Americana analysis behavior bibliophilia books cemeteries childhood death destruction physics poetry Southern Gothic suicide Uncategorized

a leaf that lingered brown

i blame robert frost
his cold methodology
his need to fill disused graveyards with
death’s dazzling white snow glamour
a slow creep crystalline across
an already shattered windshield

i blame robert frost
as i cannot blame
my father
my friend
or an absent god
for them forgetting
they had promises to keep

Americana art coffee happiness local color poetry society sociology Uncategorized

sweetly, simply

ice blue shimmer

swaddling a snowy city

morning is being delivered

at the library’s

side door

i crosswalk dash

through breathy billows

from my rose red lips

a parliament of cellos

cooing ave maria to a piano in my mind

focused on the coming coffee and time clock

when the man walking passed me

lifts my trance by smiling

sweetly, simply he says,


art festivities holidays love poetry Uncategorized

Christmas Eve

she adorns her hair

with holly leaves

cardinals singing carols on

her sweater sleeves

crushed rose petals lips

angels for earrings

a scarf woven of silvery tinsel

each candle lit

a prayer for earth

sent to the mail room in heaven

all this

and a love poem

on Christmas Eve


Americana poetry

judgment and peppermints

Winter has been left

at the altar

by Spring

in a Kentucky church

full of faded wood panels

battered hymnals

pews creaking with

suspicious Baptists aghast

carrying tissues

judgment and peppermints

in pocketbooks

bathed in beams

of stained glass light

containing confederate

dust particles descending

certain of

gossiping daffodils

and death






Americana art behavior books cinema coffee crime death forensics literature mortuary sciences poetry psychology rituals sociology Southern Gothic Urban Legends writing

winter was a crime scene


was a crime scene

blood splattered onto frosted windows

red lipstick curse on the vanity mirror

high rise

victim dismembered

meat rotting

in poorly wrapped packages

to be toe tagged

orphans whisked away by the government

appointed neglectful

pearls fallen across the sticky floor

to a police radio symphony

Mahler fatalistic

smug detectives

sipping black coffee

no sugar to be found in the city

a glib act

notebook scratches

with no hope for answers

or finding the perpetrator

who caused

the whole mess


Americana art behavior books ecology Europe happiness human behavior Kentucky literature nature poetry psychology punk society Southern Gothic the arts writing

The Inevitability of Cherry Blossoms

“Every mile is two in winter.” – George Herbert



has a way…

of making atheists

of Englishmen,

country folk,

and poets.


It’s as though

they have forgotten

their prayers

and the inevitability

of cherry blossoms.

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


february 2cd

(cue booming hollow sports announcer voice)


ground hog day
on which
punxsutawney phil saw his fictitious shadow
in the epicenter
of manufactured battles
man vs. weather
man vs. processed cheese polymer
man vs. traumatic brain and spinal cord injury

my war
is that my personal health is at a tipping point
the choices i make now
will determine the length of my life
and my overall wellness

2014 must be the year i stop
abusing myself
with smoke
with drink
with bad jobs
with bad men

my sons are 18 now
i choose to see them live as flourishing men

i want to put my best face forward
for the coming apocalypse

this leaves me with only one drug


my sword dipped in ink

in the contest between good and evil
good wins

know why?
kisses from children
and puppies

but even they won’t stop the earth
from feeling the need to
cure itself of us

we are coming to our unpollinated end

so all you lesser demons can fuck off

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing

if the gods turned out the lights

i would tell you i love you
so loudly
the next-summer crickets would hear
if the gods turned out the lights
if they failed to hang the stars
because they got weepy drunk
one lonely winter night

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

the white death

he was
beautiful and brilliant
more talented than most

in countless things

sharp tongued
well traveled
and tastefully dressed
he knew the password at every speak easy
in brooklyn
and the drummer of all the world’s local bands

i remembered the way he loved me tonight
during the three hour drive home
in the white death
passing cars stranded
off the road
a three car pileup
and people bleeding
even the plows couldn’t get to us

but not me
he found me all weather tires
at good year
and saw to everything with one phone call
even made sure the men were extra nice to me

he was each one of those things
the way all the best monsters are

fuck him
for my remembrance of this
for this poem
fuck him
for being a tragedy

Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends

come winter

woke up this morning
full of
and the calm which descends
upon a woman in her mid 30’s
who fucking knows
exactly what life
isn’t planning on giving her
and what it almost did

my six year old frame
was just one of dad’s bottles of canadian mist
and a few tiny white pills away
from being raised
in abject poverty
in a town so poor
even the mayor is on food stamps
no escape no escape

thank you for having the good sense to die, daddy
so mama could drag me to the safety
and fluoride filled waters of the north

because i’m 400 years removed
from indian princess
but only one generation away
from the whitest trash on earth

you spared me the fire
the dropping out of high school
the five snotty lice ridden children
and worrying
about sealing the broken trailer windows
in plastic sheets
and kerosene heaters burning
the half retarded baby
come winter

you spared me from a walmart complexion
mcdonald’s thighs
and the crack toothed meth head
transient sometimes truck driving husband
who beats me regularly

now here i sit
too educated for my own good
i’m damn near intolerable
and my most cumbersome problem
is that the dog keeps dragging
my expensive plum robe from nordstrom’s
to the couch to sleep on it

i’m mixing irish cream into my coffee
fully aware of what class i’m boxing in
grateful for the blood
on my teeth and tongue

i could have been helpless
but instead i’m merely wasted

and enjoying the life
of a bourgeois drunk

jesus turned water into wine
before he got put up for the night

but you, father, in death
turned regret into gratitude

that’s a god damned christmas miracle
if ever there was one