Category: Poetry

Can you be in love with a car? A station wagon? Can you be in love with a friend? I once had a friend whose eyes were dark brown almost black. I thought I was cool because he spent time with me as a kid. He was two years older. When they moved, he stole a…

The seasons tend to bathe themselves in winter around here. Winter is always present and then the sun holds its presence. Unforgotten, unfleeting. Unforgiven. I was if once, if unsaid. If misunderstood. What was, is and always before someone said once something. That is I meant to say. Give me awhile. Something has fallen. I…

A mirror sits on the floor against the wall, empty. It reflects the room. The kindness it once reflected is gone. She is gone. A turtle of all things is on the back porch outside the French Doors, without a child. The house is empty. The three floors echo only silence. And yet here is…

I heard silence. Fifteen of them. We had gone to Disneyland on June 3rd. We had gone to Mailibu, or San Diego to swim that morning. And the night sky said one thing simply, what did it sound like? It sounded like the prize in a Cracker Jack Box, at a baseball game. It sounded…

upon the field leading to the house. And a heartbeat. I was almost three. Alot had led up to this and a lot had been promised. He was an older man and he was kind. And something has taken what was there. My memory of this. No. Its just… I had been asked if I…

I was a child of Vim and Vigor. It said so on my swimming briefs when I was close to two years old. We had a red T-bird convertible 64. And a 66 Lincoln. With a Radio Phone. Let me tell you a story, so the night comes slowly without notice. And in the presence…

Buttercups and Bluebells. And strawberries in tin cups with sugar. I am lightning I said. And the stars are hidden tonight, waiting… for your tears. Yellow and Blue. Buttercups and Bluebells. I have decided to lay the flowers by the side of the road… and what? And get there.

Wishes and a drumstick. A little bit before the door opened and closed. The cold; where have you gone when you are all alone. Does the Counter woman care when you get up to leave. You have shared about 20 minutes of your lifes. I am a woman about 63, she says. And the candles…

A child in a pile of Thanksgiving leaves falls backwards into the pile of leaves. I was upon a stretch to home base a lying SOB. I was the wind in front of me and the emptiness behind me and I was and never was that is to say catch me before I fall. How…

A circle becomes a circle, so becoming. The voice that we become, so becoming. I remember a time back before time before I heard winter’s whisper November trees. And a circle has to remain a circle while we can find ourselves in campers down by the river with our family. While we can get so…

And we are left with the words to slow down the silence. Touch me. I wish and so many wishes that seem to be left unanswered. Am I happy? Are you? I wait. Perhaps.

I visited the other day, four years ago. I am remembering it now. I had tried to start a conversation with my mother. I was 60. She was 90. I said, the woman was an actress once. My mother responded… you make those things up.

A tear stains her face. She was such a child like existence and emotionally hurt so easy. And so brutally unkindly hidden perhaps. But those are words and words are not what I am searching for. Flowers in the rain.

Apparently as a child I perceived that it would be good at this point to relearn everything. Why? To understand who I was as a kid. I have been trying to remember my past and who knows perhaps knowing yourself is exactly that.

I was wondering, he said slowly, if anyone could take us in? We were headed towards my Great Aunt’s in Burbank. I like music and I am really good. The other day we were in Stapelton, or something having to do with something or other. If the Hippies owned the 60’s; I owned the 70’s.…

My cousin had a Mouse Trap game. And Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots. My IQ was far over 156 and still is and I attended an accelerated school classroom. I had the best plastic surgeon in the state flown in from Seattle that night. My face is a blessing and so is he. In Elementary…

There was if there wasn’t, if there was a mist of a child called lightning. His eye shifted beyond the room. And his hands shattered existence and the guitar screamed like glass. I played for other wonderers who wandered past. I was a child of thirteen they called me lightning. My hands were a dream…

Perhaps the world will know peace, and the edge that drives this insanity will restore and step back from the sorrows. Perhaps Tomorrowland is around the corner with mesmerized kids and parents who see the world in the faces of their children and thank and praise God, for whom? I have always felt that the…