Category Archives: Poems

I Yes, they miss their mates. Yet, do they mourn as we mourn? Is it merely aloneness or is it the deep, hole in the soul, cracked heart mourning that feels as though sun will never rise, wound will will … Continue reading →

It is a good quilt. Though Worn and patched, faded where the wear has rubbed closest to us through long winter sleeps. Children have stolen it to tent in the back yard, cat and dog have curled on it in … Continue reading →

A strange, archaic custom in our culture: dig a hole; put a body in a box; put a box in a hole; cover a hole with dirt: act as though the body is Him or Her in a box, in … Continue reading →

My Fathers shoe lace came untied while we walked one rainy night. His shoe flopped, he squeezed his toes, but he never said a word. When I saw, I thought, He can’t bend down! “Dad? Want me to tie your … Continue reading →

There was a time when I would aim directly at the squirrl who dared to cross the road as I drove by, for I had become the cat that kills canarys because he can. Then there was a time when … Continue reading →

I wish I am a fish, silver knife blade sliver shimmering the waves, catching moon light glints in split second lazor rainbows. Mouth fulls of minnows, relishing the wild feeding frenzy. Fear and savagery darting on white foam crests. Not … Continue reading →

I wish I am a fish as I walk on the beach, sandles plopping on the soft damp sand. A fish, praying to an Icthusian God, scaled, no doubt, a kosher gefilte fish God who created the sea and all … Continue reading →

I wish I am a fish as I walk the beach, sandals plopping on soft, damp sand. A fish, swimming just beyond the crests, looking out for pelicans, terns, gulls, for bigger fish with bigger teeth. A fish, conscious of … Continue reading →

It doesn’t pay to be to smart if you’re a chicken. For what you’d learn would break your heart, if you’re a chicken. That painful push to lay that egg to have it fried for breakfast. The gentle brooding of … Continue reading →

It’s a good thing she’s got work to do. The work she does is her hearts glue. When she feels her heart about to break, all she does is start to rake. When she knows It’s going to shatter, just … Continue reading →