•July 29, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Onward again

Through the naked beginnings
of another nightfall
Being so caught up
so twisted in tomorrow

How many stars have fallen
while I slept
Mastered by such manipulations


Mother and Son

•June 9, 2012 • 9 Comments

this was written about my son, who went through open heart surgery when he was just an infant (7 1/2 months old).  He’s perfectly healthy now, but I’ll never forget that day. 




They wheeled you away from me

and I watched the double doors swing closed

I sense the moment the nurse pricked

you with her bright needle

stopping your heart

from beating its affirmation

and the machine beside you

began to pump loudly

in a shrill mimic of your pulse

At that moment my own heart slowed

Time stopped

and my body collapsed into itself

as I hunched in a corner on the floor

by the table with the coffee machine

I shut my eyes and picture the surgeon get to work

slicing through the center of your chest

to uncover your tiny heart

The nurse who had told me before stealing you away

that it was no big deal

they’ve been doing this type of surgery for years

yawned through it all

she’s seen it all before

the human body — even a tiny infant like you — just wasn’t special anymore

While the surgeon has laser concentration

focused only on the tiny chamber that needed to be plugged

Never stepping back to marvel at the precious life he was saving

When it’s all over

another prick restores your pulse

that starts slowly

like a cat stretching the sleep from his body

and I am ushered in to wait for your waking

because it is my face that you know as your own

The surgeon will disappear forever

and I imagine he returns like Zeus to Mt. Olympus



There are tubes and wires everywhere

burying your peach body

I find a small patch

of your leg to rub

and wait

My touch seems to quiet the machines

into a gentle rhythm that is a constant

reminder of life

I think about the day many years ago

in my teenage torment

when I wanted to leave the world

and that deep yearning I had to crawl

into the dark hole of eternal slumber

How distant that feels now

under the artificial lights in this room

that shrinks around us

as the real world floats away outside

even the nurses that flutter in from time to time

have become just another part of the scenery

Now it is my job to save you

to help you find the tunnel back to me

I sing so my voice can guide you through the darkness



When your eyes open

they are different

though still that famous hazel mixing the best of all colors

they now gaze at the world like a weary war hero

You are stoic and poised

while babies scream all down the hall

With a squeeze of my finger

I know you are now in charge

ready to guide me through this trauma

I cannot pick you up

to nurse

so I cautiously contort myself around the tangle of lines,

bend over the rail

hope for the best

you latch on and

we are one again



 Beautiful boy with so much wisdom.




•May 31, 2012 • 7 Comments

I’m spitting out the bad tastes

Removing the stains of the past

I don’t want to hear anymore from you

The hourglass only holds so much sand

I’ve no more time to waste.


•May 31, 2012 • 6 Comments

(This is another one of my early poems.)



Motherhood changes you
It’s no secret
Everyone says it
Even my own mother told me this
But she was talking about the 23-inch waist
and that was before she discovered pilates
My mother and I could never have a discussion
Foregt Mars and Venus
My mother is from Pluto
cold and distant
the dwarf planet that still packs
power and triggers terrifying destruction
without a single thought
I might’ve escaped a million times
only to be dragged back in by your gravitational pull
because this is your world
and its made of paper
without time or space
just the thin, straight line of your mouth
set in its horizon of disapproval
dissatisfaction your only expression
watching me tip toe across the cellophane floor
always trying to please
You and all those malevolent uncles
invited into our home
I was always caught in the glare of your headlights
and you never understood fear
you had God on your side
and you crammed me full of tiny embers
of guilt
before stitching me shut
How often I’ve wanted to annihilate myself
when those embers started to flame
Yes, you were always obsessed with martyrs
But all you ever sacrificed
was me


Political Promises

•May 27, 2012 • 8 Comments



Together they attack me

lies and smiles

dangerous like the riptide



So slight I hardly notice



It is a fine day outside

The sun is showing its strength

The roses have opened their pink-hearted bloom

Birds sing their appreciation

But I sense

it’s all part of a bigger illusion

Secrets are being whispered everywhere

I hear the pounding hooves of force coming

the taste of malignancy



I have always been afraid

of confrontation

it’s just easier

to feign ignorance

But where’s the line between ignorance and apathy

that dangerous swathe grows wider and wider

and will soon shadow the world

under an umbrella of darkness



So Sorry

•May 14, 2012 • 6 Comments

I’m sorry I haven’t been around recently to post anything, or to read and comment on others’ posts.  I’ve been swamped with life, and haven’t had a second to spare for the blog world.  I should be back on here soon.  Fingers crossed…. (for luck; not for lying)

At The Window

•May 7, 2012 • 9 Comments
Note:  This is one of my earliest poems from high school, when I was so fascinated with surrealism and capturing dreams/nightmares.


Look.  There are hundreds

of men gathering under the white


Light of the moon.   And why

why, I say.  She says, look how


Their hands rise and fall.

With their low chant


They believe they control  the moon.

Their feet scour the ground beneath my window


And I am not allowed outside.