Monday, August 21, 2017

Looking towards the sun - a solar eclipse

After inhaling the Moon Pies and donning
my snazzy eclipse glasses,
both compliments of my employer,
I gazed up at the sun,
first a small bite at the edge missing,
then sucessively larger dark bites
until only a thin crescent of sun was visible.
the crows did caw in the diminished light
(or perhaps they always do)
in the last hour, the crooked smile of the crescent 
rotated counterclockwise until it finally
opened to a wide grin and the sun reappeared
as round and bright as ever.
Afterwards, we wandered back to our offices
with stiff necks, eclipse glasses in hand,
perhaps wondering if we should have gone
to Wyoming to see the full eclipse.
Maybe next time.

Sunday, August 20, 2017

In the dressing room

don't look too carefully in the dressing room,
a sideways glance is good enough to decide
and I said yes
yes to stripes and corrugation
to red, black and white, to a silky black top
at 40% off, affordable.
it's summer and I'm wearing the same style
of sandal as K, who advised me never to 
wear a T-shirt again
at my age, I guess I should have known better
how difficult and tortuous is the path
to adulthood and beyond.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

on the bus

on the bus home,
really, home, where there's blueberries
in the side yard, and stacks of cucumbers,
tomatoes on the vine,
a black dog who won't bother to greet me.
there will be a husband who will hug me
and a bed covered with his clothing and 
dirty socks and I'll throw them off the other side.
home is where I belong,
in spite of the black dog who never bothers
to say hello, and the clothes
and dirty dishes.
home is where I belong.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017


please give me a treat 
if I'm good, I'll be good, I'll
walk by your side, I'll do whatever
a dog can do.
please take me for a walk,
I like to pee on the bushes
and  mark where the deer have 
left their scat, I'll come
back whenever you have a treat 
in your hand.
I am a simple soul to love
with my wagging tail and 
liquid eyes, my furry body
and my affectionate for you.
love me, give me a treat,
I'll love you back.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

A new phase in life

she will make new friends, she says,
the woman in pink was a private pilot and 
flew all over with her husband, Hank, now 
gone on to his greater rewards.
Florence used to say that.
She's a spritely 90 and will show the way.
Alice in the flowered shirt says she never
did anything interesting but I don't believe her.
they both talk and hear well, 
lunch was delicious.
yes, here she's in her wheelchair but we
left it behind three hours later when she
moved from being Nurse Ratchett's charge
to Samantha who smiles alot.
she's on the move into a new phase,
I hope she finds happiness.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

what happened to my flute practice?

what happened to my 20 minutes
lost on plane rides and reruns, my flute
rests quietly in its case, waiting.
my lips are slack, my lungs lazy and flat,
there is no music.
precious twenty minutes, come back to me!
tomorrow, call to me before others are sleeping
one wall away, before dogs doze and stars
brighten the sky.
twenty minutes, you are but a small sliver
of one day, find me tomorrow or let my
sadness fill my evening!

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Velcro de-mate

in your dreams
did you ever ponder the uniform rows and columns
of Velcro loops and hooks, of how they mate
and hold your posters to the wall, or the two
sides of your shoes together?
the unsung heros,
the unnoticed,
the unsullied.
they have a life, you know, their own
trials of broken links, the debris of endless
mates and demates, the reason for which
your poster eventually falls from the wall.
we measure such things in the lab
in our white smocks, hairnets and booties.
we work for you, our countrymen, in the 
pursuit of pure understanding of your

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

old friends

we resumed where we left off,
he's gotten heavy over the years
but his smile is the same infectious one
I remember.
I remind him of the last time I saw him in
a cocaine alcoholic haze and why I looked for him
for so many years just to see if
he survived.
he says I still have the indescribable
we resumed where we left off
taking time to catch up on the last 35 years.
the important stuff and the less so
the stuff of every day, of the daily commute
and the reason why he's gotten so heavy.
there is no reason.
and there's no real reason why I hadn't seen
him in 35 years except that the years
passed by and no one called.

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

It takes two

it takes two
to mother a young woman like her.
yes, the one who makes brownies and arranges
flowers for the bedside stand,
the one who only wears Lululemon yoga pants in her garden,
the one who loves her more than anyone in the world,
the one who is always
home and never busy.
but the other,
the one who is busy, who launches satellites
and writes poetry, who swirls in capoeria,
whose own daughter and son study the data from
the space instruments she worked on,
yes, that one whose cookies taste good but
don't look that great, whose yard is a jungle,
who hires a neighbor to tend to the flowers
because she's too busy doing other stuff.

yes, that second mother is needed for this
young lady launching her own career, her
own marriage, her own life.
she needs brownies and career advice,
we'll be there for her.

Monday, August 7, 2017

Tax Turmoil

everyone cringes at the arrival of a letter
from the IRS, there can be no good news
and most likely, very bad.
what year, what deficiency, what fines
are all in our minds, the dutiful taxpayer
who makes honest mistakes,
small mistakes that pale with the uncollected
fees from the rich who juggle loopholes
with ease amidst the many hands of tax
accountants, lawyers and CPAs.
tomorrow the letters will be reopened,
the errors explored, the checkbook opened,
as if I had money to spare.

Sunday, August 6, 2017

alone in the field but not lonely

alone in the field
surrounded by sky and fields of grass
the clouds drift overhead and
birds are singing in the background,
the scent of flowers drifts 
my leaves breathe in deeply and when
the rainfalls, my roots are drenched 
in sweet water,
it is not so lonely here as I stand
alone in the this field
I have the sky, the sun, the birds
and all the Heavens to myself.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Kicking Ass

I have the instinct
honed from years of playing Jass,
no one knew Spades is the American form
of the Swiss National Card Game,
played on so many tables in so many dingy
apartments, in ramshackle houses, but always
with the requisite 36 cards.
I had forgotten that I often won.
I can kick ass in this card game,
saving my daughter from certain defeat
and leaving a grimace on the faces of
my male opponents.
Ah, victory is sweet
when you can get it.

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

I can trust her now

from here, she could kick me so fast 
I'd fall to the ground not knowing what hit me
she is powerful and only looking to be chillin'
I kept my distance
until she showed me that kicking wasn't her
goal, that she was nervous about showing herself
for the maculele,
she showed me her soft belly, her vulnerable side
she won't kick me
I can trust her now.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

10:18 p.m.

10:18 p.m.
and nothing has been done
having to do with me
it's all about her,
the flight reservation to see her
to hold her hand
to be with her
to listen to her
to watch her journey towards death
we don't speak of such things but
we must
we are all headed down this road
I might as well watch it to be prepared.

Monday, July 31, 2017

poisoned daggers cloaked in Rotary Club good works

poisoned daggers, aimed meticulously
at your heart from a safe distance of
Christian values and Rotary Club good works,
you know the ones, like your own father,
who delivered meals to the poor on Thanksgiving Day
and raped his daughter the night before,
the evil ones,
the ones who act pious and good,
while spitting poisoned daggers from side-mounted
You may know them as fathers and brothers
as I do,
or Senators spouting morality after boffing young boys
in public restrooms.
They are usually male.
They dance in each other's shadows,
seeking protection from the law and the light of goodness.
I know them, so do you.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

the taste of cigarette

long ago we laid in each other's arms
I remember he smoked and he would reach for 
a cigarette afterwards
I liked the sour taste of cigarette in his mouth
 it reminded me of another love who smoked,
a young man raising himself, working bowling alleys,
how he smoked while we drove around together
late at night.
I was raising myself.
my mother was so absent
he was there.
and so, somehow the taste of a cigarette in 
my lover's mouth meant safety
I never realized this until tonight, some 37
years later.
I don't need that anymore.

Friday, July 28, 2017

Two women and a dying man

two women and a dying man saved the day
by voting no.
the dying man staggered to the front of the chambers,
at the last moment, turning his thumb down.
it was the right thing to do, flying on government
dollars to make this vote, receiving the finest medical care
on the government dollar, in his dying days
he knew he couldn't die having voted yes
while having taken so much.
and what of the two women who had the balls
to stand up to all the white Republican men,
well, that's what strong women do.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Trash Talk and Devastation in Washington

Sure, they wear nice suits and crisp ties,
the older white men.
they talk trash, Trump and his goons,
fighting talk, firing talk, f*ing unacceptable talk.
Sanctions for Russia, skinny repeal, North Korea,
just talk big, very very big,
very very good.
Our President, never will I say President
and Trump in the same phrase.
Let them talk trash, I will bide my time
until 2018, only writing postcards for

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

The Rain

A woman runs by with her dog,
laughing and looking up to the sky,
water running down her face
her T-shirt dark wet with rain.
we're drinking wine, toasting to the skies,
the tomato plants dancing to raindrops,
thunder and sirens, do they not always
go together,
the dog cowers inside while we
laugh and young people shout and
chase through the streets.
It's rain
rain after endless days of dry heat.
it's rain
that cleanses all.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

it's so hot

water would boil on sidewalks
if there was moisture,
eggs would fry on roofs.
it's so hot that black dogs
pant while sleeping on the couch
with the fan spinning.
its so hot that we all drag
ourselves from work to home
to bed to work again
and we pray for the cool winds
of autumn.

Monday, July 24, 2017

saying good bye

saying good bye when things are broken,
but you still hope for a repair.
is it harder to say good bye to something broken
or intact, you'd think the latter
but humans are funny creatures
logic does not always apply.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

Big guns

I'm ready now
Japanese beetles beware.
Your life is about to be over.
With a quick load of salt, you'll be sprayed
with a high speed stream of salt,
tell me how good that feels on your guts.
I watch you get blown off my flowers,
some of you may still be alive
but I'll get you the next time where you will
join your brethren in a carpet of dead carcasses.
Yes, I'm ready now.
Are you.

Friday, July 21, 2017


I sweat
in rivers, glistening rivers down
my neck, the back of my shirt is drenched
in sweat, even my legs are moist, my feet
stick to the floor.
we all sweat, I see sweat running
down their backs, their faces,
the room is humid and dank
even those who don't sweat,
like me,
are sweating as we move
in this dance of capoeira.

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Street cleaning

the tow trucks were busy.
one after another, they lined up 
attaching chains to the cars still settled 
in for the night, their owners no doubt
in ignorant bliss, sipping their morning lattes.
this is the big city, boys,
where streets get cleaned and cars get towed,
where city coffers fill with fines and the slick fingers
of tow truck drivers thumb through bills,
easily gained first thing in the morning.
and me, I admire the streaks of clean streets
from my front porch.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

smile at the world

smile at the world
when trees fall on houses
when executives blanche
when all this is fixed
with a few dollars and a few words.
smile with freckles and dimples
that come with old age, 
smile with a gold tooth.
smile because you have friends
and your kids are getting married,
that you're employed and have a soft bed.
smile for all those who don't, in the hope
that one day they will.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong person

no one bothered to tell the tree
wrong place, wrong time and wrong person.
doesn't this tree know not to fall on houses
or that
there is no good time to fall on a house
and even more
this house belongs to the nicest person
who doesn't deserve a tree on his house
there is no karma on this one
no need for him to get a slap on the hindquarters
he only deserves sunshine in his cereal
and a cool breeze on his brow,
tree, you showed up at the wrong place,
the wrong time and the wrong
tis a pity.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Flying under the Moon

Flying under the Moon
all we hear is the rush of air
against the balloon, the whoosh of hot air rising
from the flames which seem so close as
to burn us.
all we see are trees swaying in the wind
below us
and the Moon falling away from us.
towards the horizon.
it's daytime but it could be night
except for the green of the leaves -
they would be silver in moonlight
and for the slight sheen of sweat
on your brow.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

Falling off my bike

the car was suddenly right in front of me.
I was almost as suddenly on the ground
rubbing blood  from my arm onto the cement.
my bike and me in a single pile.
not the best way to start the day.

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Napping at One

A nap at one p.m.
is a must for someone who is in need of sleep
- no matter why.
overworked or bored
underpaid or paid so much no work is needed
low on sugar or bloated from a heavy lunch
up too many times with a baby or a snoring husband
injured or well
napping at one p.m. is a delight
a must, on a weekend or weekday,
old or young, black or white, all genders,
sizes and colors, whether LGBT or Q or I
whatever letters,
napping at one p.m. is a delight.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

Candy for boys

men will be boyz.
chocolate, caramel, coconut and coca cola
will buy their hearts and
their hard work,
a high five in the lab, an extra hour of work
no complaining.
I'll eat the cherries and fruit,
the salads and a bite of chocolate
and keep working.
we're tired, 
we're high on sugar
we will prevail.

Monday, July 10, 2017

It's all a game

Life is a game
with winners and losers,
the lucky and the unlucky.
but this, tonight is a game
just for fun
with friends and music and singing,
where a Brazilian man holds a Mexican woman
by the waist, gently, as they dance together
in this game.
it's a beautiful game
this game of life
today she is the birthday girl
she's a winner in the game
of life. 

Sunday, July 9, 2017

Walking down the river

and a dirt path 
became a raging river, filled with hail
and rain, 
I put my sunhat over my rain hood
to keep from being beaten about the face
with icy pellets.
any attempts to keep dry feet were quickly aborted
and I hiked down the trail with haste,
yet cautiously,
hoping not
to slip on hidden rocks.
Woe to the hikers who had no rain gear,
they were huddled under spindly pine trees
I would have helped them if I could.
And to the mountain bikers who were
careening down hill a moment ahead of me,
they were caught in hail, wheels splashing
through the rivers that used to be trails.
How quickly things change 
from a sunny warm day to 
thunder, hail and torrential rain.
Let us be prepared.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

New Potatoes

Clusters of asteroids orbiting the Garden,
Three large orbited again by three small ones.
White New Potatoes, their white flesh pocked
with the debris of soil impaction and penetration.
They look alike, these potatoes and asteroids.
They need names, these potatoes, Euliptis,
Radisco and Proslabus, they will soon disappear
into eager mouths, buttery hot
leaving asteroids to orbit in lonely trajectories
in distant space. 

Wednesday, July 5, 2017

Bicycling under the Moon

bicycling under the moon 
on empty roads, silence surrounding
dark forests that threaten to swallow you
whole should the wheels veer off
the narrow shoulder.
Ride in the middle of the moonlit 
night, ride along the center line,
pull wheelies and careen from one side
to the other.
only the moon is watching your rims
spinning along this silent empty
road, rims reflecting her moonlight,


Friday, June 30, 2017

The path to mastery

that dedication to getting down on your hands 
your hair falling into your face
your feet grey with dirt
face sweaty
looking over at the athletic body a few yards away
mastery is swinging your left left around
without falling over
while keeping your torso high off the ground
and not falling over
this is the path to mastery,
the sweat, imbalance, and doing it again.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

storm coming in

the clouds rolled in and I and pulled off the road to watch
blue sky turned to roiling darkness, the wind coming up
my windshield speckled with raindrops.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Bagels for Bike to Work Day

I never stop at the breakfast stations for Bike to Work Day.
Why, since I just ate the most delicious breakfast.
Today I stopped at the new bagel place, Wood Grained Bagels.
I don't like bagels.
They are heavy and calorie-laden and gross,
but why were so many people lining up on weekends -
I had to know, I could take a tiny piece that would be offered
and be on my way.
He handed me a whole bagel, still warm,
honey-maple cream cheese,
I was hooked. I took another.
I ate them both.
I like these bagels,
they will be my downfall.


Tuesday, June 27, 2017

11:30 - 1:30 everyday

I look at his arms, more precisely
the definition of his muscles and how his arms
fill the sleeves of his shirt.
I found out that he's gone to the gym
every day from 11:30 - 1:30 even though
he's a highly paid vice president at my company.
I try not to stare or to make comments.
I used to hope he was single when I still was.
He's married.
I wonder if his wife likes his arms as much as I do.
I dont know if that's possible and I probably would never
have the chance to ask her, whoever she may be.
He's in my office every day to discuss the project I am leading
and I try not to look at his arms,
It's the hardest part of the job.

Monday, June 26, 2017


I passed her once and noticed the 
beauty of her hair swinging on every stride.
I passed her again, noticing her lithe legs,
her even rhythm, that she was engrossed 
in whatever her headphones were telling her.
She wouldn't notice that I kept appearing in
front and behind her.
I rode ahead and pulled out my camera,
head down, staring at the screen, waiting 
for her to pass so I could capture that
beautiful swing of her ponytail.  

Sunday, June 25, 2017

Hauling wood

they could be anywhere,
in Slovakia, Slovenia or Cincinnati
France, Frankfurt or Philadelphia.
China, Chile or Chernobyl.
two boys hauling wood in a wheelbarrow
for a family to cook their meal,
for a summer bonfire to roast marshmallows,
are they rich or poor, no one can tell,
boys all over the world wear the 
same clothes, first, second or third hand.
mixed race, curly hair like a black person,
the light color of a white person, the fine
features of an Italian, they are everyone
and no one.
just two boys hauling wood somewhere
to somewhere for something.

(this is a picture I shot of the two Copeland boys)

Friday, June 23, 2017

Dancing capoeria

Braids and pigtails fly through the air
and legs and arms, they're dancing,
diving, kicking and smiling.
this is capoeira.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

The beauty of a collarbone

her beautifully smooth skin,
fresh, her white teeth, her smile,
the faintest hint of fine peach fuzz
where the light graces her shoulders
and dances across her fine collarbones.
a summer frock, floral, blues and rose,
a delicate ring on her left hand,
the radiance of love.
Youth as it should be, full of promises,
of adventures not yet experienced,
roads not yet taken,
yet always knowing that there
is someone watching over her,
with some of the same freckles,
some of the same smile,
dimples made of the wrinkles
from many years of smiling
at her.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017


She was alone, almost hidden behind the tall grasses,
her red backpack bobbing with every stride.
It was that time of day when the world is suspended
between night and day, this longest day of the year.
Two young men heavily tattoo'ed told me that
they had just seen a bear cub moments ago.
But we only see sky and grass, clouds and
a distant house, the forest and hillsides 
in the distance and a woman, alone, wearing
her small red backpack, heading home.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Alone in the field

a tree alone in the field,
no wait, there are sunflowers close by
and a cloud drifting by,
the sun is standing behind and a
forest is whispering, birds are twittering
before settling into their nests.
we are never alone, the wind caresses
our cheek and the sounds of people,
cars and trucks, birds, dogs barking,
at least one constantly surrounding us.
we may find seek solace in the darkest cave,
but there will still be water dripping somewhere,
the flap of a bat's wings, or the rumble of
thunder will reverberate within.
never alone, we must find solace in 
while being surrounded in sound.

Monday, June 19, 2017

what if

what if
there are really no words worth speaking 
about this single leaf basking in the morning light.
I could imagine the whoosh of water in the stem
or the crackle of photosynthesis in each cell,
but no words
there's no human needed in these woods,
nothing is pruned, trees rise from brambles,
the grass is high.
heavily laden seedheads bow the stems
towards the ground.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

In Flight

The click of a camera lens and
This moment will never be forgotten, a 
Dragonfly in flight, double iridescent wings 
Lofting up and out of the garden.
I have watched children in flight out of 
The nest, perhaps a bit unstable at first
Then lofting to careers and loves,
To adulthood on tiny wings that have 
Grown stronger with every headwind.
The wings of the dragonfly look so fragile,
they are wings as strong as steel.
Our fragile wings can be as strong
As steel.

Friday, June 16, 2017

Photography school

I learned to look in the foreground,
to look for shadows and light.
I learned to see instead of just walking by
blind to beauty.
the teacher talks to me through the movement
of electrons and radio waves, through fibers
and ether, 
he talks to me from the other side of the world
where he takes photos of silhouettes at
an unknown beach, of unknown people speaking
languages I do not understand.
he is teaching me the language of seeing,
of touching, of appreciation of the
tufts of grass in the foreground,
the shadows that they cast.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

that tree that I see every day

that tree I see every day is all of a sudden interesting.
at the base, a large bulbous structure sprinkled with 
sprouts on bark resembling elephant skin.
Two trunks reach towards the sky from such
an unlikely base.
Bella and I have walked by a thousand times,
but I never really looked, I never felt, I never
bothered and so I wonder how many times
I have never really looked, felt nor bothered
to really notice.  

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Plan

I don't do PowerPoint slides.
I only plan experiments and write them on the board.
I photograph them on my iPhone and put them
in presentations. 
I don't do Visio either.
I meet with Vice Presidents, I don't do
mid-managers or those who should be.
I'm a snob, an impatient intellectual
who can't be bothered to explain when there 
is work to be done, and no one has any better
ideas, they hardly understand the problem except
that they have to give a daily briefing to
the customer behind some closed doors.
This experiment has never been done,
stupidly never done,
so typical of the bureaucratic system that 
denounces science experiments when in 
fact, science is what saves us all.
Science is the closest we can get to 
pure truth.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Chase the Ball

Chase the ball,
it's flying through the trees,
still visible, a lime green orb flitting
through branches and leaves.
Run, it will soon fall to the ground,
almost impossible to find.
Run, chase the ball that is rising in 
front of you, catch it before it
disappears, before it is lost.
Catch it with your bare hands, your teeth,
your tail wagging, your heart
beating, not knowing what to
do with it, with yourself
once you've caught the ball,
the stick, the job, the opportunity,
your life.
Life is too short to miss the ball.

Monday, June 12, 2017

The First 500 miles

I stopped on the way up the steep climb
to take this photo,
Five hundred miles of sunshine and sorrow,
of exertion followed by the fastest descents,
the wind rushing by so fast as to bring tears
to my eyes.
I've seen forest and plain, been alone and
in the company of many, wheel to wheel,
leading until breathless, then falling back.
Five hundred miles, so many more to go.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Waiting for Mail

When the mail truck rolls up,
they open their mouths hungrily,
gagging on circulars, bills and requests for donations.
they are thirsting for a handwritten postcard from Paris,
or a lengthy handwritten letter from someone they
to love is to write
to write is to love.
I found a lost fountain pen tonight
and will write someone I love in the morning
It may be you,
It could be you if you had a different 
address from your wife.
you know who you are.

Friday, June 9, 2017

My daughter and me


she sent me her picture and asked whether 
I thought she  looked like me.
I'd say so, when I was young like her,
so vibrant and fresh, both close to the water,
She sent me her dissertation and asked me 
if she were as smart as me, and I said,
yes, but smarter, so fresh and young,
your mind so quick.
She told me she was engaged now
and I said she was so far ahead of me.
she's be happy the first time around,
choosing a man with a generous spirit,
and handsome and smart on top of it!
she traveled for France and all I can say
is that I can speak French better than her,
I'm fine with that. 

Thursday, June 8, 2017


she closed the door.
this information is sensitive.
not secret, certainly not top secret,
but still, a need to know basis.

I noticed that she has aged,
that her neck, once smooth and taut
as that of a dolphin slipping through water.
I can tell I'm getting older, too.
I am just behind her.

We resumed our discussion and
I wondered at why this topic is sensitive,
until I realized there was a failure and
no one wants to talk about it.
I always want to learn,
failures are the way.

She looks damn good, though,
and I'm five years behind her.
I'll look good, too.

I'll be doing some work on this.
I know I should be promoted.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017


on a summer evening
the two friends stroll along the dirt path
between walls of tall grasses.
one, short and greying
the other, young and slender.
one marks a special spot on the trail
as the other waits her turn to follow suit,
and when the young one wants to play,
she tries not to scare the small one too much, 
taking care to bark at a little distance
and not show too many teeth.
she sometimes jumps on the little one
but the overexuberance is quickly forgotten
and they resume their stroll along the path
through tall summer grasses, only dimly
aware of the hum of voices behind

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Their Announcement - my wishes for you, my darling daughter

to capture this moment in memory
(unlike our trip to the San Juan Islands)
I remember you coming into the kitchen to tell me,
showing me the delicate ring gracing your left hand.
me hugging you, me crying and hugging and crying.
you brought a bottle of champagne
We poured some into the two flutes for you and Chris,
ones that had been
gifts for my own engagement to the man I love.
I wish you such happiness and more, of being 
loved and accepted for all that you are.
I see the love in your eyes, the smiles,
the affection, the going forth into the world
you told me of your travels together
along roads that were not really roads,
you will travel such roads 
hand in hand.

Monday, June 5, 2017


I never noticed the tall, spiked leaves of this plant,
Off to the right of the trail, underneath the giant steam pipes,
this monster weed
[note: weed is any plant that is undesirable per the viewer]
looked as if it could leap upon me and eat me whole.
I would never be seen again.
Good thing I noticed.

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Paper flowers

Paper flowers do not fade
nor does the ink on the card which 
contained them.
they do not need to be watered en route
nor do their petals fall to the ground.
they are neat,
well contained
and inexpensive.
I sent them to my mother for her birthday
she loved them,
for that, they are worth a million dollars.

Friday, June 2, 2017


so when he's not home to cook for me,
I manage.
plenty of antioxidants in wine,
fiber in popcorn,
minerals and water in watermelon.
I'm missing greens, I admit, but tomorrow
in the garden I will harvest turnip greens,
lettuce and kale.
It all averages out.
I'm getting fresh air and relaxation,
the neighbors stroll past the garden,
pausing to admire,
I love to watch them enjoy the 
fruits of hard work.
yes, a lovely evening indeed.
well fed,
nourished in beauty.

Thursday, June 1, 2017

we eat at our desks while working

we eat at our desks while working,
I can see what he has for lunch today.
he has a kid and a wife and a new job.
I like him, but we are not friends.
we would be
if our time
was not billed out in
by the Corporation.

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

to faint

to faint,
lose consciousness for long enough
to crumple to the ground,
a sprained finger, skinned elbow
and bruised knees.
I'm thankful for my head,
to faint
from what
I am not sure.
to faint from terrible news,
from trauma or surprise,
I'd faint any day for a happy reason
if there was a pillow on which to fall.
I could fall from despair into

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

Tucked between the pages

The credit card, never activated,
tucked in a book of poems, the sticker,
slightly faded, still attached
"To confirm you have received your card
American Express 1111 1234 567 abc
please call 1 800 233 1515"
The paper never read
"An Atlas of Solar Spectra between 1175 and 
1959 Angstroms Recorded on Skylab"
faded, tucked between some pages,
A picture of an ancient love
flame long extinguished,
children long gone
their cherubic innocence transformed to street hardness,
the world of business and science,
an old blanket
a missing sock
a forgotten letter
poetry waiting to be read
a garden to be weeded,
Tucked behind the mock orange bush, I spot between
fragrant arching branches
an orange toy truck, rusted,
once tucked between the pages of

Monday, May 29, 2017

still alive

I love the picture of my kids on the computer screen,
both smiling, leaning in towards each other, so beautiful.
Imagining, with horror,
how the expressions on their faces would change at the news of
what could have been today, was so close today,
to hear the news of their mother, me, killed by a driver who
needed to get down the canyon a little bit faster,
having to choose between hitting the cyclist or the Mini-Cooper
that appeared out of nowhere.
In his mind, less damage done in hitting the cyclist,
Six inches or less,
A narrow canyon road does not have room for a cyclist,
and two cars on a blind curve.
I'm still here, still alive and imagining the devastation
to the lives of those I love if six inches became none.
Six inches from almost certain death.
Too close.