Find a way to make it through.
The last step of a hard day.

I’m pushing up one final effort,
one more thing before bed.

I want to show you I love you;
me speaking it aloud doesn’t do it justice. 

I’ve tried you today, made you
angry, vexed by hard tongue,

harder head, making it all
about myself.  How was your day?

What are you thinking about?  I want
to hear your voice fill the room.

What do you want? 

One + One is Two
Me + You is One
Me + You is We
Me is One
You is One
We is Two
Me + You is Two

I didn’t want to write a poem today.
After twenty-six straight
my font of inspiration is dry; a fossilized lake-
bed where once liquid silver sprang
now, all is silent and dust.
No tinkle or sparkle
no smell save must
of age and of disrepair
a porch swing in the still air.
I am all used up, a cicada husk
left behind and stranger to love.
I’ll keep trudging on
towards the thirtieth, I figure.
Momma ain’t raise no quitter. 

Praise Nature’s soothing embrace
Her artistic swirls of grace
Her hummingbird praise, tolerance of decays
Her patience and willingness to soothe disobeys

Praise Divine Mother gracious snow cone maker
Her flowing melts from mountains’ acre
to river banks and seas’ breaker
Praise all she sees in her seize as give and taker

Praise the grace of Mother’s hugs her dance for you and me
The way she nods to gently say,
“Tomorrow it’ll be . . .
better wait and see!”

Praise the earth on which we stand
Mother’s patient healing hand
Praise your beauty ~ Praise your grace
Praise your precious nature face

Praise your prays ~ healing praise
To many prayer bouquets we raise
In praise of your beauty
and unfailing duty

Patient witness of our blatant disobeys
Your self-less forgiveness does amaze

When the heat is truly unbearable 
For days on end
Some things just have to wait
So now I’m making ramen 
At 2 in the morning

While the noodles cook
Much like I have all day
Time to fold towels
From the dryer that also
Had to wait

Some of the towels are getting thin
Others have random rips and holes
Half are some shade of pink
From a maroon beach towel
Bought at Myrtle Beach years ago 

Oh, how I’d love to be at the beach!
I wouldn’t care about the heat 
A breeze blowing my hair
Waves rolling over my feet
And pulling sand from beneath my toes

But the smell of sand and salt
Is replaced by boiling ramen
I push sweaty tendrils from my face 
Since there’s no breeze here
Time to eat

Because I don’t have the spoons
        to navigate the medical system and medication
That alone feels like enough proof
        for ADHD work
So in true race car brain fashion
        I dive into the deep end
Only to discover that on the other side
        of the precipitating hormones and trauma
                I have fashioned an ADHD-friendly life
                        With brain breaks and yoga
                                More humanity and less technology

I just want the voice that comes
out of my mouth to match
the voice I hear in my head. 

Just let me soar to the heights 
like Julie Andrews, sink down low
like Lena Horne’s Stormy Weather. 

opinions set concrete in my veins
blood born of pathogens
inflicted via screens
and screams
and road ragers
and wannabe leaders
and friends, tho I beg forgiveness
to admit, until
this stream of life
makes it way through heart
to brain
then cools to ice
my breath
with indifference enough
that I learn not to trust
my inner self 

Turtle travels
Eternal nomad
Itinerant backpacker

When necessary
He may retreat
inside

Collects himself
Take a break
Waits, until its safe

To come out again
See the world
Eat, sleep, motate!

No hurry, no rush
He moves to his own rhythm
His own flow
Being takes time

Tell me where the poets go
‘twixt midnight and the dawn
Show me where they ply their trade,
to coax and come undone  

Behind the rocks the moonlight hides
and covers up her legs
The poet waits to trace the curve
of word upon the bed  

I follow close upon the heel
of thought so soon erased
I pluck the scraps from feasted plates
to taste
     to taste
          to taste