Beating, pounding… Thump… Thump… Rhythm, cadence… Thump… Thump… Constant even sound… Thump… Thump… Steady flow… Thump… Thump… Moving through the body… Thump… Thump… Pumping, pushing… Thump… Thump… My heart beating… For you… Thump… Thump…

Long day filled with stress Long week we need some rest We come together to partake in friendship In Gods hands we place our duress Some bring the food, Some bring the drinks Some offer themselves To iron out the kinks And Music too provides…

Here on Maui we poets have a tradition of beaching our poetry. We shlub our chairs across the sand Wood, backpacks, jackets Bags, a table, pens and notebooks, dinner, snacks Booze, Water-bottles. We make a circle around Where the campfire will go We write some…

If dogs cannot smell butts they cannot nose well to determine friend or foe may as well be in hell.   Our airports, sans sniffers would send drugs out unhindered these same dogs, without owners would be abandoned in hours.   No smell means no…

content warning: discussion of emotional abuse. Your anger burns like fire. I know, because I carry the burns. My heart is a scarred thing, a fragile thing. But you don’t scare me anymore. You lash out. You bite and scream and kick. I used to…

A call from an old friend at Eight, He said; wear a black and don’t be late. I was there just before everyone arrived. A rose on hand, as white as snow, Then after a moment, I let it go And gave it to you….

Get To Know You By: LuvMiFreely  Maybe we can sit down and get to know each other Don’t be afraid to open up to me I’m not here to judge I want to learn your past and your love language I understand you’re not used…

Hour Twelve: The Gathering “Only one rule: Don’t wear black.” After an absence of eight years (despite all of the promises, the excuses, the maybe-about-next -years?) we will gather this time not to reunion (a desperate attempt to relive those younger carefree hopeful days) but…

Deep in the woods with the moon at its peak The goblins come out to creep Along the river on paths of moss Tiptoeing past where naiads sleep They clamber over long dead ents And flee the wolf-men’s tents To gather at the Coyote’s Fang…

Before the virus we gathered at my home orphan islanders making our own family. Humpday board game nights quarterly whiskey tastings hurricane all nighters playing cards by candlelight, Cameron bedded down under the kitchen table, our feet all around him, keeping him safe, and feeling…