This motel room is neither here nor there I’m halfway And another day to go Thoughts occur half way And even though the pause is inevitable I half wish I’d driven all the way through I spent an hour in the dark Before the sun Wondering if I was enough The thoughts drove me up […]
A dog digging a hole is happy Sometimes they are digging to bury a bone Or investigate a noise Lost in the digging they avoid all thought other than I Am Digging But when they surface happily panting A little wild eyed Is when the reality arrives And they wonder if perhaps that great and […]
A grandfather builds a cubby for his grandson. A little house for dreaming, and for slowing down.
What if what’s up there isn’t heaven? What if hell is not below? What if both are not places but presences — things that live in the spaces all around us, shifting their nature according to our thoughts? What if we know nothing about death or dying? What if we don’t go anywhere — we’re […]
I sat alone utterly happy — because my passing thoughts are great company when I’m happy. And when I’m otherwise engaged, they’re the only company I can tolerate. — This isn’t a dark post — just a simple truth known to most writers. We are a thousand voices and memories, compressed into one fleeting, fragile […]
Love is the catch in your chest Sometimes painful It’s the emotion that runs fingertips through your flesh And grips It’s nothing you can control I feel it when I think of this earth sometimes — People disappearing down the plughole of the internet Resurfacing “elsewhere” Uncaring for this aliveness Out here I try to […]
DawnThe last star of the night stays up late to saygood morning to the brave, the weary, the inspired, The ones on fire The ones that riseNo matter whatEvery day She stays up lateJust to make sure they are okay Her early risers And just as humans wish on the first star of the eveningOur […]
The twig recalls the feet of the bird No matter how lightly grasped It bends then quivers As it is released Remembering Until it stills Gone The bird has flown
A poem about the artist returning to self after creating all day seen through the metaphor of the hawk.
“I asked a Billy button how it felt to fade—
It said, ‘I’m turning to seed,’
and me, newly a grandmother,
understood completely.”
