Category Archives: Poems

You walked by withholding hands with a friend, you stored a gun on your belt.
I heard you giggle gleefully and you played in a pile of newly minted maple leaves.
They spelled out the word LOVE and were terminated with a heart.

The picture I snapped was wavy and filled with stones.

Blue bonnets and eggs bore baby birds in the morning.
Protein was be delivered by the beakful as the eggplants were tended to.
One evening a strident summer gale swept the woven home to the floor.

We three saw the falcon, and I knew it came for the babe, and then we grilled local steaks.

A sylvan being spirited by Venus light brights
and a growl from shrunken black pumas
gave subtle pops from creamy knees that jumped like lightning across the room.

I learned a lesson on life that time.

The scars of the mosiquitos were tiny dancers or my sweat soaked skin
I thought that I would scratch them, to subdue them to take a bow
But it was best to appreciate all of their leprechaun frappés et chassés.

I really wish that you had not come home so early that day – I had on a green shirt.

Seawater was sewn with the hair of a bruised dog
and I believed it to be that items would be presented
as earthen figures and not pieces of shaken trees stumps.

Only when I sleep can I ever see a mile.

It is not a pleasant plan to work for the sky.
Just swim in the streams of scratching grass
And taste the worms that are creating the lossless, the soil.

This is what I imagined from Jesusfish swimming in a well lit jungle.

Sitting cross legged on a mildew scented couch left in an abandoned bookstore
I felt inactive home and heard dulcet tones ring softly.
In the corner broken porcelain protected the leaked rain drops from a ravenous fiend.

But there was no saving the sexy novels, nor the encyclopedia volumes A through Li, from a slow removal.

We earned a concerted day channeling the sand from a quagmire’s feet.
Youthful brown fishlings found their way to the sea, their deaths.
We spent an effort to have them spirited away by the waves and protection.

I have not seen any of us in years, since I swam in the ocean.

You recolored me pink, you redyed me purple
and I could smell the remains of a box of chablis
when you hugged me with apologetic chimes.

Perhaps I should have told you that I wanted a bed,
one that did not bleed my stomach as I dreamed.

Then the bear came.
He took the chick.
He said ‘eaWdh.’