Category: Humor



There can’t possibly be anything in the world more complicated than a sourdough starter.  I feed Edgar every 24 hours, sometimes more if he moans and belches  a watery black liquid. “Hooch” this is called, and apparently I am to stir it back in  and just keep feeding. But Edgar doesn’t like the sun & doesn’t like the pantry  & doesn’t like cool water and it must be … Read More Edgar


Available in paperback and e-book, Articulated Soul is a collection of 50 poems in five categories (Kansas, Austria, Indonesia, New Zealand, and Hawaii). These poems catalogue the many fragrant emotions of living abroad on one’s own, the sites and smells, the insecurities. Supplementing the angst are 25 original collages, expanding the metaphor of influence and creativity. Grateful acknowledgment is made to the editors and … Read More Announcement!



  I sit in my ribbed backed chair and bow towards Autumn— springtime blending in with the leaves of winter & summer shooting arrows into the black-backed brigade I wonder at the weather these days taught and tense in the morning & easy, nearly sweeping, in the morrow my own marrow sucked by the cascade winds that ravage the lonely landscape looking west for … Read More Pacific


The News

Some imagined the Pope to come in colors of scarlet and pale frost candlelight mass and those sorts of hues not the rosy flushed flesh color, the color of not human deity and apparently it was a problem. Speaking of problem—



  The mountain shudders under great weights of gusts and snow, groaning and creaking the six English climbers huddle rope-tied to rocks and tree branches listening for avalanches. And I sit here, at this metal patio table, so arbitrarily square, in a humid afternoon swatting flies and wondering what I will have for lunch.


Breath Work

  She sighs, constantly. Always the sigh, sighing herself to wishful elegance, whisking the whites to rising peaks, she counts herself backward,


Artistic Integrity

  I want to be an art critic. I want to have such a glorious eye piece, that the thinnest strokes of oils and acrylics could shine off my lens into your face when you address me as “madam” and I grace you with my gaze.



  That crash could’ve been an ancient computer tossed from the twentieth floor, the Hewlett-Packard bricks in vintage disarray, the collection of hipster hues in the hallway closet. It was that loud! The raised voices which follow make sense, as if a strong-armed woman in her own right rose up to her man and chucked his grandfather clutter out that living room window, smashing … Read More Crash


Theories on “Maturity”

There I was, sitting cross-legged on that big stone in the middle of the creek. The mountains were celebrating or something, cause the water barely lapped halfway up the stone; if I straightened my legs out they wouldn’t touch water at all. It was high summer, too, it being the southern hemisphere–ever felt a day this warm in January? Not me. The trees lining … Read More Theories on “Maturity”


Wellington Central Library

. I’m delighted by the brave women and men who fall asleep in public library chairs. Sometimes bold to go for the window seats, the ones commanding view of the civic square, full shine of lunchtime yogis and sushi advocates. I take my lunchtime time to doze, thank you, they seem to say in endless gape of mouth, a stream of hahhhhhhhh hands nestled … Read More Wellington Central Library

Maybe One Day I’ll Earn My Own Plum Sweatsuit

  A pint of strawberry stems sits plastic and dull on the bench in New Lynn. We share the space; least I could do.

Staple Tales

  The inefficient stapler, what with its effeminate undertones, emasculates the opposition into petty submission to do its bidding til the end of time. Inefficient? It asks itself as it gazes with lust into the hallway mirror. Hardly. Subtle swagger lights up steel hips and the stapler sways back to its black hole.