Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Monday, February 29, 2016

Not In Love

I'm not in love,
and won't be again.
No rooster in the dawn.
No eggs from the hen.

See the sky gone dark blue late.
No bird nor dumpling on the plate.
No stars, no moon
to compensate

for fools who feel like I did then.

Thursday, February 25, 2016


Athena--Mama said
not to go out in the
after it rains.

Ignore her. Do 
it anyway.
You are a Goddess--

the Earth moves at
your whim,
your toes.

Athena--every foot-
print you ever make
will be

Never mind that.
Never mind Mama.
Go change
the world

by walking barefoot
in the mud, by
picking a 
flower, by
being you, right now, in the world as it is.

for Hannah's "footprints" challenge. I hope it's adequate; I don't feel much like writing.



Sunday, February 21, 2016

Dear Girl

the bowls are stored away--
i couldn't bear to see them empty.

your leash turned up in my purse today
at work and made me cry.

i gave your extra chews and treats--so many of them--
to your adored big human brother, for his babies.

i have cleaned up the blood from your illness
from my floors because seeing it made me question God.

but your toys are still everywhere--your donkey, your raccoon, your lamb--
to remind me of joy; that exotic thing as common as kibble to you, dear girl.

for the sunday mini-challenge.


Friday, February 19, 2016


She didn't make it. Her little kidneys gave out from infection caused by the ectopic ureter problem she was born with. I shall miss her more than I can say. 

I took these pictures earlier today as she was enjoying the sun and her yard for the last time. 

She got two hamburgers from White Castle and was surrounded by her family as she slipped away. I have no idea how I'll function without my wing girl.


Tuesday, February 16, 2016


I placed pictures
of us
on my wall.
(a white wall.)

From trees came

I set a soft gray rug
in the entryway,
and if you arrive

(after I've gone to bed)
I'll hear you

and take
the first stair.

Monday, February 15, 2016


He kept Plath in his beard--
Pound in his pocket.

He was a big, round, officially endorsed cargo ship
carrying Crane, Yeats and Cummings
to and above all our upturned mermaid faces.

How we adored him as he
orbited above us,
tossing us enjambments and sandwich crumbs.

Everyone I knew that winter
was on some sort of diet, slowly
starving themselves to get more
and saints' medals for self-denial.

He alone moved through our world consuming it
even as he fattened it with all he stuffed us full of.

He said, "I have the reputation of being unapproachable,
but come to my office any time."
He had The Bard on the wall, Ferlinghetti on the book shelf.

He saw that I was famished and gave me loaves and fishes,
bound with glue and published by the University Press.

I let him down, you know, in the end.
My depression settled in and I gacked the final paper.
His appearance that last time, shocked me.
He said, "You're smart, but you don't try."

Gods kill themselves,
and when they do, nobody can believe it.
I thought it was my fault.
It wasn't, but

I grew all that spring and summer, even after he was gone.
My parents' lips hard-dried in a thin line.
Friends put their palms on me.

I never told anyone, and they all assumed it was some college boy.
Now I have one of my own, but when he was little
I would bitch at him to go sledding,
make a snowman,
play hockey,
anything, but just get your nose out of that book.

Then I'd feel bad and apologize to the air, and to Francisco
for all of my shortcomings
and the poems--the poems unwritten. 

For Magaly's "Carpe Jugulum" challenge at the Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. Some of this poem is true, the rest is my imagination.

Thursday, February 11, 2016

So Much

So much depends upon
the curve of the horizon

at night

on the other side of the world.

Take it as an act of faith--
believe that your lover is there in the darkness
like sea birds on an updraft

in some harbor you've never seen.

For my own Fireblossom Friday "Red Wheelbarrow" challenge at Real Toads.

Several of you have asked me how I am. I guess I've been scarcer than usual. My doggy, Skittles, is having some health concerns, and that, along with returning to work and all that goes with delivering mail in Michigan in February have left me little energy for composing very much. Thank you to everyone who asked after me. I'm fine, and I am working to get Skittles that way, too. 

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Book Review: "From A Buick 8"

From a Buick 8From a Buick 8 by Stephen King

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

"From A Buick 8" is vintage Stephen King. A 1950s Buick Roadmaster is abandoned by a sketchy man in a black coat and hat at a gas station in western Pennsylvania. The local State Police Barracks puts it in a shed for safekeeping, but there is nothing safe about this car. In fact, it isn't even really a car. The battery isn't attached to anything, the controls are all for show, and it can heal itself if it gets a scratch.

That's only the tip of the iceberg, though. This Buick occasionally spits up hideous creatures, or causes human beings to disappear without a trace. It's really chilling, engrossing, and absolutely entertaining. Recommended.

View all my reviews

Sunday, February 7, 2016


I have lots of questions
as the nukes come flying in.

Did you borrow my sweater? The neck is fucked up.
How long are you going to hog the computer?
Are you even listening to me?

I wonder if our shadows will be burned into the concrete?
There goes my to-do list.
Whoa! What was

a flash 55 for Kerry.

Monday, February 1, 2016

Weaver Bird

When I was young, I had the words
but nothing to wrap them around--
I was a weaver bird with the instinct to build, but not the flock memory.

Now I am old, and still have the words,
but find that I have said most of what I needed to say.
I no longer bleed as much, nor yearn so hard. The seasons change by themselves.

In the middle of this oddly mild mid-winter,
I set out, by myself this time.
My favorite dogs are gone, but I have this new one, and she wanted to come along.

I wore new boots with purple laces
and a stick I've grown attached to, and sometimes really need.
The sun stayed low but bright while we walked, and time turned easy and slow.

I didn't know, when we set out,
how much I would love that walk and the cold air in my lungs.
I called to my friend; she came back from the trees and we turned back.

Now I hate to have left that walk behind--
taking off my boots inside the door, I wonder when I can wear them again,
but somehow, aches are assuaged, and there is sometimes balm

for all the things we lack.