Category Archives: Poetry

To me and maybe most of us a house is often made a metaphor of mind. No matter it’s in Monterey or Taos or Tulsa, Flint or Madison – behind the doors, beneath the roof, there may be mess or … Continue reading →

The air this morning sparkles now the storm has passed, that left a wake of weather here as clean as cloud, as still as fog, as warm as western dusk. Another racing year surrounds a life today and starts a … Continue reading →

I lately get the luxury of black and white instead of teasing tones in gray. I’ve too much on my plate – I see a stack of jobs, but there’s a path as clear as day: I have to move … Continue reading →

For what is it assumed when I stay home I do not work, who’s known for working hard? And why when I report I wrote a poem, do many dread the jingle of a card? How came the custom to … Continue reading →

My path of least resistance is of late a freeway to romantic fantasy. Imagining the way we’ll punctuate this talk is irresistible to me. Continuing our dialogue in mind the while I walk or work or rest or rush, I … Continue reading →

I start to learn the length and breadth of you, and every day I like a little more the message in your deep caress, and through your stroke a stretch I haven’t known before. You hold my neck with fingers … Continue reading →

Self-medication is the course for me to lever out of this reverse plateau of dismal mood, abysmal density, of slogging in an attitude so low or lonely I don’t even know what’s worse: a dearth of all excitement, silent, skewed; … Continue reading →

With purple mint the gardener conversed, while students had an Easter break from school. He dug a hole on March the 31st and called himself an aging April fool. He stuck bromeliads in rotting wood and traced the snaking irrigation … Continue reading →

We talk to babies with a curling tongue and rounded lips; we teach them fairy tales, corral them in a chorus when they’re young and try for something every parent fails to get: the power to control their taste. Asserting … Continue reading →

I lost my voice. I left it on the plane last week or in a hotel meeting room three levels underground. The weekend rain orated hail on windows, thunder’s boom — while I resolved to silence stayed within. I wrapped … Continue reading →