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. …

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…

Poems and prints —

An Elegy and a Tribute — Today I can write the saddest lines write, for example, “the sun is shining for the first time in weeks but I hardly notice it” the night revolves on the other side of the world, silent today it’s only the saddest lines I loved her, and she loved me too through…

A Sonnet Elegy — The sweetest patch of grey that ever lay before the fire, or in the sunshine, wherever warmth was found. With wanton splay she’d claim a bed, be it wide or confined, making comfort out of concrete, making canned fish into a feast. Breaking silence with snores and statements, an undertaking we understood, heart to heart, so entranced as…

Memory in conversation with the body —

St Paul, Revisited, II — I thought the road would rise up to meet me and the wind would remain at my back but it became a whip to beat me It turns out that what I had learned to see became a light that shone on what I lacked all my faults rose with the road…

St Paul, Revisited, I — On a road that I thought I knew smugly convinced this road whose course I firmly knew with my convictions in clear view was evidence in my defense Life showed me roads I never knew Laying awake on a recent night, I composed this poem, half thinking about a conversation…