My Poetry

His shoulders were boulders four fatherless kids climbed on. He never cracked a smile but we all watched him crack August, 16, 1977 when he lost his king. The sight of tears in the eyes of our mountain was an earthquake in our chests. His priorities got all shook up. He quit his job picked up a guitar a gallon of sarcasm and took to the road. Now he hides deadpan eyes behind mirrored sunglasses stamped Graceland ‘78, when he still rode his motorcycle without a helmet, and though he slept in a different bed every night, he never slept alone- he just scraped love from the bottom of his boots every morning. Those sunglasses are a time machine that cover the spider webs around his eyes, and deflect any attempt to see inside. He slides them on and stands there man from another time a velvet Elvis, ready for another show but where did the audience go? He denies wrinkles on the hands that play his guitar, and he wonders why the twenty-something girls don’t look his way anymore. Night after ni...

Independent eyes would not share a color. One holds an ocean of blues colder and deeper than the Mississippi Delta at dusk she drowns in insecurity. The other stares gray as the Alaskan tundra at dawn furious as a newborn blizzard. Mismatched as her gaze are her moods  at times quiet and cloudy with self-doubt. Other times volcanic with resentment.  She feels bleached-out by the sun. (She longs to see the sun rise in the west.) She envies the moon. (She pretends it’s a pearl around her neck.) She walks the cusp of daybreak and twilight, with their long, tangles of shadows. Spinning in her contrary orbit, she can’t see  that she is the brightest point on the horizon. __________________________________________ Venus is both the morning and the evening star, so I felt that it was a fitting metaphor for heterochromia. It  is also the only planet that spins counterclockwise in its orbit. Sorry to hear that you contracted Covid while you were in Europe. I am very happy tha...

 Changing Colors I've always hated fall it was death dressed in pretty colors. I lived for summer travel swimming, fireflies and blackberry pie. Lately though the summer heat is just burning me out. Like a needy toddler the heat clings to me weighs me down like the ring I used to wear. When you walked away I buried my face in my hands embarrassed that I couldn't make it work in denial of my failure. I was stuck there like the groove left on my finger but it's finally faded. Now that I've reached the autumn of my life the fall breeze feels like a mother's caress  and carries memories of song and innocence. Geese fly in vees trees do their slow strip tease leaves line streets fragile as a lover's vow. Amid the black opal sky Libra Moon calls out to me to embrace my changing colors to sweep regrets into the wind to cherish family and friends.  To be grateful for little things the sunset, a kitten's purr pumpkin pie and my granddaughter's smile. But there...

Packing to evacuate is a game of Tetris trying to jam your whole life into a car. Flames don't cast shadows but they level homes. The sun has no mercy and the wind is grim. Embers light up the hillside. Birds explode from trees as it crowns the ridge.  Firefighters climb helicopters carry water   and retardant, yet fire  consumes the other side to shut down highway 89. Like a child doing cartwheels it bounds across the land.    Then it lays down and makes love to the undergrowth. Columns of smoke rise. Angry dragon clouds form breathing more fire. Life becomes  an apocalyptic movie flames flank the race out of town. In less than thirty minutes history erased lives displaced homes, businesses childhoods up in smoke. Scattered bricks mangled metal and soot are all that remain. __________________________________ I wrote this last year while the Dixie fire was burning. I hope it was okay to send it to you. I was inspired by the fire. I didn't know Greenvil...

Folding clothes busywork stills my agitation keeps my mind off the image of you wearing the suit you only ever wore to funerals. Never laundered in all the years you had it. Only worn for an hour or two then carefully hung back up like a bat in the back of the closet waiting for the next dark occasion to emerge. Practically new but I washed it before I gave it to the undertaker. Used a whole bottle of fabric softener but that didn't soften their tongues. The whispers twist  into an unbalanced load of lies. Underneath yesterday’s towels I stumble upon your shirt the one you wore the day before you spread your brains all over the bedroom wall. Your scent replaced by the smell of detergent spring fresh in the middle of winter. The shirt drops and tears fall. You left me spinning  in an endless cycle of  unanswered questions.  _____________________________________________ September is National Suicide Awareness Month.  I stayed with my friend, Sandy for days after h...

Born deep into August when the heat is sticky as flypaper and the planet passes through Perseid. We run through sprinkler rainbows and listen for the ice cream truck. In the empty lot we slide into second base and raise a cloud of dust. Squirt guns and water balloons. Anything to stay cool. A quarter in our pockets and we race our bikes to the public pool. Every summer day the same, until summer stock auditions running lines, dress rehearsals and big dreams. Walk to the corner store in cut-offs and flip flops. We are movie stars in dime store shades. Opening night jitters lights go down and curtains climb we shine with every line. Greasepaint in the blood. _____________________________ I wrote this one for your birthday, James. I hope the day is filled with love and laughter. Happy (early) birthday.

Shots were fired in Dallas three years before I was born one of the Baby Busters middle child misfit too young for Studio 54 too old for a mosh pit. Raised on a steady diet of television and Tang. Vietnam was a series of black & white images while drawing with crayons. Watergate was background noise while eating TV dinners. Lying on our bellies chins resting in our hands we waited every Sunday for Tinkerbell to let us in to Disney’s wonderful world. We carried The Force in our back pockets and lived the Wonder Years on a white Huffy with the banana seat- nobody had a helmet everybody had a latchkey. After school we watched the Brady Bunch dreamed of Walton's Mountain and grieved for the perfect family. We never wore saddle shoes or poodle skirts nose rings or bellybutton things. Individuality was our conformity.  We were there when Disco drew its last breath and gave birth to  the MTV Generation. We saw the Berlin Wall crumble like Jericho and watched the Gulf War from a c...