sweet creek water

my mother is vintage lovely
this Kentucky woman
who displays a tobacco store Indian
on her front porch
makes tea like sweet creek water
knows how to pin curl hair
can identify horse apple
crab apple
and peach trees
who remembers what
flower and occasion
Sunday church
corsages are for

art beauty botany divinity happiness life literature local color muse poetry rituals travel writing Uncategorized writing

asphalt nile

driving to work

sleepy eyes searching for signs

of life

rounding mount adams

on columbia parkway

asphalt nile

church of the immaculata watching over

queen’s tiara skyline

the city unfurls

buildings rising

to meet the sunlight

morning glory blossoms

in cincinnati




she listens smiling

spring is quietly sneaking

on satin slippered feet

down winter’s hallway


she listens smiling


behind closed doors


tulips are snoring gently

but soon to wake


daffodils are whispering they should

arrive fashionably late


stock market bees buzz of nothing

but honey drippings and ticker tape


pansies sip tea

gossiping about cherry blossoms

who wear pearl earrings


too willing to open their petals

doomed to fall for a rake






Americana art behavior books festivities forensics happiness history kinetics literature love Music performance physics poetry psychology punk relationship studies rituals Southern Gothic theatre travel writing

the dance of the seven veils

Salome with headold lovers hell bent

would have us dress in mourning clothes


for them

our dead love

they will never accept

our rejection of black


it is an abyss

a futile endeavor

tulip bulbs planted in drying cement

unable to blossom


no, no

we must never yield to this


as it is my nature

to move forward

grow toward the sunlight

moving my body


swaying salome


swooning to the music


the beauty of life in every note

whilst performing


the dance of the seven veils

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

you can make a daisy

You, insidious creature,
tell me how the fuck is it
you can make a daisy

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


i want to write a poem
using the word asphodel
as i smoke a j rolled with a page
torn from the electric kool-aid acid test
but i’m too young to remember
the things i know
and i don’t write poetry
about fucking flowers


sleepy mausoleum streets

father’s day
is the homecoming dance
for this grown woman
made from herringbone brick
daddy issues

a wedding march return
deliberately stepped
to beethoven’s violent concerto for violin
toward the white columned mansion
along walkways
of gray flagstone facts

the gossamer temple of my dysfunction
surrounded by iron lace gates

fences drooping
with blood red azalea intentions

a corsage of deceptive bougainvillea
climbs my wrist

wearing a gown
made from the transparent fabric
of a penchant for older men

who hail from anywhere but my garden district

chosen out of a police station line up
in the irish channel

my ill fated princes and usual suspects
who were crepe myrtle framed

not one of whom turned into my father

swaying priests
clever pimps
and common thieves

even a shoe salesman
who was 17 and finding reasons
to touch the ladies’ thighs
whilst i was existing
in a new world elsewhere
still cutting my baby teeth

i’ve grown tired of their flowers
and the scent of poorly masked death

two people fit uncomfortably in a casket

time has given me an alternative
housed within clean lines and reason

but occasionally
wearing a veil of futility
horse drawn thoughts

return to the beautiful south

ken burns following behind me
filming a sepia toned documentary

about the brutal unreality
of it’s sleepy mausoleum streets

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

for the remainder of it


poetry Uncategorized


he brings me roses
i don’t deserve
and then has the audacity
to argue the point
with kisses

poetry Uncategorized

the altar of lakshmi

we sit upright two writers


pedestals built of reciprocity

respect understanding shared like pastry

granted sanctuary floating above the altar of lakshmi

flower petals held aloft by golden elephants

blossoming abundance beauty purity grace fame prosperity

she chants her mantra in the sound of our laughter


Om Shrim Hrim Klim Mahalakshmi Nama


i tell you that the sort of man you are

makes me move my hands more gracefully


you sing my name


bed books pomegranates

and lovers laid open

discussing borges

poems read aloud in considerate spanish tongue

for ears wanton of love


a copy of the wasteland hidden within

ee cummings

we choose to be etherised upon this table

you paint my skin with your hands

making love to me on sheets of music


as we must part

we choose for our tears to become shillings

for admittance to the monster tea party

at penyfan pond


we agree to meet there tomorrow night

and then again forever