Archive | April 2016


There has been no snow for over ten days


Neighbors have pulled chairs to driveways

Facing the sun, chins up, eyes closed –

Lizards soaking up warmth.


Anyone seen Jeannie walking Chanel?

or Sonya with wiggling Murphy?

We really need to have a potluck on our front lawns.


Hold those thoughts!

It snowed again!

Everyone back to the caves!



NaPoWriMo April 17th


same time

every year

this anniversary

this reminder

Dad’s mortality

proven true

46 years!

forty six

years ago

lives ago





NaPoWriMo 6ixteen

what do they get you?

political donations…

national forests?




NaPoWriMo F15teen


It’s an age old habit,

just kicking them off,

then leaving them where they lie.

Right now in the kitchen

are red driving shoes,

and hiking boots with the laces still tied,

Here by the back door,

sitting askew,

are red, heart- covered, slip- on sneakers.

Out on the front porch,

tough, elastic, trek sandals

worn by all the well known fun seekers.

Completely forgotten,

there by the pantry,

my Roxy fleece lined slides.

Champion tennies,

grey – green slash of neon,

wait, silent,  flipped  on their sides.

It’s true there are two

shoe racks in my closet

holding a dressy, lace heel,

black leather Clark’s,

and my old comfy clogs,

worn simply for the way that they feel.

I have shoe trees to help them

hold that new shoe shape,

if I would simply remember to use them.

And I do!  Then I don’t.

Consistent I am not,

but I do polish all with soft boot creme.

I mean, of course,

those with the all leather uppers

get buffed to a military, high spit shine.

The toes AND the heels (Dad)

and the sides and the tops

all brushed ’til they’re looking real fine.

But shiny or not

I have to admit

I ultimately throw them all hither

at the end of the day

to lie where they lay

as the cares of the day simply wither.












NaPoWriMo #14


There stands a rock pile named Mount Sopris,

That challenges the strong and the hopeless.

I climbed past her lakes,

developed some aches,

fell flat when my knees became worthless.



NaPoWriMo Thirteen

“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.”  Oscar Wilde


He could be right, our  Mr. Wilde.

I think, however, it is not only the child

who begins with love beyond belief,

then at some point is overcome with aching grief

when sometimes some things go completely awry

and parent and child feel bits of them die.

Not only the child will rise up to judge.

Oft times its the parents hold hard to the grudge

built up against eyes rolled in utter disgust,

or smart aleck comments, complete lost of trust;

protection from pain when their darling’s hate bursts,

and harsh words fly as proof that love hurts.

It makes no never mind at the end of the day,

when really there is nothing at all  left to say.

When e’en if they had them, the words will not come

while the monitors beep, blood pressure cuffs hum.

When life meets its maker,  hard work must get done,

the game played all out, the last prize well won,

the child and the parent find each other once more

and right then or later their love will restore.







NaPoWriMo Twelve

(inspired by the whisky in John Coyote’s “Trying to Lose Your Memory”)


twice transfused

scotch for blood

oblivion for pain

floor for ceiling


at least twice









NaPoWriMo # 11

“Well, well, Lucius,

You came!”

“I thought you might.”

“Oh, I just had a hunch.

Would you like to come in?”

“Let me take your coat

I will hang it right here where you can find it.”


“oh, please, sit down

make yourself comfortable

I was just putting on a pot of coffee…?”

“You know, I have been thinking about our conversation…”

“cream?  sugar?  croissant?

I have tried to cut back, myself, but there is something about the butter…”

“I agree. I agree.  It is not the easiest thing to grasp,

but if you really consider it, you will find it will have the best result.”

“But you said you were hoping to find a short cut…

and  if it gets you what you want, it would be worth it, yes?”

“That is  not true. I am not asking  much from you, no time, no money.

“I do not need your money or your time.

“Nothing will change for you, I swear, except that you will be a complete winner!”

“No, not really, it is actually completely painless,

I mean, it is not a physical extraction, or anything.

It is more like a weight off your shoulders,

a true lifting of your spirit…

none of that phony  euphoria.

“Think about it!

You will have nothing left to worry about.

Total freedom!

Total success!

Your place in the world fully established!”

*** *** ***

*** *** ***

Oh, what in hell are you whining about?

Did you not reach the top?

Did you not attain everything you desired?

Is your wife not lovely?  your children brilliant and accomplished?

Then why are you carrying on like a fool?

You are recognized by your peers around the world.

You are handsome, healthy, wealthy beyond imagination.

Sit Down, Lucius,  and Shut Up,  you sniveling worm.

Begging and pleading like a simpering fool.

Do you not see it became mine that morning over coffee…

Your shining eyes – blinded by all the possibilities I laid at your feet.

You –  so wrapped up in what could be, you did not feel it slip away…

You did not even think about it!  did not even wonder!  did not even care!

Your soul has been mine from the moment you came to me.

Your soul became mine while you agonized over the right path to take.

Get of here now.

Go back to your wonderful life.  Toast your success, knowing that in truth

you have nothing, nothing, nothing worth holding.


(this needs more work…but I post it today to get it on the books)















from 2013


Would that I wrote ballads
The sort one reads with glee
Like those of Robert Service
Or Hugh Antoine D’Arcy.

I’d write of love and treason
And low down treachery
Heroines and bastards and
The horrors of John Wayne Gacy.

Oh! to regale the antics
Of brave men out to sea,
Or speak with solemn reverence
Of the lovely Annabel Lee.

Me thinks I just need begin it
Putting fingers to keys steadily
Telling the tales I’ve heard on the trails
With a cadence and words deemed worthy.

NaPoWriMo Day Ten


was thinking about you losing your joy –
my experience has been that my joy is never lost.
tho’ sometimes moldering  under layers of grief, or anger, or exhaustion,
inevitably it pushes through to the surface
refusing to be denied
refusing my miserable attempts to ignore it,
much like Emil Catt insistently butting his head against my hand for a rub

it can be so annoying