Wednesday, November 13, 2013

In Spectrum

It is only a trick of light,
this moment at dawn
as the Earth rolls in
the light of the Sun,
but this shadow play
this time
with time before
and allows my mind to see
what in full daylight
might cause concern
in tangerine and alabaster
and allows me
to strip away
and see
bare truth
it is only
a trick of light.

Friday, November 8, 2013

My Morning Tea

I imagine the flavor
to be jasmine
as I shuffle through
the leaves,
pale yellow yesterday,
the morning rain
has darkened them a shade.
The next block
smells of cranberry,
if only in my mind,
the deep reds of the oak
temp me with a spectrum
running amaranth near the trunk
to amber further out.
I carefully select a pile,
scooping them into a puddle
where I stand
until the water
permeates my shoes.
I squish away.

Thursday, November 7, 2013

Amethyst Shadows

The gray November skies
are easier
to take
when first viewed
as the Sun
on the horizon,
announcing the day
with brilliance
and honor
and amethyst shadows,
rather than
first noticing
fields of gray
through unfocused eyes
and wondering
if the day
even chose
to start.

Monday, November 4, 2013

Light Sheet

Imagine morning light
as a sheet,
coating all it touches,
offering a brief spotlight
to the magic of the ordinary,
causing one to pause
and wonder,
did the one who
imagined this building
stand here and see
a tin roof
playing with maple leaves
under a rose-orange

Friday, November 1, 2013

Approaching Aubergine

This morning
the crescent moon
the approaching sunlight
for brilliance,
standing out
even more
against the steadily blueing sky.
Knowing he fights with only
reflected glory,
he soon will settle back,
brilliant still,
but this time
on his own terms.

Monday, October 28, 2013

Pumpkin Sized

The first three cuts are equal,
each an inch in length,
forming a small triangle
against an expanse of orange.
She asks for help then,
adding a circle
on top of her triangle.
I carve while she announces
that we are carving her,
then she hops down
on a quest for paint.
Brown first, for hair
followed by red and purple,
for a bow.
A bigger triangle is next
as her cousin is two years her senior.
(Green and yellow bow)
Then a square because this cousin
is a boy.
(more paint)
The geometric parade
as Grandma,
then me,
then Mom are added.
(We all have blue shoes)
Aunts and uncles
complete the circle
until one touches hands
with her.
She sits back
then tells us
the title
is "Family Love Circle."
this moment
to fill
All of the available space
and time
before collapsing back.
Pumpkin sized.

Monday, October 21, 2013

They are All Fish Tales, Really

"They are all fish tales, really"

-- When my mother’s memory began to fade, she asked me,
What will become of me when I don’t have a story?
Not knowing what else to say, I told her, Lie.
                                       --Jane Shlensky

The river that is memory
twists and turns as it winds its way,
picking up silt
and carrying it along
until another force
slows the current
and the silt falls,
sometimes forming a loess,
blocking the flow,
forming pools
on which we fish
for that which was easily
within reach, only yesterday.
So drop in a line
and if it comes up empty
tell the world you caught
a clownfish
go on
about the color
and the feel of it
as it wriggled in your hands,
just before
it splashed

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

It's Hard to Keep Them All Happy

Facing the daunting challenge
of coloring the crayons,
I grab fistfuls of maple leaves,
separating the Burnt Orange
from the Burnt Sienna
I find just enough Outrageous Orange
to intensify the Neon Carrot.
Fastidious Fuchsia
refuses my offer of Chestnut
which she needs for her to become Copper,
so I offer it to Magenta
who accepts it along with my offer of Mahogany
but he also demands the  Goldenrod
I'm saving for Inchworm.
I grab Cadet Blue
from the morning drizzle
and head out for coffee.

* Thanks to Wikipedia for this amazing list of colors.

Friday, October 11, 2013

already fallen

And again
I found myself hanging stars
in the sky,
asking passers-by
for help
with the ropes and pulleys
(it's all ropes and pulleys).
Hastily running from
rope to rope,
trying to sustain the illusion,
that these stars
are worth reaching for,
(for the moment)
the dreadful feeling
forming in the pit of my stomach
we've already fallen.

Friday, April 19, 2013


Note: this partly a found poem, pulled from the pages of the
Kentucky Gazette and general advertiser, July 29, 1806, found
at the digital public library of America (

My head aches
from changes in pressure
and my vision swims,
replacing what I know is here
with a vision
I’ve only seen in history collections.
I stand
in front of
whose table
is plentifully supplied
with the best viands
the season can afford,
next door to
Trotter & Tilford,
newly stocked with
received from Philadelphia:
fancy callicoes and chintzes
Longhorn and Dunstable bonnets
for cash in hand,
but my hands are empty
and my pockets
only hold plastic
so I turn back,
by what is lost
along the road
and burned
from our collective

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Stale Poetry, Fast

Against a backdrop
of this everything now world
I find myself slowing down,
this ordinary minute,
this action of pen in hand
transferring thoughts to paper,
creased from its time in my back pocket,
could be sliced,
and placed under a microscope
to be examined
before it is converted
to ones and zeros
and broadcast
to the Earth.
here it is.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Why droplets of water cling to the underside of bare spring branches

-- for Domino

Gray skies
and wet winds
carry the hidden magic
of color
which they gift
to dormant grasses
and early spring risers
coloring them
in rich greens
and vibrant yellows.
Standing beneath
a bare maple
I focus through
a droplet of water
and see
a world of color
and magnified
against an expanse
of glorious

Thursday, April 11, 2013

In Case of Gray

This first hard spring rain
has washed away my blue sky,
leaving mottled gray skies
where tendrils of melancholy
reach down
trying to touch my smile.
I fight back
with a yellow daffodil
clutched in my hand like a sword
and a running start across a field of
verdant green
sliding in
to cover my knees in sorrows mortal enemy-
grass stains.

I smile.

Monday, April 8, 2013

Teaching the Sun to Shine

She paints her sunrise amethyst
then smiles a young girl’s smile,
with just a trace
of devilishness
for she knows that all the world
is here
before her
for her,
so she shines.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Hold that Thought

-- in response to De Jackson’s Boxing Shadows from day 2 of the April PAD

This box full of darkness
has a small hole
in one of the corners
where it bangs up against hope.
And hope,
(that little devil never gives up)
carrying thirty times her weight in despair,
turns the box
from this dank corner
so light
can enter
and hope
(the little narcissist)
can again be seen.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Morning Song

This morning traffic has rhythm,
a horn blast from outside
a trumpet blast from within,

a short stop outside
is followed by
a crash (cymbal) in,

I shake my head
to clear this illusion,

for I know
the world
and I
are never
in tune.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

This bit of Brightness is Brought to you by . . .

Red bell peppers
over blue flame
as they release
their water
and their waxy
supermarket skin
cracks and blackens
the brilliant red,
but adding
a smoky hint
of mystery
to this otherwise