Saturday, December 15, 2012

I keep coming back with nothing
to say. I'll just keep coming back
for now.

Monday, December 10, 2012

as the final candle fades, look for new ways
to work around your missing pieces
until they are ready to be revealed

Monday, November 19, 2012

Reading About Bombs in the I.C.U.

sudden illness and sudden missiles
both cause sudden lack of balance
in light of sudden death's proximity

please sweep us safely with your golden wings
away from the shaking ground that opens
suddenly before gehenna and our frightened tears

Monday, November 12, 2012

unanticipated gratitude and a steady stream of sweetness
in small measure costs little but creates great delight --
search for ways to connect with love

in these short days and long nights
whether starlight or sunshine reigns o'er a moment
the air's positive charge longs to find its perfect home

Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Ballad of 1 2 3 (Including Typos)

killed the dinosaurs. The same extinction event killed many
"Did they used to live on our side?"
very real. There, they love only in imagination.

"No problemo." He ripped the wheel, and they turned
which was no wimp, was on their left and gaining.
then fizzled out.

whenever she looked in his direction, she felt horrible
ate and violent turn. She pushed back and left the table
backward into the hall and said good-bye, making sure to

comb tied into the hair on the very top of his head, like a
behind them.
reading his hideous head.

Wednesday, October 31, 2012

labels, schedule, location, options:
preview post normal:
do not be distracted

Monday, October 29, 2012




sometimes curling soft beauty
is only distant cover for devastation
and chaos at close range

Friday, October 19, 2012

through slats and screens
sun shines and birds dance
a refreshing invitation

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

quiet sunlight sparks
newspaper cellophane
regardless of the certain death within

Friday, October 12, 2012

as new frustrations arise
so do opportunities to alleviate suffering -
instead, enjoy this cup of tea

Thursday, October 4, 2012

on empty, all the extras
should be this good and ours,
primordial purity

plans for steam power
are almost entirely sung
which is really just a third-person

projected, spanned, paired
from a cheeky clone,
a gorgeous serrated atmosphere.

gentle and lovely
try to heal, cry and be present
with a heart broken in three

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

For Gay Talese

for a documentarian
hidden under these cards
a story never dies

post settings and labels
organized in flamboyant boxes testify
to one method of loving life

Friday, September 28, 2012

best not to begin with hubris
lest you spend your hours
needlessly suffering over inconsequences

Thursday, September 27, 2012

the gates may have closed
but the kitchen window is open
to birdsong and breezy sunshine

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Yom Kippur

awaken!
there are embroidered spades and broken sticks all around
that need your loving and grateful attention

photo by Stephen Bugno


Monday, September 24, 2012

Yom Kippur

nausea and headache hold still
the gates are closing soon
and our map is incomplete

our pens may be dry
but we still hold our pencils
to inscribe our names in your guestbook

location, options, labels
return us to clearheadedness
if we are reasonably diligent

it is the effort that is wanted
when you send your feedback
and we scribble our impermanent signature

Friday, September 21, 2012

Endeavor

on every corner in town
groups look up hoping
to share a moment

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

i thank you God for most this amazing

written & read by e.e. cummings


Saturday, September 15, 2012

Rosh Hashanah

instead of a severed head
to accompany our blessed meal
spread a bed of tender greens

commit to ingesting less
death, and by this time next year
your heart will be lighter

Friday, September 14, 2012

Rosh Hashanah

hot wind sends unfriendly signals
but I know you are waiting with love
for my unready return

Monday, August 27, 2012

TMZ Found Poem

formally a suspect
towed from the scene
split the still friendly proceeds

on the market
who's missing bottoms out bikini
someone's made up stereotype

with a picture of a naked man's
sweet mini-human
AWWWWWWW!!! EXCLUSIVE!!! WORLD EXCLUSIVE!!!

Monday, August 20, 2012

by Denise Levertov

I need
more of the night before I open
eyes and heart
to illumination

Sunday, August 19, 2012

hot water with lemon
and clutter cleared -
back to work

Thursday, July 26, 2012







one red glass heart
one of cool grey stone
silver, gold, and clear quartz crystal

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Blood & Fire

a cocktail of earnest spirit
and humorous irony
or an armor of soft padding

fertilizer for each fallen
seedlet in this summer meadow
where sentences are limiting

and only a broken crunch
of engines and keys
can close the breach

between my obvious heart
and yours,
unknowable

Monday, July 2, 2012

45.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

 I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hours we have spent
This night! what sights, heart, you saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light's delay.
     With witness I speak this. But where I say
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives, alas! away.

  I am gall, I am heartburn. God's most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me;
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
  Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.

Monday, June 25, 2012

50.

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Thou art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,        
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again  
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

who is the raven
and who is the hawk
and who is the neighborhood sparrow

with dirty feet and spotted breast
tipping back beakfuls
which are drops of spilled coffee

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

A Midrash of Yael

 i.

Heber joined with Jabin -- against the tribe of our ancestors -- for profit. As a result of his alliance, we lived apart, near a solitary tree and a hasty road. Heber believed that Jabin was his friend, that we were protected. But when he traveled with the caravan, I was not safe.

Soldiers rode up to my tent, three or four of them, stuffed and ugly, waving spears and swords, demanding my hospitality. There was no one near to ward them off, and I learned that they were easier to satisfy than to resist. Satisfied, they wouldn't bruise me.

When Heber returned from his business, I couldn't tell him the truth. He had never cared for me deeply, we shared little, and he never stayed long. I was afraid he'd send me away, alone, and then what would I do?

ii.

At dusk he came to me, filthy and frantic. He had come to my tent before, but this time was different. He did not swagger as they usually did. He was wild-eyed, and he trembled. The aura of the battlefield was on him -- the dusty sweat and blood on his ankles, the furious madness. And somehow, the blood he tracked into my tent rubbed off on to me, and I was overcome by ferocity. I , too, became a soldier, and my tent, a battlefield.

But I was careful; I knew from painful experience that he could overpower me. I poured him fresh milk, assured him that he was a great warrior and a strong man, that he would never be defeated. I lulled him into a satiated sleep. But the more I soothed him, the higher my own blood was raised. By the time he snored, I was engorged.

As he slept, I drove my hatred through his damned head with all my might until he was dead. In that moment, I was stronger than 900 men. The peg and the mallet felt alive in my hand. Even the terrible crunch of his skull, the splat of brains and blood on my clothes and rugs did not bother me. I knew that Sisera had been sent to me to die.

There was no use hiding what I had done -- he was an important man, and I wasn't clever enough to conceal the deed. I had nothing left to lose. I beckoned the leader into my tent, saying, "Come, I will show you the man you are looking for." He entered, looked strangely at my face, and then saw the bloody corpse, sunken and staining my pillows. He whooped with joy! Laughing, embracing me, lifting and spinning me, he cried out, "Yael! Yael, savior of Israel!" The other soldiers rushed in to join, but it was only later, when I was brought to the tent of Deborah the Prophet, that I began to understand the consequences of my strange rage.

iii.

I've dwelt in the tent of Deborah ever since, though she rarely comes here anymore. In her old age, she lives in the city, far from the wilderness and the memory of battle. Sometimes she visits me after sitting under her palm of visions. Over tea, she entreats me to come with her to the city where there is comfort, security, and companionship. But I am comfortable and secure here, in this innocent tent. Colorful rugs cushion my steps; the wind, my neighbor, sings me to sleep; sturdy pegs remind me who I am. Alone, in a tent, is how I will die.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

in memory, and also in life,
you are outside time's structure
-- as love is

Monday, June 4, 2012

Sonnet #44

by William Shakespeare

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that, so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
  Receiving nought by elements so slow
  But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

praying for closure in several places
openness in others
and acceptance to be in uncertainty

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

found poem

and we see spider silk and standards of ravishing frivolity corrupt an audience with pleasure. rubber flowers, reflective glass and carnival acts objectify variously as beautiful manners, bluster inseparable from fury. the overall air of strangeness extraordinarily fluid inspired by illumination create nonsense really intensely, but kind of unreadable: jar of fox bones or something similar.

(The New Yorker, May 7, 2012)


Monday, May 14, 2012

when the world was crumbling

perhaps a sad and anxious pollen infects us
but poets continue to breathe and distill
so the rest can nod our heads

yes.
hug the poet closest to you often
the reward will be yours

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Lifting Belly (an excerpt)

by Gertrude Stein
 
Kiss my lips. She did.
Kiss my lips again she did.
Kiss my lips over and over and over again she did.
I have feathers.
Gentle fishes.
Do you think about apricots. We find them very beautiful. It is not alone their color it is their seeds that charm us. We find it a change.
Lifting belly is so strange.
I came to speak about it.



beautiful thank you
the holy, hidden heart
as it happens, grew

this day made fresh
may not be to order
but is what we have

where are you now
and where am I
and where is that honeybee headed

Sunday, April 29, 2012

deep night birdsong
slowly lifts the drudge
of a saddened heart

when a window is open
and the heart is not bound
to create false smallness

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

16 Years

by my very inception I am
bound to you, sparked by desire
nutrients united in flesh

nurtured by time and mystery
beating, bleeding, secreting
my pledge to bend as you beseech

ribbons of flesh, boxes that are not hollow
whisper the letters of your name
loosening the hold

Thursday, April 5, 2012

La Fuite de la Lune (The Escape of the Moon)

by Oscar Wilde

To outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

Save for a cry that echoes shrill
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.

And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies,
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.

Oscar Wilde was arrested on April 6, 1895. Homosexuality was classified as a crime in England at the time, and Wilde was arrested, found guilty, and sentenced to two years of hard labor.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Tuesday Night Blues

don't ease me in
to olam ha'bah
I've been all night long coming home

I beg of you
hypnotize me
until we meet again

switch off for balance
turn the page
seek pure intentions

shift your gaze
to the original dreams of your heart
and hope your route is blessed with peace

you hold so much of the power
between us, so much
of the mystery

the eyes of your heart
unseen but for the glow
of knowing and being known

through tired words
romance languages
and holy tongues

this infernal structure
that to a soul is unity
is among your greatest gifts

and though I fight
your soundtrack
I know it to be true

if only I could hear you
ask me to dance
in the moonlight

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Sonnet XVII

by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
... risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
will you drink more often
if your water is flavored with flesh
or will you stay stubborn

with dry gums and dashed dreams
wincing at each in-breath
inadvertently hitting the wrong keys

Monday, February 13, 2012

again you have your personal code
found ever at your elbow
and an uncapped pen

it was that look, from over there,
that primed the well
for drawing

again you offer your matching gift
of silence from afar
when your breath in my ear

would quench this thirst.
an empty bucket on a rope
dangles over a blank page

Thursday, February 9, 2012

setting a setting
to convey intrigue
and coax

secrets encoded in color
evocative of what is not
yet open

a rolled wax candle,
burned just at it's long wick's tip
in our matching hue

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

not every dream
is a good poem
but every poem is a dream

Friday, February 3, 2012

Nothing Twice

by Wislawa Szymborska

translated by Clare Cavanagh and Stanislaw Baranczak


Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses.

One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

your face - as clear a vision
a conjuring, a plea
an ideal moment in a possible future

your voice - an echo in a tunnel
to my weak heart
unheard and unspoken

I will surely disintegrate if I am too far
down your earthen path
when I am so used to sand

this world - though stitched
with golden thread
defines the drape behind which you keep

silence amplifies our love
and our dreams of an ideal moment
in a possible future

and in our bravery - when we speak
our radiant joy, though it will not last,
will be a shard collected

Friday, January 27, 2012

what is never framed
cannot beautify, but sits instead
unloved in a pile

under the Nile, the silt
flows under the boats though
no one notices

smiles from beyond surround us
so sign up for more
and be satisfied

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Gentle Admonition

thinking about doing
what is right is not the same
as doing what is right

what is most important
only has impact
if it is made most important

sunshine and birdsong
seep into your soul
only when you venture outside

so venture and make
your soul what is right
let light seep in and impact

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Those who turn the many to tzedakah shall shine like the stars
-- Daniel 12:3


walk strong and point so
what is far away and continuous
appears as a point on the horizon

Monday, January 9, 2012







despite a dirty window
or our ugly impositions
a blue sky's abundant beauty