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!
Did you ever think you could live this long? That the tongue which rattles the potato-burn ridges of gum would grace the scoop of inner teeth to say love? That love could hold your hand for twice as long as you let it & still remain to brush teeth together in the cool evenings —
I know about the dough in the oven. Hot and wild tempered left a little too long on its own, I know the shoots and bangs and whirls the catastrophize the inner workings of my Bosch broiler. With tiny white rings on the brown crusted boule I know the tilt of the rise, the slashes I placed the claws in claws out. … Read More Still Life with Figs
Bird says, “set the coffee here, please and oranges if you have them.” Between green wings, that of a bamboo shoot so light green it’s almost wilting, Bird grasps the white ceramic handle and lifts the mug to his beak. From his high perch
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
Valerian gardens, gardenias in the rosebushes sunlight twilight and mountain rain makes everything grow like this. Tricolored notebooks rest easy on the table near me and the door opens once more. The door opens. Has been opened. Will be opened.
Taking myself by the forehead, coffee stains and Rosie O’Donnell in the corner, I look at the calendar year 2016 to see the border collie panting peacefully in the meadow. A chair scraps against the dusted tile. The sound bounces from high windows into my ear drums. Earthquakes ensue. Short shorts and cups of Joe spinning endlessly through wordless soliloquy I think how … Read More Coffee Talk
The fist comes down upon the table and the scatting, echoing, marauding clang bumps and lurches about the steel room— the table holds, tho’ it’d rather sink to the knees, and the mice feel small amid the balloon. I take my time and draw in a breath— & before the intake reaches the zenith the fist comes down again on the table—
Fists to the wall, my marble friend, for who hears no chime when the cup is set upon the porcelain? If you lean in close, you’ll hear sentences, casting around the four walls whimpering in rhyme, dripping in furnishing, fur lined over long sips of hot tea cozied up to the counter longing to call it good—
I wake beside your name— half in snore, half without the curling interpretation of window time patters down from the Mountains. And in the hushed dew of the dawn pines the lone, sleepy bee heads forth from hive to seek the outdoors. Mingling together, the mountain and the bee, pollen falls in thick droves from the heavy clouds.