A fine site


Small Gifts


Secretly, obsessively images are tabulated and compared

to those behind my eyes, noting which manifest in reality

Those found in poems that save my life that day, or repeated

as themes of images for months and years on end in quantum

leaps to a childhood memory and the survival on that beach

Your gift so touched that child within me that the tears came

immediately falling between knee high slats disappearing in the dune

grasses in clumps holding as much of the rippling silicates from  winds

Trailing the impressions in sand of the scaly feet of Kingfishers

Spray on my face the salty waters that bring relief to large child problems

Thrown and drowned in the vastness of big waters and kind souls

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You are No Spring Chicken

Her stroke causes her to drool when she talks.

She was telling me that she walked the track that morning!

Eternal optimists are a group that I admire and rarely relate to.

My experience is that they are like a “boy whistling in the dark”

She invited me to see her “garden” next week, I agreed to do that

Can’t help but wonder are we talking rock, window, Octopus’?

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He landed the lead part as a lawyer, down and out, no less

If I tried, I’ld explain how completely different he seems from then

Our children know him now, but I have seen only time change

his appearance, I don’t know him at all anymore, more or less

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Hat no Hat


Been told that 80% of body heat escapes off that noggin

Not least the wasted hours pushing that hair out of your face

The beanie you donned and the newsman’s trilby got me going

Opened the door just now for an ancient man in a tam o’shanter

Would you make a statement in a fez, or hold your own in a 10 gallon?

My point of course is to learn to spell yarmulke

And remind you all work makes CJohnny a dull boy


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They always say the same exact thing,

“Came close, but I never met the right one”

(You know they are a just big assholes)

probably too selfish to really care about

some woman that will never meet their ideals

Women end up married to grounded men

that let themselves be family, not fantasy

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Numismatic numbness


Suicides on Valentine’s Day are probably not that rare,

poor man was anything but numb, yet this day is numbing.

The actor brings up my ex husband in conversation

Busy, Yes that is a good thing to keep from being crazy

The play is drunks yelling and cursing as usual

this time about selling Buffalo nickels and stealing them back

My memories get to be what they are, I won’t cash them in.

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My People


Left behind in this desert of companionship,

yesterday, I did locate some poets on the bosque.

Smoltzy verse about their beloveds and not so.

Bearded Bill chose a Plath recital,which stood out.

While we lunched on hummus I told him I had defected

Good for him there was no scolding or warnings

This is a painful self probing, looks worse than it is.

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Fever 103 deg


by Sylvia Plath

Pure? What does it mean?

The tongues of hell

Are dull,dull,dull as the triple.

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus

Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable.

Of licking clean.

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.

The tinder cries.

The indelible smell.

Of a snuffed candle!

Love, love,the low smoke roll

From me like Isadoras’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.

Such yellow sullen smokes

Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe

Choking the aged and the meek,

The weak

Hothouse baby in it’s crib,

The ghastly orchid

Hanging it’s hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!

Radiation turned it white

and killed it in an hour

Greasing the bodies of adulterers

Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.

The sin. The sin.

Darling,all night.

I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.

The sheets grown heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.

Lemon water chicken

Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Your body

Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern-

My head a moon

Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin

Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you. And my light.

All by myself I am a huge camellia

Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,

I think I may rise-

The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I

Am a pure acetylene


Attended by roses

By kisses, by cherubim,

By whatever these pink things mean.

Not you, nor him

Nor him, nor him

(my Selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)-

To Paradise

*the only poem read by another author yesterday at VDAY poetry reading