The sun contemplates how it will be remembered. Shadows lie down the valley slope, confusing light and dark. A slice of black wing, just ahead of the wind, a tantrum of fur, and blood falls from the sky in fat drops like red red ink,…

Love your Self, Your man, your wife, Love your unrepeatable life. Your too small eyes, your messed-up hair, Love the wonderfully colored skin you wear. Love your nose, your ears, Your smile, your tears, Love your uniquely imperfect denture, Love the fact that to be…

    Ancestors   This morning I asked Colleen, “How do you write a poem?” “Look it up online,” she said, “Or ask Siri.”   I guess I’ll give it a try.   I remember when I felt so small that everything around me was…

Sporty… Chic… cotton, silk, and linen. She prefers Indian cotton, like how she dresses her babies. Clothes that move; clothes that breathe. She is on trend because she is a classic who dresses for herself. She was “athleisure” before it was  in vogue. She wears pastels,…

pours through veins like Guinness bubbling over crystal glass   lullaby and dance playing the treetops raining down laughter   heels leave the floor, owl flight amidst woods and hollow.   bow never leaving the bridge   hypnotic notes mimic the wind, water dances to…

The calm wind, the calm sea The flipping hair of the young lady The intense violin played in the air What else does it mean but pure bliss and care When life gets unfair gets tough ain’t square Just remember that your life is a…

In my mind I’m stuck Back in a time of monsters With mad gaping maws Creatures, creep-lovers Leap down fiery caverns For lost love or warmth Searching for the lyrical Noise of the ancients Diane Morinich

A room in Arles, walls painted yellow, yellow for faith and love, for a newly discovered self stripped to the waist in the torrid cicada heat, the chatter of wings rubbing together as Vincent with a brush dipped in mauve fading to grey, mauve for…

There is a calling they say All the night things must reply The music of it all shall fill the night A splendid sound it shall be A story, a passage if you will Of a joyous jubilant journey Which must be fullfilled This is…

Sideways hug, all my children born out that ear now, once a year forever now because of that sidling hug. Well, digging a well to pop them down. And we’re so up, coming with a cup for the nightly piss and splish now. Sideways kiss,…