What I knew seems lost

amidst the clamor of lies

and social distancing.


How many nutcases there

must be for our president

to be considered seriously.


Tommy next door practicing

his clarinet, again off key

like life has become.


I fiddle away time as if

what’s happening now

isn’t the most important time

in the history of this planet.


If I look beyond the clamor,

I find a lot of noise

going in the same circles

as our planet and solar system.


Maybe life imitates nature.










What if the Native People in this country

had boarded giant canoes that took them

all the way across the waters to Europe?


What if they came ashore on the rugged coast of Wales

and took the continent by storm…seen as seers from far away.


Countries all wanted visits from this gifted group,

in touch with nature in a way not known in that day.


Europeans realized faults in their expansionist attitudes,

learned to live off the land with little waste,

discovered a kinship with trees, lakes and seas.


Kings gave away luxurious lifestyles

went on pilgrimages to find

their inner selves

ended up in bliss.


The tribes then flourished all over the continent,

wanted to share a more personal vision.


They took some explorers home

on humongous canoes.


What do you think happened

once they got to the place

that would be known as Acirema?











Poem 10


Is it different from the sixties?

Are we really changed?

What do we want in life?


There is always a lot:

to be thankful for or

to complain about


and in this country

if you’re white and privileged– to have.


Moon shadows follow us:

reflections of who we

might be

can be

wish to be.


Why are we here?

Is it to learn something?

Is it as random as leaves falling in the breeze?

Or is this time and place perfect for us?


As if a pandemic and a pathological liar president

ganging up on us isn’t enough…maybe there’s a lesson here.


If we learn it, maybe it won’t be so hard next time.

Or maybe just the opposite…it’ll be a real challenge.


None of us know for sure.


So what do we have?


Love, hope and

a shadow we’re

not able to hug.










Mask who you have become.


You cannot let lethargy

stalk you around every corner.


Make the most of pandemic.

Zoom like you mean it.


Tinkerbelle will lead a strange brigade

of lonely fireflies above the treeline

past the cohousing cottages

into the sky and then to the stars.


Don’t bottle up this strange energy.

Eat it like porridge.

Feel its heat.


Because who you

thought you were

no longer exists.





Emoji Poem



Emoji Poem

(based on my current favorite emoji’s)


Wave to us Tinkerbelle!


look at the rabbit

who looks at time

with two open eyes


loves to wave

rides the waves


but like a bumble bee sans flowers

can’t help but be unhappy

with such horror on the earth.


His inner eagle

needs to fish around to

find an angel with brains.


His starry-eyed smiley face will

then give a thumbs up to

the doctor who is a diamond

in this time of crying.


Don’t be a nerd,

give a shamrock

thank you to those

who wear masks.




Season of the Reckoning



Season of the Reckoning



Everything’s off rhyme

stuck in syncopated time


this season of the reckoning

is echoing the sickening,

sanity’s trembling is worsening


adrenalin is assembling

both sides told they’re trespassing

but disenchanting is awakening.


Threatening editing slides by

some who are unquestioning,

but to me it is unsettling.


Deadening, deafening lies are enveloping

our lives, but we just keep on messaging

while what they’re peddling feels like sentencing.


We’ve gotten used to crazy menacing

but like a loaf of bread with leavening

we’ll rise up to not feel second string.


His skeleton of embezzling

hypnotizing but we’re awakening


adding strength to what’s developing

together we’ll soon be reveling.






The Ideal Day




The Ideal Day…


I smell orange peels

past their prime

desiccated in sun…


cheers cascade down

on me like waterfalls

from everywhere…


I can’t get enough.


I’m not prone to pinch myself

but this warrants a pain

born of pleasure…


I finally get to scream goodbye

to the worst side of myself

manifest as President Agent Orange…


Reality TV had featured a peacock

strutting and fanning his wings

to the adoration of less and less…


until crooked politics

and internet circumvent

weren’t enough to keep him on our screens…


smell has a strong memory

but his septic tank of vision

fades like a sunset bright from pollution…


and I bite into a crisp Gala apple

to relish the taste

of something sweet

and finally… a twang of hope




The Lake



The Lake


shimmers like the dream it represents

distant lights of Coeur d’Alene

a beacon of trust – we’re not in this alone.


Like many things

it’s not always what it seems.

we bathe in calm waters

fed by rivers from the hills.


Mines made money for a few

provided hard working jobs

buried deep within the earth.


Trickle down waste

washed to streams


flowed to pristine lake

but is hidden from view

way down on the bottom


like trickle-down economics

as the gap widens between

rich and poor

healthy and sick

haves and have-nots


invisible as a virus

politicized until those at the top

realize they can’t imagine it away,


that reality is more than what they think.


The rest of us dive down to the bottom

and wonder why the water seems

a lot murkier than you’d expect.









Dear Anonymous American




Dear Anonymous American


I know it’s not your fault.

You caught it by default.


He wants us to exalt

all his double talk.


From the top we get assault.

Our wounds are rubbed with salt.


You’re in a burial vault

of his askew surreal pole vault.


His mind flexible as cobalt

while your life was lost.


I’m sorry this thunderbolt

somersaulted your life to halt.


And if I say I’m sorry

it’s from one deep in worry


that you’re one of the many

his lack of caring had to bury.



Bunny Love


Bunny Love

(A Bop)


A hawk stares down on me

from high above, I see a dove.

Naïve bunny that I am

I bop along sunny bunny trail

grass beaten down just enough

to show me where to go.


Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.


Can I love myself?

Does it matter if I swing and miss?

Does it matter if I fall down flat?

Doesn’t the team depend on me?

My ancestors and descendants

stare down from the stands.

Pelt me in an indecipherable sound that

may be cheers, boos or indifferent chatting.


Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.


I need to figure out what to do

but there is nothing to figure out.

I need to be in this moment

as if the stands aren’t there

as if everything and nothing are the same

as if the answer is a little further down this bunny trail.


Bunny love is funny love

but can also be a boxing glove.










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