Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

yellow blooms

he was a dead poet king
with a porch atop
the hollywood sign

we reclined

on his beloved engorged red tomatoes
growing in terra cotta pots

burning a vial of keef
given to me by zeus
at a night before dinner party

i remember thinking he looked
like a tennessee egyptian
as he passed me the long brass pipe and matches
smoke unfurling from his nose
his velvet and sand voice warned

if someone tells you
they think they just wrote their best poem

there is no best
i said
only pieces we find more resonant
we perpetually have a stronger write germinating within us

everything evolves until it dies

reciprocity is divine

stars were flung from our orbiting hands
as we collided
picking up the same flying champagne glass

exploding nebulae
of bubbly reverie sent spinning

my fingertips
covering my geisha lips

when he said

that’s the thing i love most about you
the way you place a hand to your mouth
when you laugh

it’s like for one more stolen moment
you are holding the happiness inside

the yellow blooms hanging about us
began their bowing prayers for the sunrise



darling, i am sorry
i no longer
hear the music

my ears forget the notes
or perhaps they have forgotten me

this heart bleeds out onto the floor
listening to our memories fade

impressions rise from wax

but know
there will be songs written
again for you

by a more willing sad girl

on a far less gloomy day

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

poetry Uncategorized

the angel of the annunciation

last night

i listened to

handel’s messiah

as i waited to sleep

a sudden awakening


the third movement

the messiah’s role in life after death

a visitor

gabriel came and sat

upon the edge of my bed

my son, not the angel


i am beginning to suspect

they are the same being

as i have seen them in a room together

at the same time

he had written a piece of prose full of questioning



on the nature of unknown souls


penned with his left hand

(the same side of god’s throne

his namesake sits upon)

i read the page of  wonder

beyond old testament wisdom

concerning the origin and motivation

of all things

it was then he spoke

he had decided

the soul is an energy which is our essence

when we die the essence does not go to

heaven or hell

but simply rejoins the collective

this is where we come from

this is where we return to

it is why our souls recognize each other

this is why we long to love each other

within the act of loving others

we are loving ourselves

he said these things to me

as the bass cried out

behold, i tell you a mystery


hosanna in the highest