Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, December 29, 2014


In the days when I was your sun
In the time of shared imaginings
We watched white manatees
swim across a sea blue sky

In the days of endless summer
In the time of possibilities
We lay belly down
on the sun bleached pier
and watched bull frogs part the duckweed
singing their anthems of revolution

Your heart
was a crystal
transforming smiles into rainbows
and rainbows into reality

Your laughter
was both wind and windchime
My cause and
my effect
I breathed it like air
Aware of it only by its absence

When you are gone
Time ticks away
minutes, hours, days
Rainbows fade to gray
And the clouds
are just clouds.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations w/Margaret, Simply Beautiful

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Pink Washing

Or should I say, "Well-Komen"?!!
We at the Komen Foundation are so happy
to introduce Lake Komen,
the very first lake dedicated to breast cancer research!
Yes, it's even pink!
The Komen Foundation was able to purchase this lake
with generous contributions from folks like you!
And we vow to dedicate
a significant* percentage of tourism profits
back into breast cancer research and treatment

Come bath in the pinkness
and allow the wellness to seep into your body**
Drink our rosy elixir
and feel your health improve**
We even offer Lake Komen water in bottles
for you to take home for yourself
or to give as gifts

At Lake Komen we offer
you a choice-
group swims or individual bathing
(pink towel and swim cap included!)
Do something good for yourself,
good for the fight against breast cancer,
and good for the economy*** as well!
Visit Lake Komen today
At first blush, it's just a pink lake
but really, it's so much more!

*amount to be determined at a later date but not to exceed 0.04 of net profits
**statements have not been evaluated by the FDA
***our CEOs

submitted (albeit VERY late) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads , Transforming Friday, Nature's Wonders

Watch this 2 minute video and be enlightened!

Sunday, December 7, 2014


We linger at a crossroads
where snow buries the crocus
and the muddy rose struggles
to think of blooming
Thorny nights
of suicidal fervor
The owls bury their heads
under soft feathers
and hope for sleep
You are but a thread
in my fabric of worry
The birds keep quiet
when the sun finally shines.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash

Saturday, December 6, 2014

Phantom Pain

The Phantom was having a rough day
No one was taking him seriously-
An elderly woman with a small dog
was sitting his seat
and that bloated diva Carlotta
still couldn't sing worth a damn!

He thought he had made himself clear-
Threatened "a disaster beyond your imagination"
should his demands be ignored
Then he received the note

He, the Phantom,  was being charged:
"making serious threats of bodily harm,
and creating a hostile work environment"
This was unbelievably insulting
He was the one bullied
all those "monster" and "gargoyle" taunts
Now they were accusing him?

It must have been that twit, Christine
He should have known not to trust her
A beauty for sure 
but one crystal short of a full chandelier
He was only trying to encourage her
flatter her
and now, he's looking at a sexual harassment charge!

Homeland Security had been notified too
Seems that "You will curse the day you did not do 
all that the Phantom asked of you"
was perceived as a terrorist threat
Good God! 

No hope of coming above ground now
O.G. was a criminal suspect!
Oh well
the daylight hurt his eye anyway
He would wait until this blew over
He had his music
and his stash of Hustler magazines.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday, Mashup

Friday, December 5, 2014


When the inky black of night
Washes over the day's canvas
That is your time

Your blood red lips
Your alabaster skin
Your scent
Your raven hair
binds me
even as I stroke it

I bloom under your touch
With each soft unfolding
I become more of you
and less of myself

With the sun
you are gone
I sleepwalk
through the shell of the day
waiting for yellow/pink sky
to become indigo

Come the gloaming
We drink each other in
Again and again.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration, Queen of the Night

Monday, December 1, 2014

Immigrant Stories

He was a big man with
big hands
That was all Sarah could remember
about Papa
When they arrived at Ellis Island
he called her and Mama
"little greenhorns"
Sarah thought it was a term of endearment
She wore her bruises
like her daughter would one day wear
Girl Scout badges
She had a story for each:
The time she spilled her milk and broke the glass
The time she spoke Yiddish instead of English to Papa
The time she let the ice block melt
on her way home from the iceman
There were many more
Papa called Mama a fat cow
When Mama wouldn't stop crying
he hit her-hard
Sarah hid in the closet
hands over her ears
Mama lost the baby
Sarah didn't understand
but vowed to find it
Maybe then, Papa would smile
and Mama would stop crying
But Papa slapped her across the face
and Mama cried even harder
Every Friday night
Sarah says the berakah over the candles
The golden candlesticks,
the only possession they were able to bring to America,
remind her of Mama
Tarnished by the years yet
still strong,
still valuable.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Friday, November 14, 2014


Monarch in autumn
Orange black wings against brown
Life persists in death.

submitted for Mind, Love, Misery's Menagerie, Heeding Haiku w/HA, Drop Your Haiku Somewhere

origami butterfly w/haiku left on table at county bldg.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

American Dream

I ride bareback on a bald eagle
right through your door, or
if it's locked, your bedroom window
You're gonna love me!
I'm patriot porn--
Apple pie sweet
and fuck me heels
Cherry red mouth pledging allegiance
while I jiggle my blue starred tits
I'm white as fine grade cocaine
You know you're addicted
Glory, hallelujah!
You know you want me
I'm the American dream, cupcake
Just don't open your eyes.

a bit of cynicism submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 245
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bye Bye Miss American Pie

Sunday, November 9, 2014

The Seasons

The flowers bloom then go to seed
The leaves turn brown and fall from trees
So all of Nature's children heed
the calling of the Seasons.

The frogs and turtles go to sleep
The squirrels hide acorns buried deep
so all of Nature's children keep
the rhythm of the Seasons.

But humans are a stranger breed
We oddly seem to have a need
Refusing to give in, concede
the cycle of the Seasons.

So stubbornly we do believe
That loss of youth is cause to grieve
And though we try, we can't deceive
the passage of the Seasons.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Salvatore Quasimodo

Monday, November 3, 2014

October Is Gone

November Wind by Lisa Alisa
Like a train you just missed
October is gone
Only the roar in your ears remains
As November enters
you feel your own seasons change
Gold to brown
Red to rust
Leaves to dust
under your feet
You wrap your sweater tighter
try to fight the cold
but it's under your skin
Winter begins.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash 55

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Very Superstitious

Say a prayer beside your bed
Hope that you don't wake up dead

Throw the salt and knock on wood
so that all your luck is good

Spit three times and close the books
Make sure that you count the rooks

Leave the house the way you came
If you don't, then you're to blame

Charms ward off the evil eye
Keep one close and don't ask why

Mend your clothes and chew a thread
Cut a cross into your bread

Bird in house and hat on bed
Both bad signs, will lead to dread

Close the casket when you die
Fear to look death in the eye

Hang a horseshoe on your door
Don't let luck spill on the floor

If you think that it's a game
Burn in Hell's eternal flame

You must watch each step you take
I tell you this for your own sake.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday for which we are to write something spooky!

Friday, October 31, 2014

Sonnet For a Nightingale

I thought I heard the nightingale again
But it was only wind under the eave
I doubt that this cruel night will ever end
Should morning come, will it bring a reprieve?

You didn't leave a message, didn't phone
Your absence rings so loudly I can't hear
The night's the hardest time to be alone
But if I must, be kind and make that clear

If blinded to reality, deceit
may force a nightingale to sing all day
But hear the bitterness within the sweet
Its sorrow the false notes do not allay

You keep me in the dark with silent lies
I sing for you through tears and blinded eyes.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration, Nightingale

Saturday, October 25, 2014


You always called me
your little tsouris
I thought it was a term of endearment
Like a lost word,
[it comes] back unbidden *
with your memory

You said you knew
the dark spirits would follow me
because my name was uttered
in your eighth month
 You tried
to love me but
when you looked at me,
you saw the dybbuk
and recoiled

You accused me 
of trying to turn you into a ghost
when I named my doll after you
I didn't know
I was only ten

On your grave today
I placed a stone
I'm still trying, Mother.

* For Ella's prompt, we were instructed to include a line from a ghost poem. I chose "Unbidden" by Rae Armantrout

Poet's Notes: I've made mention of several Jewish words superstitions in this poem:
  • tsouris = heartbreak, worry
  • uttering baby's name during pregnancy will alert evil spirits
  • dybbuk = an evil spirit that possesses the living
  • naming a baby after someone still alive is akin to wishing them dead
  • instead of flowers, Jews place a stone when visiting a grave

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 242
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Play It Again, Toads #10, Hallows Edge


When I was a child
The line between doubt and belief
was permeable
a meandering current in a stream
between reality and imagination
How I loved to cross that portal,
to lift the veil of certainty
that disguises the world of possibility

We had a ritual:
Winter was best
as dark came early,
before we had to go home for dinner
Sit in a circle
with the board in the middle,
each of our hands resting ever so lightly
on the indicator

At first we thought it a trick
But we pinky swore it was not
The spirit was speaking
We were the conduit

Soon, the game became unnecessary;
We just held a pencil
and it spoke to us
in smoky, graphite

Over time
amorphous scribbles became
Scenes of destruction, fire, slaughter
emerged from our own hands
without our intent
Our feast of fun
became fear, force-fed

I made the decision
to sacrifice the board
and, along with it, the drawings
Sealed in a trash bag to be carried away
with the week's junk mail
and coffee grinds

Belief and doubt battle to this day
Childhood fantasy or
something wicked narrowly avoided
Belief usually wins out.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed for October
and It's Ma Thing

Monday, October 20, 2014

A Grain of Truth

photo by glitterdarkstar
You pour lies into my waiting cup
I drink them greedily
like an addict
They go down
smooth and warm
They feed
a lack

I know they devour
as they fill
Leave a bigger hole
in my soul

This is how I exist:
empty fullness
full emptiness
Craving more
You always oblige

I hate you
I want more.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, In Other Words

Wednesday, October 8, 2014


She wraps herself in sheets
stained with tears and sweat
She has been stripped
of something vital
that she can't quite name
It makes no sense-
She had wished it all away
but still,
there was an undeniable connectedness
She makes the sign of the cross
though she stopped believing long ago
She closes her eyes
feels between her legs
She bleeds
a broken poem.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday
and The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 181

Wednesday, October 1, 2014


photo by songs of light
October is a cruel month
She doles out sunlight
like a petulant child forced to share her candy
Too hot to bundle up
Too cool to strip down
October relishes discomfort
She paints flowers and leaves
the color of dirt
just to remind you
that nothing lives forever.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count With MZ, Personification

Saturday, September 27, 2014

For Allison In Portland

The misty morning rain and dove grey sky
Reminds me how the wet days make you smile
I swear I hear your laughter and I sigh
Imagining a bridge across the miles.

We'd put our boots on and go take a walk
We'd splash in all the puddles on our way
We'd joke and tease or maybe we'd just talk
A day I spend with you is the best day.

And even though I miss you constantly
I daydream in your room to feel you near
I know that Portland's where you need to be
So I would never try to keep you here.

So when you feel the rainy morning mist
Know that I am sending you a kiss.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 238

Sunday, September 21, 2014

There Is No Art To War

artwork by blue clementine art
There is no art to war
Art creates;
war destroys
Art understands;
war attacks
Art is honesty;
war is treachery
Art is tender;
war, indifferent

War is tactics
Strategy, scheming,
cold, efficient planning
Art is ardor
Energy, fire,
hot, chaotic humanity

There is no art to war
Allying the two
is a disgrace, a blasphemy
Art would sooner die
than be captured 
in service of war

It often does.

submitted (late) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Get Listed (September)

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Persephone's Invitation

Garnet by Dragon Of Lust on Deviant Art
When you are ready for me,
wear garnet
is not enough

Rubies are cloying,
cherry Koolaid red,
jellybean red
That kind of red
is for the timid

Call me with garnets,
with blood,
deep, warm things
not so sweet

Drape a string of seeds
around your neck
I will take you to dark places
where the moon fears to shine
I will bring you September;
you will wear its leaves upon your fingers

When you want me,
cloak yourself in autumn's satin
Whisper my name to the reddened, black sky
You will taste wine upon the breeze, and
Your heart will glow like a gemstone.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations With Margaret, Mineral Rainbow 
and Sunday Challenge, September Skies

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Put On Those Rose Colored Glasses


Hey, baby, don't be like that
When I told you there was no one else,
I wasn't really lying
You see,
I meant that there was no one else
worth mentioning,
No one else
worth getting you all upset about
And it's over anyway, so
let's just forget all about it, ok?
Aw, honey
don't be like that
You know you're my girl
and "I gotta work late"
sounds so much prettier than
"I'd rather pull out all my teeth with your tweezers
than watch "Dancing With the Stars" again!"
I mean, do you really want me to say,
"I'd rather be shot through the face with bullets than have you kiss me"? or
"Your meandering hands feel like spiders crawling all over my skin"?
Yeah, I say, "Plant one here, baby!" and I smile
even though it hurts
C'mon, sweetie
don't go changing the locks again
I bought you some roses 
Naw, I didn't buy her any
She doesn't even like roses, 
and yours cost me way more!
Let's just go to bed, huh?
I'll pretend your dismal thrusting gets me off
just like I always do
I'm done with her
It's all about you now, baby
Wild horses couldn't drag me away, just like the song
I love you, baby
You believe me, right?

Monday, September 8, 2014

Another Icarus

He always knew that he would die this way
From the moment he first felt the fire,
the warmth spreading over his body
that made all the pain go away,
he knew that he would never stop

He wasn't afraid of being burned
He flew higher
and higher
He wanted the sun for himself
if only once

And when he gave that final push,
he almost made it
But in the end
his wings turned to ash,
his body to dust
And the flame still burned.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag236 and
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Monday, September 1, 2014

Warrior Princess

image source
  She births stars from her fingertips
Dances with fire
Wraps herself in comet tails
Spinning the flames
As graceful and dangerous
as a tigress
Wild as summer jasmine
She dances with fire
to moonlit music.
image source

Note: This poem was inspired by watching a performance of Weapons of Mass Distraction, the fire spinning group (all students!) at Reed College in Portland, OR where my daughter is now a freshman. After one of the women's performances, a woman sitting next to me shouted, "Look at that, you bimbo cheerleaders! These women are WARRIOR PRINCESSES!"

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Friday, August 22, 2014


pressed between book  pages
On the flowers, fragile and faded,
I can still smell the scent of long-ago perfume
The petals fall, papery snowflakes
melting like promises

Written for the previous week's Sunday Mini Challenge, Triquain at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Heaven's Ghetto

Keith Haring
Love can be dangerous
Cross the wrong street-
love can be deadly
Doesn't matter how we die
Disease, murder, brainwashing, hopelessness
We all end up in the same pile of bodies
Buried by gloved hands and masked faces
Heads shaking 
Thinking "not me"
until it is

Hatred is a virus
as much as HIV
It spreads by fear
Grows stronger through ignorance
And the cure still seems miles
We die for love
Destined for Heaven's ghetto.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Mag 232

Saturday, August 9, 2014


There are closets in my skeleton
Gaping spaces between bones
Inaccessible places

Waiting for me to press "play"
or not

My ribs are not your tie rack
They sit too close
to my heart.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real ToadsArtistic Interpretations w/Margaret,Skeleton Poetry

Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Children of Decay

Overnight they emerge
Ghostly grey presence
belying the morning shine
Flat headed phantoms
balanced on thin, stringy stems
Children of decay
birthed of death
No fairy picnics under these
skeletal umbrellas
Prodders of rot
Auguries of degeneration
spreading earthy perfume
among the sweet flowers
They stand
ashen tombstones
marking time
Reminders of mortality
always reminding.

submitted (late again) for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Flash Fiction 55

Dog, you, me, dog

Lined up 
on the bed
Pressed together
A living panini
on a sheeted plate
Our essences mingle
wrapped in heat
wrapped in sheets
Warm, gooey, cozy treat
Sandwich perfection

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

There Is Beauty In Small Things

There is beauty in small things
if we would stop to see
Pause upon a snowflake
with its fragile symmetry

Cherishing the commonplace
bestows it with sublime
There is beauty in small things
if we would take the time.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Words Count with MZ

Monday, July 21, 2014

On the Brink Of

We were ten or eleven
Still just kids but
almost not
Young enough to play on the playground
Old enough to notice
(not quite hidden in the woods)
girls stealing smokes
and making out with boys

We were at that awkward stage
One minute playing with Barbies
the next, examining our silhouettes,
waiting for them to look like Barbie's
It was a time of imagined possibilities
and dreams smashed in linoleum school hallways

On the brink of we didn't know what
Our lips kissed only by Bonne Belle strawberry
we practiced by kissing ourselves in the mirror
I suggested (jokingly)
(Why was my heart beating so madly?)
that maybe we should practice on each other
"Gross!" you said, and I
didn't miss a beat, "Yeah, I know, right?"
and that was that.

The next year you had a boyfriend
and we lost touch
But I still remember those on the brink days
and your freckled nose.

 submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Sunday, July 20, 2014

This Poem Is Red Lipstick, Schrodinger's Cat, and Dandelion Fluff

This poem is red lipstick.
This poem is Schrodinger's cat.
This poem is dandelion fluff.

Crimson lipped attention-grabber
Painted patterer
Beautiful emptiness
Nothing to say but
oh so lovely
This poem is red lipstick.

Perhaps it's here
Perhaps it's not
Maybe it lives
Maybe it dies
Study it; it changes
This poem is a metaphor
This poem is Schrodinger's cat.

Breathe and it's gone
Its seeds planted everywhere
or nowhere
Catch it on the wind
or blow it away
This poem is dandelion fluff.

This poem is red lipstick.
This poem is Schrodinger's cat.
This poem is dandelion fluff.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Hannah's Sunday Mini-Challenge, Boomerang Metaphor Poems

Monday, July 14, 2014


Behold the stairs which felt our tread
Carpet frayed and thinning
Threadbare stairs which we walked down each day
and up each night, the very way
Stairs on which our footfalls fell
Our secrets they would never tell
These stairs have seen us through our pasts
The only evidence that lasts
When voices still, when bodies' lust
of flesh and bone has turned to dust
Though wood is worn  and cloth unspun
These stairs are here and we are gone.

submitted for Magpie Tales, Number 228
and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Never Forget

It never really goes away, does it?
Some mornings I wake up and forget
for a little while
But sooner or later
the skipped heartbeat comes
and with it, the realization
that nothing has changed.

Constant companion
never invited but
arrived with suitcases nonetheless
establishing squatter's rights in the bloodstream.

We lie down at night;
it is the space between us.
We hold hands in the sunlight;
it is the shadow overhead.
We float in the ocean;
it is the undertow that pulls us out to sea.

We are never alone now
It is with us always,
lurking like a lie,
waiting to come crashing down

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Mini Challenge, Claribel Alegria

Monday, July 7, 2014

A Woman Must Always Look Twice

A woman must always look twice
She must look first at what she sees
Then she must look deeper
She must read between the lines
on each face
She must look for subtext,
for subtleties
She must be alert
to the riptide
below the water's surface
or risk being carried out to sea,

Yes, a woman must always look twice
She must look first at the smile
Then study the teeth
She must suss out
the impulse to rip her apart
She must know when she meets a wolf.

A woman must always look twice
She must first look ahead,
know where she is going
not get diverted by mazes or tricks
And she must look behind
She must be aware
of those trying to overtake her,
to run her over
or leave her naked and bleeding in the street.

A woman must always look twice
Even at another woman
She must protect what is hers
from her sisters,
her friends
who are themselves looking twice.

A woman must always look twice
when she looks in the mirror
Does she look pretty?
Does she look too pretty?
She must look at herself
Then she must look as another would look at her
She must assess the message in her clothes
in her hair, her make-up
Do her hips sway?
Do they sway like a woman's should
or like a whore's?
A woman must always look twice
at her body.

A woman must always look twice
A woman must always look twice.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday

Sunday, July 6, 2014

The Lighthouse

photo by Margaret Bednar
The lighthouse keeper
climbs the stairs for the last time
Each step creaks-
bone and stair-
to the top and down again
The light
blinks its shine in the night sky
over a black and silent sea
"I am here"
"I am here"
it calls out to the emptiness
like the last firefly of summer.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations, Life On an Island and
Flash Fiction 55

Friday, July 4, 2014

In Praise of the Older Body

photo from The Body Is Not An Apology
Let us raise our voices
in praise of the older body
The body who has survived
insult, illness, and the indignities of the years

to the fragile thin skin
with its lines like poetry
written on its surface

to the drooping boobs
hanging like water balloons waiting
for some mischief

to the no longer taut torsos,
hard and thin as wooden planks in their youth
Now soft, delicate dumplings,
yielding, giving pillows

Sing adorations
to the stretch marks
and the scars,
warriors' wounds,
earned and cherished

to silvery hair,
a glittering crown
atop the head of a queen,
full of knowledge and memories and wisdom

Glory be
to age spots,
the kisses of time,
to crows' feet and laugh lines,
birthed by so many smiles

to the body 
who is a work of art,
a work of life lived,
of love given and received

Let us raise our voices
as we raise our arms,
be they fat as Vienna sausages
or skinny as chicken wings,
in triumph 
and in praise 
of the older body.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Whale Hips

Whales have hipbones
though they no longer walk on land
The remnant of a past life
well beyond its usefulness

Perhaps this is analogous
to the love I still feel for you
and the hurt 
I haven't seen you
or talked to you
in decades

The past
imprints itself on the present
Vestigial feelings
Meaningless and wasted
Saved like an old sweater that no longer fits
but was once was so soft and warm
that you just can't give it up.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Obscuring the Truth With Facts, Out of Standard

Sunday, June 29, 2014


Street Art by Saki and Bitches, London East End  (photo by lolamouse)
I saw you walkin' down the street
Can't get you off my mind
Your brown skin glistened in the heat
Ripe peach from the behind
You flirt, you flaunt with your tight dress
Your hair is waves of blue
You leave me shakin' and a mess
Don't know what I'mma do
Girl, you know you're fresh and brash
And you make my mind whirl
Some folks be sayin' you're just trash
But you're my avant-girl.

Saturday, June 28, 2014


Anything for you, baby
You know that, don't ya?
If you want my attention, I'll drop whatever I'm doing
and give you anything you want
You know I'm a sit on the couch and watch SVU kinda girl
but if you want to go out,
I'm up and out the door - just let me put on my shoes, honey
You can take the covers, take the pillows - both of them
I just wanna sleep next to you
You can snore in my ear
and it's better than any Beethoven symphony
If you're feeling affectionate
I'll cuddle with you despite my hot flashes
and your tendency to smell like rancid Fritos
I'll accept your sloppy kisses
like they're gold coins pouring out of a slot machine
You know that I see you kiss other girls
and other boys
It's alright, baby
I know I'm your number one
You'll always be mine too
Anything for you.

Baby Mouse and Soni the Poodle

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Kerry Says - Let's Have a Conversation

One of my favorite Doggy poems by one of my favorite poets, Andrea Gibson

Saturday, June 14, 2014


You sneak up behind me
A cat after prey
Soft and silent
as night swallows day
You sedate with your purr
Rub your body on mine
Make me believe
You're a creature benign
Crystal green eyes
Reflect my desire
Give nothing away
of what will transpire
I reach out to touch
Pull back bloody and scratched
You walk away
Smug and detached.

Submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, FB Friday, The Art of Guido Vedovato

Here is the link to the painting that inspired the poem

Thursday, June 12, 2014


Meshes of the Afternoon by Maya Deren
The bread is stale
The flowers are dead
I look in the mirror and see
my mother

The roses are red
So is the blood
The mirror is cracked
The pill is swallowed

The flowers are lovely
The bread is round
The people are celebrating
The door is open

There is no bread
The flowers are pressed
The knife is at the wrist
The baby cries
The baby cries
The baby cries
The dirt is on the grave
The mirrors are covered
Where is the key?
Swallowed  by grandmother

The stairs are endless
The phone is silent
The music has stopped
I stare at the key

The bread is stale
The flowers are dead
I look in the mirror and see
my mother.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

Reflections on My Daughter Graduating

She sat among them-the mothers she had known for years. She had seen them at school events, awards ceremonies, field trips, parties since her daughter had started school, over twelve years ago now.  She glanced over their faces, as familiar to her as her own, and smiled as she thought, “Damn, I hate these bitches.”