Published in: on June 15, 2014 at 4:01 pm  Leave a Comment  

Mother’s Day


I walked by and grabbed the phone.
Just habit on this day.
Then stopped and set it down,
Remembering there wasn’t anything to say.

Several years now passed
With conversations faded and gray.
What once was said, must hold its own,
Blank spaces now appearing for what was mother’s day.


Forsythia blooming in the unusual warmth May 11th 2014
Anchorage, Alaska

Published in: on May 11, 2014 at 9:16 pm  Leave a Comment  

Junior Prom


Kim and Ian
East High School Prom
May 3, 2014
Anchorage, Alaska

Published in: on May 3, 2014 at 8:58 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Like a breath of fresh air
Replacing the old and stagnant
The discomfort renewed
By excitement of change.

A strength as mighty as a ship
As soft as a leaf
Both parting the matter
To move
In stark contrast.

Published in: on April 30, 2014 at 12:00 pm  Leave a Comment  

Starving to death

On a diet of abundance
Lacking the nutrients for need.
Empty calories with busyness,
Fueling a dormant seed.

A food chain of repetition
Masquerading with completion.
Starving to death
From empty emotions
Just waiting to be freed.

Published in: on April 27, 2014 at 11:24 am  Comments (1)  

A Story…or not


Pages worn at the corners
Random passages left unread.
The book, which was to be the story,
Created a plot only culminating in dread.

The characters in conflict
No resolutions yet to be found.
The background themes of
Repeating refrains
Echoes a lonely sound.

There is no story
If the reader turns away
Culminating in confusion
And sorrow trying to resurrect
A meaningful play.

Published in: on April 23, 2014 at 8:08 pm  Leave a Comment  

P.L. 94-142

Child Find
The answer has always been
Child Find

Published in: on April 2, 2014 at 5:56 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Published in: on March 27, 2014 at 6:21 pm  Leave a Comment  

No one

Is bullet proof,
A mother least of all.
False promises etched upon a wall.

Why is it,
While in power
No food is on the tray?
Taking down signs, throwing out pens,
Silencing the voiceless
Without a say.

Hurling anger,
Displaced impotence,
Vicious clutching the illusion
Of control.
The empty gun, the struggle won
And the verdict?

Published in: on March 24, 2014 at 12:44 am  Leave a Comment  

Stupid Me


Published in: on March 18, 2014 at 10:09 am  Leave a Comment  


To a different drummer
One may never understand
The code is not so simple
But may lend a caring hand.

A road with other travelers
On a simultaneous trip
Will appear the same
At different times
’round the bend and hiding in the dip.

Dueling Banjos (HD):

Published in: on March 15, 2014 at 9:51 pm  Leave a Comment  


Or did they call him Bill?
Spoken in the King’s English,
a life of metaphors
With which his coffers to fill.

He had so much to say
We have no need to think for ourselves.
The dregs of humanity
Stood wait and lined upon his dusty  shelf.

Old, now dead,
White men crowd out unique thought.
But, given time, he’ll be replaced
Students never knowing he wrote for naught.

Published in: on March 14, 2014 at 9:48 pm  Leave a Comment  


Published in: on March 13, 2014 at 9:19 pm  Leave a Comment  

Long distance


Published in: on March 8, 2014 at 5:48 pm  Leave a Comment  

Only one

At a time
Acts out the anger
Shoved under the rug
The rest of the time.
Who said, your mother is leaving you
Only leaving the rest of us

Published in: on February 27, 2014 at 10:07 pm  Leave a Comment  


you gotta do what you just gotta do.

The viewpoint expressed is always up to you.

Stand tall and don’t waver

while all beats you down.

Give it time

Give it space

For a new door to walk through.

exitsource Google images

Published in: on January 22, 2014 at 10:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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Hell by Sarah Manguso


The second-hardest thing I have to do is not be longing’s slave.

Hell is that. Hell is that, others, having a job, and not having a job. Hell is thinking continually of those who were truly great.

Hell is the moment you realize that you were ignorant of the fact, when it was true, that you were not yet ruined by desire.


The kind of music I want to continue hearing after I am dead is the kind that makes me think I will be capable of hearing it then.


There is music in Hell. Wind of desolation! It blows past the egg-eyed statues. The canopic jars are full of secrets.


The wind blows through me. I open my mouth to speak.


I recite the list of people I have copulated with. It does not take long. I say the names of my imaginary children. I call out four-syllable words beginning with B. This is how I stay alive.


Beelzebub. Brachiosaur. Bubble-headed. I don’t know how I stay alive. What I do know is that there is a light, far above us, that goes out when we die,


and that in Hell there is a gray tulip that grows without any sun. It reminds me of everything I failed at,


and I water it carefully. It is all I have to remind me of you.

Published in: on December 9, 2013 at 8:19 pm  Leave a Comment  






oh, well.

I thought…

Published in: on October 20, 2013 at 12:16 am  Leave a Comment  

No peace,

there never has been,

warm fuzzies, with fluff up my nose,

Making me sneeze, spitting it out.

Peace, an absence of anything

With meaning and disagreement,

What platitudes and nonsense,

to think a piece of peace

is peaceful.


Published in: on May 17, 2013 at 12:30 pm  Leave a Comment  

The moon peers down

through a cobweb of branches

with a hazy look

a harbinger of things to come.

As the smoke swirls round

like a damp mist of suspense

to remind me

the parts are less than the sum.


Silence so loud in its sound

saying much with its speech

to impatiently wait, all alone.

once again

I will have to begin

to crush them under my thumb.

Autumn, 2012

back yard at 3014 Madison Way


Published in: on October 4, 2012 at 1:22 am  Leave a Comment  
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