Yanamama

Hallowed chapel glimmering gold in the light of a hundred candles shining on a thousand years of coded messages Chi Ro anchored frescoes...

It is a season of hunger Of pacing cabinet to fridge nibbling edges of things dust on restless tongues It is a time for prowling  Disc...

Diesels bay at 3 a.m. as they prowl railyards on the north end of town A screen lights the kitchen half-cleaned, still fragrant with  ...

Things that hollowed me out today, a list for no good reason Casual jazz under red string lights a gift from a man who will never be ...

Just ran across this, er, salute to Poe which I wrote in response to a Poets of G+ Community prompt for National Poetry Month. It is silly ...

You can do anything I tell my girl corralling my sadness for another place-time Who wants to tell a child she is limited  by her phys...

Rain curtains billow Revealing distant mountains Dusted with fresh snow Robins hop green paths Between clumps of melting ice Suddenly,...

Indiana maybe. Somewhere not long before Chicago we rolled into dark  shelter  behind  a growling semi You slept, contort...

We sang Shosholoza the day you won your freedom was celebrated with dance ululations rose to frost-bitten stars Fresh from the hot springs I...

Boots pendulum across dry hills kicking up intermittent static from disturbed grasshoppers The tang of bar oil hangs in the still air, ...

Were I honest upon first meeting I would eschew mascara and don old jeans, smeared at the knee with dirt from a garden remnants of pine sap ...

Winter approaches in thousand-foot increments heralded by mountain-measuring weathermen Snow above ten thousand feet flounces across peak...

In the midnight of our days routines will have fossilized. Fried eggs will grace every breakfast plate. I’ll refuse your daily off...

I imagine angels wings like helicopters thrumming reflected by a sodden sky voices rasped by indrawn smoke exhaustion tempered ...

This wondrous now is time suspended . You still hold my hand when we walk to school though you now look me straight in the eye....

I went left as my children went right through the waving unkempt grass shrouding bones beside a road in New England. Stones tilted towa...

Two dozen graying cotton pillowcases are uncloseted for the first time in twenty-five years by a woman Who has grayed as well. ...

We must have been The very image of White trash that night Battered truck Holes in the knees of My tattered jeans I was barefoo...

Poetry is The essence Of language Oceans of words Distilled To a few lines Not one word Out of place Not one extra Grap...

Grit-clad glass tunnels delicate hollows branch downward through sand jagged shards that capture the sky upside-down lightning ...