Cat cry breaks the night

right under my bedroom window.

It has a burgundy wildness

that is the opposite of my

outward tame energy.


We are not adversaries, this cat and I.

we compliment each

Like autumn and spring

like sky and sea..


Together we own

the brash spells of night.


J. Pratt-Walter


Old Growth

There, right there

on the living room floor

lays the last of an

old growth forest.


Hemlock, military- tight straight grain

that never again will smell

the rain, the hungry draped mosses,

the first sun of summer solstice.


Even horizontal with death,

this wood listens, still misses the

flowery haze of

bird song.


J. Pratt-Walter


Take Flight

I am grasping the art of flight.

It might be a different method

than you think,

no machinery or wings required.


I prep the airy path

behind my eyes and down the throat’s runway;

the pre-flight check

is buzzing and complete.


A magic air strides through my lungs.

I take my leave of the common and mundane.

I greenly fly. I’m more alive

than life.


I land next to you.


J. Pratt-Walter



Like a paper old cocoon

I have bent back the husk

of another year

and scuffled it open,


and only time will say

if it reveals a dream

or a nightmare.


J. Pratt-Walter




in those so-long-ago     days

oh.     how felt born to dance with you

i know     none      of those dance-dreams

jiggled in you nor   loosened arms

in tingling      wingling circles

     about your hips


nor tilted the slight      quiver

of a mouth alight with      unspeakable

savor       briefly smoky      then

buttery with honey on the side

and all the     way



it all      begins with

the dance     damn it



j. pratt-walter


Jesus at the Hard Rock Cafe

Hot Day

Hard Rock Cafe

Jesus is trying to find

someone to grind.

He’s very pale, wearing

red shorts.

In the pool he’s trying

water sports.

In the corner

girls are twerking.

I wonder how his salvation

is working.

He’s rather dry

and orders a beer.

Good thing there’s

no crucifixion here.


J. Pratt-Walter




Butterfly glory

clamors for your attention.

I’m still a brown moth.


J. Pratt-Walter



My Love

My love is not so loud

as trumpet’s blaze,

but mystery of leaf

in Autumn’s haze.


I love you like the mountain

turns to sand,

as snowmelt, drop by drop,

reforms the land.

(this will be added to)


Jennifer Pratt-Walter



You don’t know which words

to even dig for.

You’re paralyzed as rock


but at least that keeps you

from jumping off the cliff,

at least you recognize all the problems

lining up to take you even lower

past all the heaped-up piles

of useless syllables

that jumped.


J. Pratt-Walter


The Women


We’re old enough to recognize

how wise and cool we are,


and young enough to apply

our wisdom almost almost



J. Pratt-Walter


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