Category Archives: Poems

The heart keeps going when the brain has died… Love has her own logic Heart has her own brain How argue one superior one inferior when then best is of both worlds?

we talked, easy, those first nights fitting keys to locks finding we were once twins, lovers one time perhaps the time after that. No paved paths, no footprints where we strolled before, rather impressions in time. but, when one key … Continue reading →

on silent street strolls my soul’s volume control explodes! glorious rackets, doves whistling flutter tabby cat tip toes startle my heart. Joy pirouettes in me surprise slides cross sidewalks arms stretching, hands reaching while two old hand holders sighing on … Continue reading →

In January, many. In June, a few. In December, two. On Valentine’s, There was, at last, Just you!!!

If reading your words on paper wore off the ink like sitting on shingles while I’m roofing wears holes in my pants, the way my big toe wears a hole in my sock the way I walk wears away the … Continue reading →

What we feel comes long before what we understand. Turmoil in our loins comes early as hints, whispers, faints into the physical long before the forays into reality. A doctors therapy for sores beneath my foreskin sent me, at twelve, … Continue reading →

Got my first and only Sex… Lecture from my mother. I was six. {Two dogs on the street. I didn’t understand} “Mom…?” “What? -oh- that. Grown-ups do it too.” {that was one hell of a shock!} Then, “Well, don’t worry.” … Continue reading →

The meat lay flat and limpid on the kitchen counter top as we talked about which receipt, unscrewed the cork until it popped. Then I used the wooden hammer, beat the meat ’till it was tender while you heated up … Continue reading →

Last night, late, well, early morning, something happened that I hate. My lady got cold feet. Icy toes heels froze… And my legs are warm under the quilt. So, of course, {Opposites attracting opposites she knows the best spots} From … Continue reading →

I If a man’s not a Pope before white smoke pours though St. Peters chimney, then no matter the number of Cardinals proclaiming, he is not. But the man who is marked by God’s finger may crawl through all the … Continue reading →