Poetry
 
   

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Current News:

My poem "On Fire" was published recently in Downgo Sun

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LOTUS (Nelumbo nucifera)                         

Certain wounds 
bloom in the consciousness forever
white petals floating in a dark sea
nourished by decades of dreams 
darkness layered with darkness
and still
at the bottom clearly seen --
bright coins of transgressions
 

In my dream he came
younger than I am now
he knelt at my feet, told me
he wanted to give me something -
a ribbon, a jewel, a loaf of bread -
I knew he looked for a way
to apologize
I wanted him to know I knew
in that prescient way dreams have
of shaping us with truth
 

I am older than consciousness itself
risen to my surface
full of days and nights-
full of thousands of moons
floating into my life since he first
came—full of darkening seeds
and inescapable wounds
 

Bowing to this lifetime’s 
wounded weight
I take his hand
invite him to travel again
my body’s terrain
break open the seeds
of offered grace
we have waited long enough
for sorrow’s flowering embrace
for the wafer of regret
to reconstitute itself 
as blessing
for this time to forget
what need no longer be 
remembered

Published in DMQ Review  

 


Inner City Assignation  

She’s back.  Can’t kill her or keep her underground 
or freeze her out. She struts forth smiling like the corner  

whores, offering a hit of pure pleasure in the neon purple
of a crocus nestled next to the rotting fence, in the raw  

whistle of bluejays harassing the squirrels, in the pink
whirl of tulip trees gauzy with wind. Spring, you old  

mother, you did it again. You lifted your lush green
skirts and made my heart lift in absurd hope.  I want                                     

to roll right into your blossomy breasts and suckle
the promise of your pearly air. Later, you’ll wash me  

in white sun, dress me in your finest forsythia.  We’ll go
for a quiet stroll before you disappear into hot summer nights.

      Published in Potpourri Magazine & Dancing with Elvis  

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.Landing in Miami



This time
my butterflies surprise me.
You won’t be meeting me
wearing the shirt I bought you,
leaning against the airport wall,
a tall stork with one sandaled foot
wedged behind,
your face waiting to smile
when you see me,
insisting I drop my bags
so you can circle me
with butterfly kisses

This time
my butterflies will stay
in their ribbed cage,
flutter against a heart
empty of expectation.
I’m left with this uneasy lust
that finds no human form
for a home.
It must be the arching palm trees
I ache for, a longing for salt air
and sultry sunsets,
the pink curves of condos
that slide through shadows as real
as recollections of our love

Published in New Works Review




 
   
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