Category: poetry
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Understanding Robert Frost
(for Tim Conroy) Sometimes It’s good to take the road Less traveled Walk in woods Where no one goes Stand behind a tree And flop it out Because old men Need to pee a lot 9-17-21
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Quatrains at 55 degrees
Cool, windless dawn Mist hovers over pond unwilling to leave Fish rise, kiss the bottom of sky Puckered ripples replicate to nothingness Cardinals call back and forth Squirrels churl and chase overhead Anoles and frogs are hunkered down Insects await the sun to speak I return to our yard with empty cup Sovereign lord of…
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WHIMSY
In the wet of morning I walk among pages of clothing and furniture ads in search of articles to read I think poets could write better ad copy; we would dress it up in whimsy humor and verbs…lots of verbs Eyes would linger a bit longer on product examine the stitch and cut the faces…
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poem for two dancers
In the space between the touch and spin the toe to ground the leap and dip the joy of dance How did you meet… online…through a friend… at church…the grocery… or a night on the town? In the joy of dance the leap and dip the toe to ground the touch and spin the space…
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flee
I flee sharp teeth guard my back one leg anchored to a plow the other ready to run I’m a refugee fleeing oblivion the salvage yard, the fiery caldron the melting down, the disappearing once I had purpose now I’m only in the way taking up space in a shed developers will raze and haul…
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praying to patriarchs
thread bare dress sinew and bone calloused feet on ground hands in air I have four kids, don’t call me lazy, I work three jobs, none pay a living wage I’m not your incubator to impregnate and leave I make ends that have no end – meet pay me a living wage and give me…
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Born day keto quatrain
red stevia strawberry jam round waffle, square grid spiced, coconut flour confection ginger, mint tea chaser 5-18-21
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reading an erasure poem
Once You told me, A good poem Has spaces Between Words For a reader To co-create You fashioned A love poem By erasing Words From prose And asked If I’d refill The spaces I told you, No, because I knew I would Self-edit And I didn’t Want to start Our friendship With a lie 4-23-21
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meditations on the killing of Lorca
between the rise and fall the honk and wail of distant sirens high above the drone of ritual leaf blowing by bright vested park employees I still discern the call and response of birds chanting to the morning while on the ground looking up waiting for one of them to make a mistake a feral…
My husband's poetry 