Category: writing


How to Read a Poem



I seek solace in the company of cafe tablesand black aprons. Hair that sways, liquidly, under a rotating fan. I write in the companyof strangers, in order to be myself. As if I could hear the words from their lips instead of feel the conversation like a forest. As if it could not matter when the forest was on fireor still, peaceful in dew dreams under a rising … Read More Tandem


On Judging a Poetry Contest

One finger tapping against an illusive white ceramic cuppa something—you don’t know—I’m a mystery, I’m the poetry editor. Illustrious task, these scribbleslaid bare to me, laid out like coffee spilled silent on the plate. Not too late to duck down into hiding, find a proper bunker. Fortunately good poetry chooses me, not I and I know in my heart


Start Here

Beginning is the most difficult.  Here is this vision, this goal, this dream. Here is the triumphant ending, here are the quick montage days of the “normal” middle, and here is the second breakfast on the unusually warm day and the little boy passing a granola bar through the car window while I rest my bicycle against my thighs at the traffic stop.  What … Read More Start Here


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!


Approaching the Alphabet

  Flight control signals hard           against            the             rain which whips >>>                                catastrophic! against the slick window panes salt and pepper ocean waves corn soup flavored popcorn the day                … Read More Approaching the Alphabet



  The artist at work in her studio the sweat running down dusted forearms the sun shining in through plated windows and the artist barely breathing. So barely hiccups happen hic ups interrupting the artist



  Crouched here, in my orange wing-back chair counting the plastic circles on my white linoleum shirt. Watches tock around the walls time steadily stealing through the shelf, taking its pick of the books. Door knock.


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.


101 bpm

Wisps of sainthood waft about this living room— give me flamenco, give me Persian rhythms and sweet gypsy jazz, swing it all out of speakers perched high on the cabinet counter. Bits of wild wind shoot through the second story windows, running from the belching mountains beyond the poplar trees in the backyard. The gusts lift the melodies and snuggle them into marrow-bones, into … Read More 101 bpm


  So it is with civilized care that I kneel down to the open blank pages of a crease-lined book and cast my memories in its bronze borders. You’re my marauder, my hopeless staircase looting the use from my crouching soul and leading me to dark places too deep to stay dark.

Write Long

  Be patient, and write long. As long as the strokes of your eye lashes pulse the fingers to keys, then both of us remain alive. Be patient. Your dreams have no anchors; let them float light. Let the throat grow easy and jaw relax. Open and close the hinges of your mouth and feel the knobs of your shoulders merge with the elbows. … Read More Write Long