Sunday, March 19, 2017

The Gift of the Artist

The struggle to balance

passion and discipline,

the sacrifices to the gods

who exact muchness,

yet bestow a fragile fame,

terrestrial, transient,

a step toward  disillusion,

through the looking glass

of smoke, haze, a few too many,

half a breath frosting

a fingertip in eternity.

Thursday, February 16, 2017


The wind sliced through my coat,

loneliness rooted.

I travel to escape;

the city beats,

the traffic thrums,

the rhythmic accents,

jangle with the non-sense

non-sentences in my head. 

The gusts brisk by the bundled bodies,

the cobblestones whistle an empty tune,

the grit of solitude in my pocket,

I am mute, nameless,



Sunday, January 29, 2017


A nest balances on the criss-crosses

of the blackened barren branches,

etched high above the hoary grass.

Tiny shards of brittle shell buried deep,

once the nursery of three beating hearts.

Mouths tilted skyward, a cheeping chorus,

two grew strong, a smaller one crowded,

weakened, breathless.

The chicks stretched, shifted,

the mother carried worms to the pair 

as she had always done.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

Crossing Afton

The mountain wears a cape of fog,

pulled tight across its shoulders;

its features obscured, its curves hidden,

tectonic plates collided, formed its folds.

The thick clouds hang, tears streak

like the mists of Hades.

My eyes hooded by the haze, 

I press the brakes to navigate

as the outline of my car recedes,

awed and frightened 

by nature's powerful hands.

Friday, December 16, 2016

This Cold NIght

Into this cold night, the dogs plunge,

barking an alarm, facing the intruder.

Balanced on hind legs and a prehensile

tail, a portly trunk supports a smallish head

with tiny ebony eyes and a pointy pink snout.

Its open jaw bares fifty needlelike teeth

and it hisses with such force its whiskers vibrate,

yet its body remains a piece of garden statuary.

The hounds bay and circle; unable to dislodge

the unwanted, they retreat to the warmness

of the house and eventually they quiet.

Later, as a baby rabbit mewls, the possum

draws up the corners of its mouth, pleased

with the savory treat, on this cold night.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016


The scent of char'd wood,

warmth by the fire, side by side,

faces framed in embers.

Friday, September 30, 2016

The woman in the moon

I missed the fullness of the moon

the other night,

Parvati's lucent eyes,

her dimpled cheeks,

her lopsided grin.

I dismissed the recent summer

into fall, not a smile or a laugh

for a quarter year, waiting,

bookended by the dogs,

attending to the lazy march

of the hands and the elongated stillness

between the ticks and the tocks.

In Parvati's waning shadow,

I forgot how to press ink

onto the page, how to stain

it with words, how to imprint

a dream.