Poetry
Do you know me? I am the blonde in the white convertible. Have you seen me cruising up the coast on a mango day? Top down, honeydew bandana holding back my hair, juicy fruit lips …
A boy with a shaved head and a wiry girl, black ponytail trailing, flash past the window on this perfect May afternoon, Monterey a purple outline across the bay, like the slope of a thigh …
While this America settles in the mould of its vulgarity, heavily thickening to empire, And protest, only a bubble in the molten mass, pops and sighs out, and the mass hardens, I sadly smiling remember …
Through the yellow roses on the coffee table I peer at the ball game, tired of Whitman, tired of wanting to be great. “Holy cow,” roars the announcer, “walk him walk him,” Dad hollers, my …
Is Death miles away from this house, reaching for a widow in Cincinnati or breathing down the neck of a lost hiker in British Columbia? Is he too busy making arrangements, tampering with air brakes, …
You come in big and high from the beach though your shoulders are small your arm is in place around the red board and your orange swim trunks are just where they should properly be …
My father refused to teach my mother how to drive his car. He said it wasn’t ladylike in 1949; a woman driver was no better than a streetwalker. She was to take the bus and …
I saw the fox running by the side of the road past the turned-away brick faces of the condominiums past the Citco gas station with its line of cars and trucks and he ran, limping, …
Sunday July 4th 1836 I made a vow within my soul, O Child,When thou wert laid beside my weary heart,With marks of death on every tender partThat, if in time a living infant smiled,Winning my …
Such a brave generation. We marched onto the streets in our T-shirts and jeans, holding the hand of the stranger next to us with a trust I can’t summon now, our voices raised in song. …
While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes, My heart would brim with dreams about the times When we bent down above the fading coals; And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls …
And certain women will run up and treat me like a movie star. Suddenly, i’ll become handsome and witty and perfect, and other men will hate my power. I’ll become a famous victim of jealousy. …
When a drone kills an insurgent (or whomever), it is called bug splat. Bug splat. That’s funny. Is it because it happens on a computer screen, or because they are killed by insects (drones)? or …
for Sue After a day of paving, we sit on our new patio to appreciate our results. For five minutes we enjoy our silence, but then you ask me, “What are you thinking?” I say, …
(Written during the first Gulf War) When did I become so hardened to human suffering? Who is this monster I do not recognize, who can sit in front of a T.V. watching a war as …