In roller skates
I will learn to fly
To know my body and listen well
To find great joy and strength
To remember why I fight for liberation
To remember who I am and who I want to be

                 I use to gawk 

Édouard Manet, Claude Monet in His Studio Boat, 1874.

Fubsy studio
Vermilion fringed vessel
Savor mise-en-scène. 

Between life and death
felt like the world
was holding its breath.

Somehow everything
still kept spinning.
Like a ferris wheel
out of control.

Upset stomach. Shock.

The strange feeling
of being paralyzed
while everything else
refused to slow down.

Waiting
can feel unbearable
when life forgets
to be kind.

I blow out a candle.
Bodies pile up in the attic. 

Victorian Pyscho, by Virginia Feito

Then cast me to hell
for my commitment 
to false idols. 

Wash the caked
mud from my eyes;
I am Stupid Blind  

Clip the wings from
my back as I writhe
in agony. 

Still, I will smother 
you in a million
tiny feathers. 

A Rash of Trash 

Never seen
Except in cartoons
That snowball gets bigger
Rolling down the mountain

Maybe it was Newton
Sir Isaac knew about apples, gravity
That ball gains speed
Flying down the mountain  

Once an idea is born
Give it a little push
And it starts to roll  

Forget about it, let it go
Ends up in a ditch
Or completely lost  

Stick with it, follow it
With interest, zeal and inspiration
 
The idea of transforms, becomes real
Creation manifests  

As a seed grows into a majestic tree

It was the end of an epic week
We were wrung out from the heat
And the traversing of the entire state of Virginia
Sated on history and local wineries

Stopping to see where the Civil War ended
Appomattox Court House is now just a tiny National Historic Park
Which took no time at all to explore
So we settled in at the B&B
In the room with the funny name
With little to do, and too much time on our hands

Prowling around I found the diploma and the book
Both bearing the name of Havilah Babcock
Oh. Well this bears investigation
Ours was the southern Havilah, University of South Carolina English professor and writer
Not to be confused with the northern Havilah, who founded the Kimberly-Clark Corporation

So when in the Babcock House, in Havilah’s room, you read Havilah Babcock’s book
And it hits breathtakingly hard
Like the first time I read Ada Límon
Where has this been all my life?
I had long decided, that if I ever published my poetry, it should be called “Tales from the Blind”
Because sitting quietly in nature for hours, when I was hunting,
Is what prompted me to start writing again

And here was a kindred spirit
That thought and wrote just like me
I managed to find copies of a few of his books
Long out of print
Now I can sit on my own porch on a sultry evening
And reminisce about Tales of Quails and Appomattox