Bluestone Review, 2009
Life is at the tree’s branches,
Swaying in the wind.
Wondering as a bird searching
For a landing ground.
Asking a small child in a
Clueless world.
Rising, falling, as the ships at sea.
As dark as a cave underground.
As hopeful as the beauty of sunrise.
As wonderful as hearts of pure gold.
Life.
Endless sorrow and joy.
A cycle of love.
I drink the tonic of your eyes
And the sweet, dreaming scent
Of your skin,
Like the scent of cool flowers
Like your arms around my shoulders.
Meeting you on the street at noon.
Your soft twilight voice
Follows me through the waiting hours.
The place is too small for you.
You, just waiting for your cue.
No opportunity,
No chance,
No room to just kick off your shoes and dance.
You feel claustrophobic, closed in,
So much to do and you don’t know where to begin.
People will judge you along the way;
They may hurt your pride, yes, they may.
Your dreams may take you very far,
But never be ashamed or disappointed of where you are.
Know in your heart you gave all you had.
Just put a smile on, and be glad.
You can’t win every fight,.
But you’ve got to try, try with all your might.
Keep your head high and never look back;
the ones that you love will help keep you on track.
Bluestone Review, 2009
it’s really simplebait the hook-throw the line
no judgement
no remorse
in the silence
speak to our personal god
turn inward-listen sometimes
seek what we already are
when the line breaks
there are no tears
only laughter as
joy brings us power
when we land a catch
the power becomes
all the more
amazingly obvious
as we lose ourselves
the find ourselves
in the glory of the day
you think we are only fishing
Bluestone Review, 1998
I saw him again today
You know the one I’m talking about
I see him every day
I see his knowing eyes glaring through me
He knows the things I have done
He knows the things I’m doing
He knows all the things I will do
I know every contour of his face as he knows mine
I turn to him for help; he doesn’t
I go to him to comfort me; he won’t
I reach out with trembling hand to him
All I feel is the cold lifeless surface of the
Mirror that separates us
The Bluestone Review, 2011
I once asked a friend to come with me.
Let me drive an hour into midnight
and let me forget what I was angry about.
Drive into curve after curve
and leave behind curse words.
I bought her a milkshake and acted
like I was the one doing her the favor.
And she let me.
Bluestone Review, 2009
Do I smell like a poem? Like flowers
or the scent of the sky and sea? What’s with me?
You who hold the pen, stare blindly at screens
in dark rooms, what do you know of pain and
hardship? I am a poem! Forget what makes me
tick. The measures, the accents you might
dance me through. I live a full-life in
lines of desperation and of love (or hate)
but when all is said and done, on this paper,
on that screen, in this magazine, I stand
proud I’ve made it here, made it one more day.
