Category Archives: Original Poetry

leonard cohen

1             Cohen   when Leonard Cohen died i tried to write about it & couldn’t,   couldn’t feel it.     II trump’s elected the next day, so there’s poetry in his leaving.   2 a fly landed on the shadow of his hand on the page. i thought it was a sign but […]


At the far gable end two small windows, which were barred on the outside, flanked a small narrow room, which was portioned off from the rest of the room. It was used as a dressing room for amateur dramatics.

Iodine Dreams

Mermaids like glitter called into the night, They swam in lemonade crystal currents, Navigating the ice chunks of iodine, Burnt haze danced around him, The Smokey shimmer his engulfed dinner coat, Dusk now sets it bares, Peach-puff was not an alley cat he knew, But he held on to his cats eyes, He was despised […]

on writing

I go with what I’ve got, a fly on my foot, the sky hung with intermittent starlight; a distant hum, near by like blood pumped; cars, cicada, city scum; glass reflects the room I’m in, holds me near/dear, returns my frown. I dream   of her.


midnight her light glows between the curtain low I’d close shop my eye- lids at a drop,,, I’m dead, tired & when I lie beside her I dream I, walk again

A leaf fell from the trees

Lonely a road cold Leave the critics to their retorts This is no scripture No ancient Latin definition It’s a story of how they met For the rest of you this is where it begins She sits with an apple Entices the serpent The boy will follow Biting into her neck She eats the freshly […]

on poetic composition

my word isn’t blood or milk spilt or symbolical of it.   i’m cut by what’s remembered, what is not & the gap, a flat windy lot that rings like wooden chimes.   for days, as mice play in the cracks between my toes & fingers, i lie in the hollows or high billowing like […]

Ali Baba (from the sky)

We are still under the sky, In the guest room; Beast and cryptic.   Everything crawls. A car flings us. I see one peeling The middle east.   Down there, it’s still Exotic; an open sore, With a mule-cart Full of gold.  

Still Loving

The quiet eye underestimates our ankles, soft against each other;   idles in the under- ground tavern I sweep in my mind, deep into corners and back caressing the wall.   I see mid-tones and heavy jaws of the dark; a few words sifted, careless. I’ve seen them.   I’ve seen you, fly into a […]

the doctor will see you now, Mr Lazarus

tonight, rain; the white flap of pages turned;   the winding of the stairs when   to sleep of this, the roar wheels. of sea. so wild to think it.   begin to understand.   a place to go/ crave/ to hold the still beating heart.   2 Horror. Slept 9 hours. Rib cracked, head […]


You might trace the eye-sockets of enemies   settled in the folds; curious samples of feet – the duck   or elephant tramping off the hem of the cliff. I loathe a modern home   set to cream on cream; a sterile soap pinching corners; eyes have   no place to comb. I like these […]

Sunday Float

Hungry for this seal at the ears, I roll in the pool.   It’s long since I shut you out, tipped my face to the sky and swooned.  I hear   the dry spheres of my breath.  Only,   under me: the avalanche aisles sweep; and the graze of the whale, less ethereal in the […]