Posts for June 29, 2022



If you’re a woman,
no one tells you
how wind will stroke your scalp
when you shave your head.

No one whispers to you
how water welcomes your skin
when you dive into its body
with a shaved head.

Some will say
you’ve bolted,
grown bitter,
will judge you or
assume illness.

A stylist might try to dissuade you,
try to talk you into highlights, extensions.
She won’t volunteer 
that you should 
say yessss 
when the barber asks
if you want him to use a straight razor
on your neck.

Trust me. Trust his steady hand.
There might be the sting of after shave,
but you will carry notes
of citrus and lavender with you the rest of your day.



sun sinks down 
border of metal to sky
dance, dance, dance
the rhythm between
you and i

loveless lover
lingers here tonight
trying to make it better
leaving me out to dry
singing songs of happy ending
the barriers growing wide

thunder creeps in
laced with poison and lies
run, run, run
the beat of my heart
goes on by


Auntie Mame and Ferlinghetti

A large woman in a red suit ~ face veiled behind a black lace mantilla raises her hand like a fan
Crushed blue velvet neck scarfs wrap around her throat arc upon arc
Her palms come together overhead in a quite pronounced clap
Fingers undulate like a huge HAPPY clam proudly flaunting its’ pearl

This international blue-eyed crowd tries to pretend she’s not a first row cultured pearl
Her presence too expressive they fold eyes down pretending not to see her
Rosary beads adorn her large breasts and fall intrusively into her hard to avoid cleavage
Brush strokes of a watery teal blue hue shimmer over her mantilla creating an azure halo
Hallowed glimpses of crone braids peek through as if blessed by the hand of her Mama’s touch

This is a historic poetry party in the basement of the San Francisco library
Ferlinghetti recites What is Poetry? from his Collection Poetry As Insurgent Art

Auntie Mame wears an aire of privilege as she sits in Ferlinghetti’s first row aura
It’s as if she is playing the role of his shill and he likes it that way
I wish she knew I’m pretending she’s my Auntie
I wish I could run up to her tell her how much I love her outfit 

I notice as she walks away the room feels empty 

Poetry is the truth that reveals all lies, the face without mascara
Ferlinghetti’s words resound as Auntie Mame takes her costumed comfort with her
Missing her I hang onto the words spoken by our Poet Laureate
I try to catch the lightning like fireflies in a jar filled with holes holy holes

It’s summer in San Francisco
It’s foggy hard to see flying fireflies . . .

Come back Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Auntie Mame come back . . .
Like a breast, a poem is more beautiful if it is veiled in mystery  

Renowned poet and charming costumed lady your dual presences hum
like moths as they circle the light



I rearrange the furniture in these rooms
Making space for your time, your words
The still air stirs with butterflies
And dusty corners see a sliver.
Yet in moments of quiet, there is
Doubt in shadows.



you can’t leave
like you think
before me
we fully know
that there’s a chance
that you’re going to

we’ve got so many places
to go and there’s not much
time between
fixing the car
mending the leaking
basement and 
whatever thing
that has water 
running through

we got to keep
make sure 
we get all those
in every single state
that we deserve


Procrastination Takes Action, a Villanelle

Ideas come through as dreamy thought
‘Well, sometime I’d like to try that out’
Take action, or it’s all for naught

A fulfilling life is a thing well sought
Time always wins, in fact it’s a rout
Ideas come through as dreamy thought

Pay your dues we’re often taught
New thoughts, ideas, left in self-doubt
Take action, or it’s all for naught

Home from work, you’ve toiled and fought
Drudgery lingers as one long bout
Ideas come through as dreamy thought

Some are content with things that are bought
Wealth gone stagnant plays with gout
Take action, or it’s all for naught

Inspiration is something to be caught
Nothing to stop and learn about
Ideas come through as dreamy thought
Take action, or it’s all for naught


Tea Time

A saucer and cup fit in the small of my palm
Teddy fills with tea
English lemon biscuits so
deftly delivered by Dragon 
Please stay! Kitten begs. We have milk as well!
Deliveries to make,
Dragon flies out the doll house door
swoops under my chair
breathes fire at my ass
motivates me to move.




I hear the keys

Jingle, jangle.. clank


You call out to me

From the “west wing”

The urgency in my name

“Babe?! You ready?”

I can sense the need

In your voice

An Un-settlement

Rustles up

From under your tongue

I feel it too

Sense the ache

For us to belong

Somewhere else

Without pause

Or thought


My legs rush

Hurriedly out the door

I reach back for you

As I’m out the front threshold

Locking the world out behind us.

I don’t even bother

To grab my shoes

The warm concrete

Awakens my bones

You crack a joke

Leap from the step

As I twirl in the yard

The grass and earth

Beneath my bare feet

A welcome mat

For the weekend

We giggle like children

Free a lightening bug

As we leave the driveway

Smelling the fresh cut lawn

Trailing along the sunsets

Leaving the home lights

Burning behind us.

Freedom at last.


The Phoenix

Our world cascades in a waterfall of ash
and undone lives, our bodies
marionettes manipulated by merciless
puppeteers, our voices silenced by the specters
of history reincarnated to haunt
our present, our air sullied
by the dust of our insatiable greed.

It seems the proverbs and their prophecies
have proven true and nothing golden can prosper
in the barren fields of ignorance 
we showered with tainted rain.

We look ahead to days of tar-bled bleakness,
of a smoldering nightmare where the demons
we breed today thrive on abundant darkness
plucked from withering 
trees tomorrow.

Yet we can rise on phoenix
wings from the shambles of our smoke-
hazed heap and hurl our fiery blaze
into the endless night, letting our sparks
paint constellations of hope 
in the darkened sky, a bright sun shining
light into our beautiful future.

-inspired by Jeremiah 29:11


Light and Dark

A pattern of light and darkness flickers
over a world that could go either way.

A tree wears a lipstick of lichen, a kiss
and an amputation scar
like the part of a woman most hidden.

In the darkness things creep.
In the light they fly.