my life is a mess
but this moment is perfect
my life is perfect
Nightstand Journal
Whirlwind
bee-buzzed blooms
wilt white into winter —
hellish heavy heat
silently softens to snow —
lovely lustrous leaves
fall freckled in frost —
senescent slanting sun
solstices southward —
the young year yules
dizzily debarks december
Writing up a storm
phoenix monsoon storm
haboob isn’t dirty word
it is dusty though
Precarious
Aging is millions of moments
stacked upon tumbling years
It’s personal
there is no timetable for grieving —
grief is a snail
it’s a shooting star
a walk around the lake
it’s eternity
or frost till bloom —
memories coursing through the heart
it lasts as many heartbeats as it takes —
sometimes all of them.
All-nighter
Mockingbird lives in a tree just outside our door —
and every spring he tells songful bedtime stories
about his ardent quest to find a mockingmaiden —
his lovely talented tales start with once upon a time
then it’s nonstop plot and plagiarism all night long
with the happy ending note sometime near dawn!
Proof of youth
Be thou not ashamed of lust —
desire was born in primal dust
it mingled with the seas of life
to make the mud we know as love
Depending
Sometimes life gives honey
and other times, stings;
Sometimes we need roots—
and other times, wings.
Zzzzzhakespeare
reading in my cozy bed, ridiculously late
words begin to slur and rhymes, to blear
my eyelids fight me — like a heavyweight
goodnight, sweet sleepy zzzzzhakespeare
Undoing
once you’ve forgiven yourself
do not un-forgive yourself on
each anniversary of the guilt
Stimulant
Reading in bed is a gateway drug to writing in bed.
Storm story
princess lightning reigned
it was a dark and stormy
knight to fall in love
Whole body, whole spirit
We thank
on our knees
with folded hands
for full bellies
and fuller hearts