Thursday, May 28, 2015

someday, for my dad

someday ~ for my dad


days of grace, saving face as the last light fades on someday

in shallowed breath the time that’s left is marshy tide pulling away

subsiding tears ~ perfected fears of due time come to call

we’re all awash in the human cost of shadow's valley in the fall…


on someday.  One day I too will find my mirror lacks reflection.

I’ll walk alone the long way home catching memories of inflection:

energy burned in place, captured time and space I’ll revisit in our dreams

time and again we’ll walk hand in hand the foggy nightscapes so serene...


of someday.

Friday, March 20, 2015

the new collosus, revisted. . .


 for Ms. Agnes, Holocaust survivor

they wore stripes…

and stars pinned to chests

swollen with lies they were sold to get them

there...still freshly ringing.


tired, hunrgy and huddled

they yearned to breathe once again

a freedom they had known

just days before the death trains came

taking their motherland,

their family,

their identity,

their youth.


raining with a poison of generations denied,

numb even among the 7,000 remaining

they had no thing left but a colossal loss

embossed with apathy.


they were  like pinpoints on a black shroud.


we wear stars . . .

and stripes

swollen, proud chests

endowed and silently believing more than we should

the blurbs we are told to keep us shielded behind borders.


like inscriptions on a historical plaque,

we are tired, poor and huddled.

hungry for the ideal of our motherland

our family,

our identity,

our youth,


and our freedoms

to know the truth once and for all

in all of our stars and stripes.

Soon there will be no more survivors. 


Tuesday, January 6, 2015


as above,

I found this list
of places to look-up
without a stiff neck:
only paused wondering,
shaded eyes looking…
At that!


so below…


even more-so here: there’s
no fancying flight or Newton’s defying
antics …just being, sometimes
discarded or maybe lost?
my cosmos reflected in a storm’s drain
refraining from judgement


as within,


Can I do the same?
Within this cosmic realm of daily
Creation in waking and sleeping?
Promising everything?
Expecting nothing….
Whether I deserve it or not?


so without…


the mirror finds me:
with my naked words
whispered with a reader’s inflection
transcending  mortal immortality.

Monday, October 13, 2014

pumpkin sky




pumpkin moon, celestial bliss

shine down this giggling goddess ~


in gently rising autumn flight,

with tawny glowing sunset delight:

a pumpkin moon light’s watching me

in fairie worldly curiosity veiled in ghostly

cloud shrouds.


don’t hide away but help me burn

the seasonings of  passed learning:

in celestial delight with childlike eyes

I feel myself turning onward inward ~


with luminous contemplation

carved not by man, but woman’s

active imagination.


wax full ~ wane soft ~ still reminding me of lovers

sharing starry skies…spooning dunes and

questioning runes, new moon now in my mind’s eye:


blank still willing silence

freedom sky’s kiss on


illuminated goddess


tonight we fly

in our pumpkin sky

Monday, August 4, 2014

I used to think that ignorance was bliss, for all the children of the world, and in this moment, the ones in Gaza

I used to think ignorance was bliss


but then I kissed my ass goodbye

and opened up my mind infinitely.


I became possibility, and what did I see?



mosaic creation’d being:

all my pieced parts are you and me and we

every one and thing being in love.


so I don’t feel ignorance is bliss anymore.


I feel it’s a prison: divisions in the making.

I feel it’s war and apathy.

I feel it’s a sorry excuse for humanity:


nationality jaded.


I feel it’s children without hope,

starving in their bombed-huts…

while others are in the drive-up.


I feel it’s a copout.

I feel it’s greed and gluttony and perversion…

denial of subjectivity


in an immature tantrum…

a case of the conundrums.


I feel it’s conformity

and a made for t.v. movie,


or even a dumbed-down sitcom.

and religion on a Sunday morning.


I feel it invites mediocrity,

blind melancholy without seeing.


I feel it labels and makes us smaller;

I feel it denies our universal matter…


and wonder and imagination and beauty

I feel it’s just static scatter.


I used to feel ignorance was bliss.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

pickin time

in the garden and the wilderness

undulating rows of sea island or maybe pima

rising and falling in tides of dowdy white

they wait…


squinting , I wade inside embarrassed,

like an awkward traveler to an exotic shore

seeking to trade nothing for something

I snake…


between the stalks that seek to swallow my

trespasses…My breath--held in expectation of

sights and sounds and smells feeling so new to me

yet so familiar…


I am aching in my need to know them for who they are:

not who they pretend to be with upturned white faces

occasionally nodding in approval but more often just staring

at me like the foreigner I am…


they cut me?

bleeding into their dead sea souls

leaving small dropped traces of myself: unrecognizable

in mirrored silence…until the crows caw me back...


slave to my words

to my work

to my thoughts

to my hands

I promclaim myself…


A writer.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

woman rising

woman rising


I am rise of the new woman

created within image of divinity

I am page and palette

I am infinite destiny


I am  rise of the new woman

conjuring wisdom within my plight

I am dispelling manmade illusions

created by evil in night


I am rise of the new woman

quietly healing mother earth

I am fertility cradling crescent

engendering awakening’s birth


I am rise of the new woman

denied my goddess too long

I am more than immaculate miracle…

I am the spiritualist’s song


I am rise of the new woman

storyteller setting us free

I am creating new holy words,

re-writing our life’s book history.


I am rise of the new woman

mother to all humankind

I am a happy beginning.

I am peace in our time.

“A strong woman understands that the gifts such as logic, decisiveness, and strength are just as feminine as intuition and emotional connection. She values and uses all of her gifts.”
-words by Nancy Rathburn // image by Akageno Saru