Category: Gratitude


A Small Swell on a Thursday Afternoon

  I hold up my hand. The light breeze swifts a droplet of ocean onto my chin and the twinkling lights of a Waikiki late afternoon cruise beneath my epoxy board.


On Writing a Poem in the Morning

  green mint tea seeps around the rim of the garden plate ductile : serpentine I set the cup down and it clatters. It’s about how to see the things how to get to the vision the tea cup is significant and not a step in that direction.


Don’t Give Up on Me,

  ‘cause I want to do two things : first try to show that life finalizes itself on the threshing floor, engorged with a life- time of self-thinking thoughts and self-sinking assertions.



  At heart my father was a naturalist. He took my trembling hand and told it to catch garter snakes to slither as I slept on the bedside table to eat as I gagged hands empty of crickets


Summertime Afternoon in the Midwest

  The sky is thick and dreamlike with clouds, great battleships of cotton and luster sailing to an endless azure tune— on my back beneath the poplar tree I listen to the steady whine of the horse fly. Rain has come over the central plains in torrents, heavy running along the window panes heavy with oblong droplets pelting skin, duck from backdoor to garage, … Read More Summertime Afternoon in the Midwest



  I will thresh the mind with both hands; fingertips of golden afterglow to select only nuggets of naked tranquility; to throw rugged shards of infancy behind goose-like shoulders, to cede this habit of bare toes on dust. In overthrowing infamy, brevity demands we be good in the mind, good in the body, good in the soul—and what cements into habit dyes the soul … Read More Luminescent


Lewis Wharf, Boston; 1978

  Fall colors warm her sweet face, deep reds and blushing oranges snuggling into the gentle wrinkles at her cheeks; the low light off the fading greens bounce from the brown of her sweater to my eyes, the softness I cannot myself believe. Contained in one tiny, aging human is the breath of ages seen and past— each petite wrinkle is a memory of … Read More Lewis Wharf, Boston; 1978


Soften the Jaw

  & tell the abyss the darkness is temporary. The moonlight is warming & the breeze which sweeps transposes the seeds and growth is in the underbrush. Tell the abyss it’s nearly dawn—that time runs parallel to furrowed brows and intersects


Persistence of Memory

  Ribbed and scurrying, a bus passes me; the sweat in airy beads drips to my bicycle knees. I am going everywhere, today. The ride is smooth, my mind is loose, the breeze is flesh and sweeps me— snatches of light-petaled afternoons. Pedalling backpacks to Point Chevalier, to the holy lips of Auckland harbours. Eager gusts helping me over wire-knit fences. The trees, bent … Read More Persistence of Memory

Desperate Relief

  I give you these poems at the tail-end of the trade winds at the cost of an espresso & my reasoning soul. I would sit in the midst of Kalakaua traffic simply to relieve this hounded mind with a pen. Here, enfolding the slender tipped shepherd, facing such fragrance of relief, I am rendered


Skin to Skin

  Hold hands with me. My feet won’t point in the direction I will them to, they’re on a loop and my mind is getting dizzy. Hold hands with me. I’ve been watching your stride. Your clean-limbed foot swing mesmerizes me. How can you keep so steady? Please hold hands with me.


  Slow down. Whoa, slow down. There is a way to do this. A way to do it all without feeling pieces of shrapnel carving cave lines into the ear bones. A way to do it all and feel electricity in the veins, singular purpose so singular, elephants in the foothills.