Wednesday, November 15, 2017

The Strangest Rain

It was the strangest rain
that star fall night

mare galloping.  Hooves
churning and hurling

hunks of the black
eye sky.

Blind, it left me, blind;
my tongue forked with wishes.

Goddess bound and blind -
bridled to ride.

For Midweek Motif~Meteor Showers at Poets United

Tuesday, November 14, 2017


An elephant is Dumbo.
A tiger is a Tigger.
A clownfish is a Nemo,
until a child grows bigger

and is sent off to a teacher
who schools the proper names.
Elephus maximus is correct,
but it doesn't feel the same!

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, November 12, 2017

The Thing

It's not the thing,
it's the description.
Sun squint amber eyes.
A tangled mane,
thick and coarse.
Muscle and roar and fire.

It's not the thing,
it's the description -
the sweet, savanna sigh

of a lion
or the lie
of a man.

For the Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Tuesday, November 7, 2017

The Revisionist

He cried for Lee in Carolina.
Appomattox an afterthought.
He spends his nights in crisp white sheets;
his nights hooded like a hawk.

The revisionist lives and breathes his history
and dreams the South will someday rise
again; till then, he stands a rebel
monument to misplaced pride.

For The Tuesday Platform at  Real Toads

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Woman with Long Hair
Man Ray (1929)

Tress the tower gold!
I will save you by your hair!
calls a good by grounded man.
He seems harmless standing there,

but he hides scissors
          his back.

For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads.  Also submitted to Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Thursday, November 2, 2017


These blind November days,
these layers of brick and bone!
These nights of slow stars and stones
skipped across the water of the moon -

Remember June?
The full throated songs
of summer carried on a breath,
the blood sun burning overhead -

Death is next.
All that's left of the roses is the thorns.
What will keep you warm when your heart turns on itself?
What will keep you warm when its November and nothing else?

For Get Listed at Real Toads

Wednesday, November 1, 2017

A Saint's Heart

without ceasing
wetting the trinket box
its locked in and hallowing
the ground.

for Father Stanley Rother

Submitted to Midweek Motif ~ Saints at Poets United