art literature poetry sociology Uncategorized

my poetry waits quietly in my pocketbook

happiness is
turning my moments
of inspiration
Pinterest sessions
where one may choose
cakes made from edible flowers
lavender lovely
make wedding centerpieces
from hemp rope,
vintage coffee sack burlap,
and the discarded
quilt pieces of the
Daughters of the American Revolution
my poetry waits quietly
in my pocketbook
content in my joy
encouraging me
to be my own woman
a connoisseur of literature
a goddess of wine
Dionysus triumphant
a suburban expatriate
who refuses to put a rug
on her toilet lid
born to a people who do

art death literature love poetry psychology traditions Uncategorized

no elegy

no elegy

for me, please

i plan to die

with laugh lines

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






sociology writing

baby book

my son had

his first kiss today

and all i could think was

this is the first time

there is no page

upon which to enter this first


his baby book

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

Americana holidays poetry religion sociology traditions

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night…

the bedroom curtains

would be left open

upon my insistence


framed with clinging frost

to better gaze into the late evening sky


sure Santa Claus would find

his way through my stars


as i watched intently

from beneath

my Cabbage Patch Doll comforter

only to fall

fast asleep

listening for reindeer sleigh bells


not knowing


life is never what it seems


but exactly

what lies within

the human heart


may yours be filled

with love and hope

this happy Christmas night

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

rage jar

spring is having its way
with me
and the trees
blooms buds
throw rugs
everything clean

fresh thoughts and ideas

i’m keeping nothing ugly in the house
chipped dishes
anything that reminds me of you

not even angry thoughts

so i’ve placed a rage jar
on the old roll top
ringing my own pavlovian bells

each time you cross my mind
serial killer of happiness
stealing a moment of my peace
i put a five in

at the end of every month
i will donate the contents of
the redemptive vessel
to a battered women’s shelter

my anger transforming into compassion

making something good come
to a woman in need

from the evils that you do

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

friday front yards

day on which
i looked in the mirror
and wished for my 1990 hair
for one fleeting moment


all my reasons to drink
are dying

sang electric light orchestra songs
in the shower
using the voice of donald duck

drove passed friday front yards
with black dogs rolling
in joyful snow

poetry Short Stories Uncategorized

for the remainder of it


poetry Uncategorized

the port of messina

ruins of the fortress smolder


she has been unchained from the tyrant

freed by howling liberators


all cease to hail

the master of bloody card tricks


he fails to find grace

or coins for his dead eyes

behind unfearing ears


the man who would kill the world sure in the notion

he was the sole heir

paraded backwards atop royal donkey

steam rising from his legend

he now knows the planet is round


she tosses her ring into the bottomless pit of him


grateful for life yet to be lived

her mind races to gather precious moments from the fire

optimism kindness mercy wisdom charity

all she has learned

placed into saint juliana’s reliquary head

carried in her saddle leather


gilded war horse mounted

her rosewood eyes survey the newly lost world

she follows the light upward

embers rise from collapsing thatched rooftops

becoming stars

as they reach azure firmament


around her neck

a rosary made for the christian messiah

silver crescent moon for allah

the seal of solomon

and a piece of amber for those who know

god is the sky


riding stick lashes across time

thunderously galloping

toward the gateway to the holy land

she seeks a new jerusalem


plumes of red and orange organza

silk and chiffon

explode from her stride

the dust remembering big bang theory

as she soars triumphant

towards a goodness

unlike any she has ever known


a place where tongues speak truth

hearts are brave and upright

so that any god may love them


surrounded by those

who have paid their prayer tax

she has made her own way

to the port of messina


behold the blue sea


cerulean wishing well


and the possibility

of a heaven

that will decide

what becomes of us