Saturday, June 30, 2012


In the soft rain
and in the hard,
the brave trees,
especially the slender willows,
sweep their long arms
with the music of the wind,
wise enough
to bend with the rhythms
of the storm.
Other things, too proud
to bow, break and blow away
while these least servants
simply and gratefully allow
the shining world to lead.

Thursday, June 28, 2012


The Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads challenge this week is to write a poem that uses a Shakespearean quote as a line or title. I often think of this line from Julius Caesar when I hear someone rail against his or her "fate." I'm adapting the beginning of the line and ignoring the rest. That would be a very different poem!

Visit Imaginary Gardens to read other bardly work.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves...


The fault is not the stars
that line their nightly course,
ancient as the gods and unknown men
who named them.
We look to blame those
who hold only the wisdom
of distance. They speak to us:
patience. This, too, shall join
the list of long stillness.
This, too, shall fix its narrow bed
beneath our shining witness.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012


This is for The Poetry Jam's prompt, "Whoops!" The idea is to write a poem about something you experienced that you knew then or know now was a mistake.

Nineteen-Sixty Eight

seen in blinking strobe,
fringes and long hair,
the smell of grass,
a woman on a table
squeezing juice
from the orange of herself,
the taste of fear mingled
with the the taste of beer.
This is no checkmate;
eighteen is a hoax.
This hazy hell is real --
falling from a cliff,
danger booming
like a crashing
Jefferson plane.

Sunday, June 24, 2012



A poem has
no grammar
but the slow
of mind and word,
of lines that heave
and quicken,
stains on virgin paper.

Thursday, June 7, 2012



Of all the words
for death
the best is passing --
passing by
passing through
passing out.
"She passed," they say,
and I can see her driving:
her scarf, red lips,
and jaunty little wave;
or passing through,
she shrugs, apologizing,
squeezing through
the crowd along the way.
Or best of all,
I see her at a party,
weaving, woozy,
grinning ear-to-ear.
Calling for her designated driver,
She snaps her fingers,
"Come and take me home."