shackled
neurons blink cerebral
expectations fall away
with the spackling of age
slowly sealing over
once wide open spaces
delicious slipping
a tainted memory
murky recollections.

its open link night at dverse poets...

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Blood nets

Roots to reservation, same old pain.
Ghosts were there, fishing every day;
adjustments began we grew hungry
standing in line gathering
white flour for white bread
baking in a white woman's oven.

Lonely red daddy beating down
a dying fish with a sack of rice.
Blood ties broken with his heart
Straitjackets cradled the ghosts-
daddy's gone crazy and mother is dead.

Brother Bear cut off his hair,
joined the government
to be safely in danger.
And I fear I'm learning to weave nets.

Brian Miller is tending bar @ dVerse Poet’s Pub

and told us that this Friday, March 8, is International Women’s Day.

A small verse to celebrate woman.

OpenLinkNight ~ Week 86

Thursday, February 28, 2013

words with friends

letters to form words
with friends
we have a secret language
i tease you
with wet
and lips
and even

and you send me
and dewy
and vex
and douse

now i only have
the pale moon
for i am out
of letters.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

songs at dusk (old man river)

His voice floats
out to the water
out to the river
sung deeply down
in baritone
rich like the roots-
and darkly mysterious

sung over their heads
but meant for the water
that big old muddy
his song so loved
he sang it over again
and again, every year.

And at the end of the day
the crowd swells
and sway
they don't even know
what he's singing about
they are happy just to
drink and shout
for him to sing
it again and again,
and its as if
no one even sees
the orchestra there.

And the irony is lost
upon the people who
insist he sing

the old man river song
over and over again,
because he will
and because
it seems to mean something...

In Memory of James Hyter voice of Old Man River For Open Link Night


Tuesday, February 19, 2013

I don't go there anymore

I can't breathe there
there is not enough air
and the others in this zone
are not there when I'm home.

Atrophy? Maybe.
Paranoia, for sure,yah.
The neurons are old,
no longer so bold.

I don't go there anymore
so don't try to take me.
I'm fine right here
my bed is near.

Like walking on thin ice
after falling thru twice.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Thinking thoughts at Three A.M.

My eyes pop open at 3 a.m.
I blink
What woke me up again?
I think.

An while I lay
and wonder why..
I notice something
is, indeed, awry.

Over my head,
above my eyes,
imagine my fright!
and great surprise.

There is a trail
of tiny footprints
up on the ceiling!!
Now, you know
this sent my
imagination reeling.

What is this thing
walking around
above my head
and upside down
while I'm in bed?

This little piece is for the open link night at Dverse poets pub.. Images borrowed from the web...thanks web.

Friday, February 8, 2013

I am from .....part deux


I am from tittering and muffle it
shut up, your bobby's gonna schmell it.
Blum blum bluming to the house of the girl
with purple feet,
where it is running away weather.
Forever and ever.

I am from "Unison-Venison
And I'll note it."
From Pappa and Babba
and Mamba and Margarine
Little head and Ed.

For Ehhlen Pins Burnette
and Moochus Perryus, too
It's a Baby Cat, Baby Cat.
And Crane the Butler Set
Cosmo Uriah Benzentine
Mitha-Migga Vaughn.
And Alfie and Moon and Rocky.

From globules and nodules
and fungus and yeast!
Why, Rocky should ring
like a phone, at least.
Brrrring Brrrring!
What did you bring?
Me here for?

From Note the Lips
to blue suede hips
And Skelly had a party.
For you, it may all be a mystery
But makes such perfect sense to me.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

The Zen of Laundry

Women's work, she irons,
smoothing the wrinkles-
making limp now crisp
starches and sizing.
The smell of
hot linen is like incense
and a balm to her nerves,
brings calm to her hands.
Hands that flutter like birds
wring at each other savagely
and reach for old habits.

Hiss of hot steam rising
she presses down,
as seamless sleeves
take on new store creases.
Buttons spread wide
for the hot metal penis intruder
smoothing the wrinkles between them.
A cuff, a collar, minor details,
hems that won't lie flat.

A creaking wooden board stands
waiting at attention,
its constant companion cold and quiet now;
but hot and hissing is
a thing alive.
A seeking, steaming intruder
Waiting for the call
of the wrinkled, the limp
and the woman with the restless hands.

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Weather Report

Zeus indignantly storms from the room-
and slate grey clouds writhe and seethe
slashing down frozen light
into the space between
where gods dwell
and the green orb slowly turns

the ageless game is played
the odyssey continues
long and longer-
the periods end, ages begin
and millennial wagers
won, and lost again.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Why she can't write

She oft times sits and ponders
why she squanders to describe
in adjectives and phrases,
her trials and tribulations
believing that to write it down
would make it worse,
or even, perhaps, more real.
The usual struggle with voice ensued,
settling finally on
third person
to put some distance
between herself and it-
the story.

The tale of woe,
the Memoir.
A three headed hydra-
snapping and snarling,
drawing blood with gnashing teeth
claws that snatch
at her soul, her sanity.
Her serenity.

Standing waist deep
in a sea of shit,
holding back hordes
of undead flesh eaters-
the occasional swarm
of killer bees.
Always the magician she
pulls the rabbit from the hat
with a sleight of hand.
Or perhaps a money trick,
like a payoff.

Once more they recede,
to return another day
with renewed vitality .
Once more she again will
pick up the vorpal sword
of words, the pen in one hand
welding the medusa's head in the other;
to turn them all to stone and
still the ever-writhing story
perhaps even to slay it dead.


meeting the bar

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

This and that

Black and White.
More than a color
It is a rite, right?
You can't have one
without the other.

Black needs white
to show the light,
White needs black
to add some back.
Shadow needs light;
as weakness needs might,
blinded by sight
Today and tonight
wrong versus right.

Age old struggle
Pure witch,
or a muggle?
And any calm is
always in trouble.
It's either, neither
never nor;
plain or peanut,
have less or has more.
Out on the water,
or maybe ashore
up or down
window or door-
the yang or the ying
be silent or sing.
Happy,sad,mad or glad;
be good or be bad
for mom or for dad.
Age old youth
more lies or the truth.
Sun and the moon
endlessly soon
wet or dry
straight or high
eager with dread
alive or dead
beginnings of endings
together alone.

Monday, January 21, 2013


A flurry of movement inside
signals the end
of one, the beginning of

DNA is replicated-
all else is elementary

Presence of host
no longer required,
but if allowed to stay
will be changed

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Time for the Helicopter

Anywhere but here
since that day seemed so long ago
strange that now it wasn't.

When she felt so radiant- irradiated
like the sun had blistered away
all the layers of skin
and facade
leaving her bare and exposed;
revealing her secrets-carefully hidden away
in the dusty rafters of childhood.
Many days had passed by wasted,

Life, like an art film
replayed in fast-forward motion
featuring the imagines
that come at life's end;
flickering in the dark.
alone in the theater,
sitting for review.

Thoughts mumble low now,
no longer shouting down one another
accustomed to being disregarded,
they politely wait their turns;
Assimilated, subservient.
Pain becomes part of the limbic landscape
inserting itself here and there
like scrubby cacti, succulent and bristly.

Houses of doors slam shut; screen doors sift air
and memories.

For Open Link Night

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Rainy pain

Empty-like hollow taps
against the window raps
like your empty
hollow words
and my flickering faith.
Finding you farther away,
because, after all
it is you-
whom u betray.

Rain can hide tears
It can blur lines
But it can't wash
Away the pain.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Lune of a loon

five three five
such strict rules, i fear
i will falter

so simple yet
rules are made for breaking
rebel am i

without a cause
or even a clue, actually
what about it?

syllables or words
shall it be a kelly
or a collum?