Posts for June 26, 2023


Love Poem For Wynn: Ars Poetica

you are a beam of light in a night
that would steal me

the color of what morning
now means

a breath in a chest I left
twisted with doubts

the release and relief inside
of my peace

with you,

the air softens as it explodes
all around me

there’s no alphabet for how you
fall into place

you’re my floodgate and levee
wide open

the rain and right words
without any waste

Registration photo of Shaun Turner for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.

Impressions of the Summer Storm

Hail broke against glass.
Whirlstorm of leaves in the rain,
then the shock of light.


it’s about to tick over

one last gasp
before the
day ends

one last moment
before I 
start anew

one last chance
before I am
too late and too soon



Screens are blinding
this old man: visions
of things seen by no one

these measley offerings
add nothing to my off-
spring’s desire

Going blind is never a blessing
my mother said in 1949, 
whatever took her sight

took her life
and the young boy of myself
intuited that she’d seen enough

Those sights of backwater Brooklyn
above the produce wholesaler
an olfactory of rotting fruit

remain crystal clear
while the now of Temple
Terrace fades to blurry

Off balanced I have fallen
clarity a lost friend
but still there’s Dr. Hue,

Penelope and my loving sister
who saw the peace of Europe
before the evil came

American Dutch Russian Jew
my family fractures before birth
and all that badness just a distant

madness, what was it for
Arendt calls it merely banal
where the monsters imply

nothing personal, just doing jobs.
Our lives in this condo courtyard
Dr. Hue says is an actual mirage

of us in the act of passing…
Penelope suggests the Dali Museum
for the collective spectacle


What Makes a House a Home

She sleeps, tiny frame tucked
in corners, on couches, in laps
not quite settled into positions
less accommodating.

Eye of the storm,
bringer of calm,
biter of ankles,
unquestioned queen
of the sitting room.

To the gentle tyrant
whose voice quiets
the violence of silence,
whose paws fill
the ache of empty days,
whose warmth provides
on nights eclipsed by loneliness,
we pay tribute.

Registration photo of Amy Figgs for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.

Trauma Response: fight

Because of you
I train
for fights 
I’ll never have,
for fights 
I’ll never win.

Though I know
my strength
in theory.
I’ve never
put it to practice.

My wit, will, and wile
remain only
to me.

Registration photo of Christina Joy for the LexPoMo 2023 Writing Challenge.

Scar Tissue; Failed Surgery

The Bitch in my head says I’m a Scar On the Universe.
She exaggerates

only slightly : the roadmap of my skin, 
always under construction. And internally 
I don’t trust my own structure; 
constant buttressing, connecting disparate bits 
– maybe it’s a hunger, expressing itself as human –
whatever it is, that has enmeshed 
parts I wish departed to the point 
they cannot
has left me adopting the facade of a Saint 
tolerating pain for pain’s sake 
swallowing whole the Things I Cannot Change. 
Days pass, and some breaths there’s a grace 
welling in my lungs I can’t explain – I mean, 
I _can_, I just choose not to : unable to afford 
any kind of jinx 
until all shoes have touched down. It’s bitter 
to taste 
that all Will Be Okay when it is not. That acrid-acid  
with ephemeral sweet underneath; my life 
become well marbled dry-aged meat. 


Love poem #1

You’ve told me before you have a hard time
writing about things that make you happy.

I like to think that’s why
you never write about me anymore.


In A Heartbeat

 Loss comes in many forms
Intertwining throughout life
Skimming the turntable
Skipping that song
An Uno game ending too soon 
With a handful of cards
Still waiting for our turn
We lose our minds
Stress surmounted
Over the laundry pile
We lose our sense of humor
A joke told too soon
We lose our children
To their rooms, friends, sports
Teenage woes
“You just don’t understand “
We lose our parents
To whatever it is
That “those parents” do
When they go away
Leaving us behind at will
Generational traumas
Creating new ones
Or breaking cycles
We lose friends
We never really had
And those lovers that we loved
Yet never loved us in return
In the end of it all
Whether it’s the closing
Ceremony, day, month or eulogy
There will come a pause
A breathtaking full-stop
A dilation of the iris
Where everything becomes clear
Life moments trickle in swiftly
Becoming clear, focusing on the importance
                             Of everything that once was, is, remains
All that will be….



rain-dreary and
dog-tired, the tree
bows its head