June 30, 2018

Perhaps it’s our cats
but I hear somebody sobbing
I swear
The sun hasn’t risen to rinse things
& I lock the door.
I’m steadily still intent on
Instilling something graceful
On all my faces
I’ll force & offer up
Some strong move
Something Nureyev




for Pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber


You can’t write the clear biography
of the aches and pains inside your skull”

~ Harrison from Skull /  Songs of Unreason




Stoicism is a prison

Though I break out

Though I break down

Through the pull of a merciful act

Then I’m old and too weak to hold back

I can imagine a troubled

Panicked angel tangled double;

One cat caught in a grate

A girl unfair in a wheelchair

Nears and dares her balance, her endurance, her tolerance

Strains all of her weight

Shows the pain that she’s used to on her face

Then relief, and they’re both free

She and the cat both refuse to

Cry more,

Like those that might see




.                   i)

M  U  C  H

often it’s uncertain   to see,

to see the true things through,

but certainly sometime’s there’s time

when surely much of what’s new

when noticed might matter

to you or rather

to  me


.                    ii)


D  U  E

I fear I forget that the frail,

nearly unable, but

when a whisper of   Will…

when they muster an incalculable

measure of  reach

to straighten, and lean up

for what’s due.

That’s alot to wait for


The Freshest thing in the clearing

by the pond’s sunk boat,

near a nest,  There’s this ringing

drop, possibly  just now  dotting

one leaf,  left  just new

by all the dew

That’s what I wait for






(from 9 years back)


February 13, 2017



Here’s   far from hardly   a chink in his ardor

His duplicitness

Is  super  obvious

To himself  most of all

A double agent  deepbreathing quiet

So dominoes don’t fall.


Here’s   far from hardly   a mark on his honor

His cowardice

He can cover  less & less

From  himself  least of all

Bravery he saves  to muster love enough

To face away  nothing ,  to  praise   all..






(6 yrs back)



Sure,  I’m  shopworn,

Tattered (as if it mattered)

And torn.

Surely, torn;

I don’t decide if I’m just too tired  or

I won’t give any/ to the torture

I won’t give up/

On/To  torture.

It’s nearly the nerve pills,

And endless,useless stolen coffee sleeplessnesses

Or I’ve faced my fill.





.                                          (from 5 yrs back, & here after 3am)


December 29, 2015

If you’re about bottomed out,

How may you make & design

That   O.K.  sign?

Y’know, the one where you go

Finger & thumb, real dumb, like an O,

If the three remaining members lift

Like three tea sipping members of royalty, as if

Three members’d consider an invite

Out to a bottomed out..not a bit elite…

Stride  away  of  O.K.


November 20, 2015



The taste of the spray,

Back splayed against the lighthouse wall,

Is saltier/ The roar of  final nights

Saddled on sea wall gusts

Is Fiercer/ When strength one requires

To withstand and understand  such threats

Is steadier/ The beacon’s cliff path

Is grounds for  light/






(from 2011)


Closed Parties

August 25, 2015

He goes to closed parties.

He knows no one.  No one knows.

There his thoughts wear way too many clothes.


His  anger  is  lock-boxed.

He’s a danger only to his own clocks.



His constant, sustaining strength

To strain out  stenches


May  his consequences  fall, then (when they may)

May his  changes  happen.


My Lot

June 16, 2014





Right away I’ve forgiven
Right What I’ve been given.
I might say I’ll take it
What I might now have.

I’ve taken my lot, my vacant lot.
I’ll water down the ardent growths

That break through spots, my weakest spots.
I’ll wander down the advent of loss, still.
I’ll instill my  wander  with intent.




.                                                 (from 2009)


May 19, 2014




I and It may not be monstertruck obvious

But like a catspurr can spur you through a thunderstorm

Or a night, Or origami maybe might

Amaze you in new ways for focus, and sight–


A single signalling;

A child of eleven

On a church swing

Offers  “You’re funny”,

I’ll take it  as honey

On manna from heaven.


The world’s love’s not worth leaving, all in all.

Mine’s a frontline free for all an’

It’s  Mercy  itself  inside all this breathing.

An air strike has been called in

And tear gas’  got me weeping.


Same as a mammoth

Dropping to his knees

(I’ve seen it from my cave),

Or,  a sweet whale sweating and letting go

Off the side of his seas,

Too far off from saving wave,

Or, one wheelchair child really feeling

Enough in him, not his flesh,

To reach  especially  hard

To a high gardenia.