bluegrass and white fences

has a way about it
that feels
both timeless
and impermanent
without ever
choosing a side

Americana art books comfort family food furniture happiness history holidays life love muse Ohio painting parenthood poetry psychology rituals sex traditions Uncategorized war weddings writing

this house has a history


i put on some water for tea

then decided to mop the floors

of our new little nest

before the furniture gets carried in

before the rest of our lives happen

Murphy’s Oil Soap

water and sunshine into a bucket

carried through the echoing emptiness

of what will be

over original hardwood

placed there in 1941

i love to clean

the ritual of it

i write in my thoughts as i work

images painting themselves

into spaces around my gentle humming

spreading wet across the grain

seeing hands that mopped this floor

before me

wives husbands

fathers mothers

lovers and

put-upon teenagers

oh this house

has a history

built the year

the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor

it’s all still there

nailed down memories

layers of time entombed in wax

someone stood in that living room and heard

we dropped the bomb

we landed at Normandy

of a flag raised in Iwo-Jima

Kennedy was dead

Vietnam was a lost cause only good

for folded flags being handed to weeping mothers

Nixon was a crook

Reagan and John Lennon had been shot

the Berlin wall had fallen

i heard first steps

crying babies

crying widows

joyous laughter

say cheese

wine glasses clinking together

realizing with a smile

this floor is mine

the foundation of a family

and i will love it


the teapot

began to whistle







kill the radio

it’s your voice
that always got to me
you damned well knew it
causing me to explode forward
bloody haired
through the windshield
of our history

art literature poetry Uncategorized writing

a poet is

a poet is a towering painting
in a sunlit gallery
of an ancient museum
gilded frame displaying
a livid angel whose face
gapes in horror at the past
fiery sword in one hand
cradling a cherubic baby in the other
whose innocent eyes glimmer toward
all hopes for the future
their wings raging
in the storm
of the present

battle fiction poetry

bloody sword

bloody sword

hearts unfurled

he was

my Agincourt

art civility death government government and a lack thereof history literature poetry sociology war writing

war makes murderers

there are but three

unchangeable forces


in our meager lives


history is indestructible


and the passage of time


that having been said

no wrongful death

may be avenged

with the death of another


if history has taught us

nothing else

it is that


makes murderers

of all humankind


art confections history sociology

all told in an Altoid tin



altoid diorama


it is in my heart to begin

to make miniature dioramas

a history of man

all told in an Altoid tin


the discovery of fire

Eve tempted by the serpent

with a pomegranate

the day religion was invented

by deluded men

the battle of Agincourt

the day we discovered the new world

already had a civilization

occupying it

the coronation of Henry VIII

the beheading of Anne Boleyn

the day Powhatan gave Pocahontas

to white European men

Beethoven’s first note pressed into a piano

Shakespeare’s first play performed in The Globe Theatre

Custer’s bad decision

the trail of tears

the blood soaked magenta fields of Gettysburg

the assassination at a bad play

of Abraham Lincoln

i shall remember Wounded Knee

the day suffragettes won their cause

the first words Anne Frank wrote in her secret diary

allied troops arriving

on the five beaches of Normandy

the first time John Fitzgerald Kennedy

laid eyes on Marilyn Monroe

and the day someone blew his brains

all over Jackie

the Washington Mall on the day

the people heard Dr. King say,

“I have a dream…”

the day Maya allowed her caged bird to sing

the moon landing and small steps on the surface

to spite Russia

the moment David Bowie decided

to make Ziggy into Stardust

the day Lou Reed released Wild Side

the moment the last of Andy Warhol died

the day we discovered


is a lie


literature sociology

smoke rise

i am the seventh great granddaughter

of pocahontas

7th daughter of a 7th daughter

the smoke rise witch queen naturally reborn

as the vengeance

of a Kentucky prairie

filled with the blood

of 16 thousand dead cherokees

i have come for what was ours

i have come to dethrone unjust kings

literature relationship studied The British Royal Crown

god save the queen

this poem

just placed its fingers

to delicate collar bone

and looked at you in such a way

that only a woman who knows

her daddy was a well deposed king

may do

silently saying

were he not my father

i could love you


film literature sociology the arts

sepia toned lithograph

i find myself longing

to live inside

a sepia toned lithograph

from the civil war


you’d be shipped to the mysterious

far off north

while i embalmed bodies

along side Thomas Holmes

my apron covered with

the sins of man

on blood soaked battlefields of the south


after a thousand letters written

and lessons learned

you’d come back home to me

with half yourself blown off

so i would decide

as a good woman does

to love you

all the more