Nantucket Memories — Thousands of lives under an ocean of sand undulated and unmarked as the years since they were laid to rest graves unadorned unblemished shy as violets eschewing adoration their souls set free from the land where their bones plunge deep My daughter said “you have to see the Quaker graveyard…

National Poetry Month Letters to Poets Series — Here I am just trying to save the world with one love letter at a time. Writing unfurls slowly in a busy clime, in the hothouse of a framework that hurls challenges at me constantly. Effects seem unlikely. Bravely I pick daisies and count the petals, aloof of all rejection (just kidding, not really; I’m too touch feely) Hope keeps towing…

National Poetry Month Letters to Poets Series — Where in Xanadu, tormented soul, could you now be found whole? With all of life’s blue problems washed away, in white robes whose hopes blossomed like a new day evermore from the shore waving. Bowl upon golden bowl takes its toll. So shipwrecked, the serpent’s chase; his hiss, amiss, his bite, so sweet, replaced…

Into the West Sonnet Series — Seeking a stone to fill the hole of loss that gaped and sang for medicine. Precious as silver mined or a hawk feather tossed by the wind, where the high desert’s spacious grace gives benediction to art. Holy dirt in a hole in the floor, offering a cure, a miracle. We were only travelers, become pilgrims, bestowing meaning…

Late November — Airing out in the space between holidays: one circulates within while the other paces at the door in all eagerness to come in Late November shines in all brilliance on the blushing, hail-beaten trees; things still bloom but there’s winter in the light Turkey stock simmers on the stove while we…

A little poem of gratitude — Gratitude’s table sets a place for everyone love is the main course with rich sides of acceptance come pile your plate high and feast Happy Thanksgiving, friends! If you’re celebrating it, I hope you are having a wonderful one. And if you’re not, I hope you are still having a…

Prompted by a prose poem and the season — This skin of mine houses a perpetual traveler in suspension between one place and another where the past and the future shake hands, I’m standing awkwardly in the way like a person in line sandwiched with old friends on either side but it’s fine nobody wants to cut, each is content with their place and meanwhile they are both speaking different languages, both indecipherable to me, sharing…

Poemtober Prompt — The day after the eclipse there was a strong north wind, so we lit the fire October shone through the windows with its own flame rekindled stronger after being temporarily doused by the moon I read about the death of Louise Gluck She missed the eclipse I don’t know if…

Continuing Poemtober — Could it be that what I see before me is the blade of madness? The sharp edge that drove a lady to her tomb, doomed as she was from the hour ambition made its first small cut out, out I’ll not carry thee Inktober prompt: Dagger. My brain: Lady Macbeth. …