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Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

Conversation with a Trans Friend

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on April 6, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Every individual matters. Every individual has a role to play. Every individual makes a difference.
Jane Goodall

Conversation with a Trans Friend

He or she or me or they
I choose to hear you, to pause,
to listen. And perhaps, hear.


Hurts may explode without warning.
I have seen them on your face
even though pride denied them.


That day…when your brother, sister, family,
laughed. Not a humorous sound.
Let’s walk together through a new day


and talk about other things.
Budding trees, grass that knows cutting
and grass that doesn’t care, birds that dare


to approach human dwellings and those that won’t.
May differences exist. Let one tree grow next
to another species. And thrive.

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Lower Case i

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , on March 30, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Creativity is as important as literacy.
Ken Robinson

Lower case i

Somewhere in the middle of a word, i speak,
a diminutive letter, the only one with the tiniest circle


above it, a miniature darkened sun.
In the previous three lines, i appeared twelve times.


i can’t stand alone without criticism.
Both arrogant and learned folk


declare i am too lower-case to support verbs
that indicate action. Run, magnify, fly,


create, destroy, interrogate, pierce.
All i ask in this poem is one moment’s notice.


Because—possible does not exist without me.

public domain image

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Goosely Translated

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on March 23, 2025| Leave a Comment »

People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves. Albert Camus

GOOSELY TRANSLATED

Two Canada geese
settle into an angled parking space
in a Wal-Mart lot.
They take turns
sharing shreds of bun
left in a torn red McDonald’s box.
One goose eats.
The other stands watch
for danger.

A car honks,
its sound louder than any
a goose could create.
The noise interrupts their feast.
Harsh and threatening
human voices follow.
The geese flee.

From their aerial perspective
the birds agree—
Excellent volume.
Lacks style.

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Peace: more than a 150 word Acrostic

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , on March 15, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Peace is its own reward. Mahatma Gandhi

Please, this is a request not to be limited by a form or definition. Let these words fit more than structure. Let someone, somewhere, speak and another listen. And the word pass along from…


ear to heart. If peace happens in the middle of a sentence, let there be no criticism that the form was imperfect. At night, if a dream…

appears, after too many hours of news, and your presence results in families fed because you offered them food even though you didn’t know their names, backgrounds, or addresses. You know nothing about them.

Come, waken. See the poor and the hungry in places five or six miles away. Open your pantry. Find what is excess for you, yet another tomorrow for a neighbor. We can become hope for tomorrow for them,


essential for change, a better world. Inside more than an acrostic of exactly 150 words.

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Spilled

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2025| Leave a Comment »

There is no real beauty without some slight imperfection. James Salter

Spilled

Maple syrup spilled
in the back of my refrigerator.

As I scrub, beeps sound
a warning. Close the door. Now.

A fridge’s chill skill
weakens in furnace-power territory.

Maple goo has attacked a jar of pickles
This won’t take long, I hope.

I scrub, giving no anesthesia to mechanical
cries. Yet when I waited on hold

for three-calls-ahead
at the local pharmacy

on a busy Monday afternoon,
I sighed and paced, as if

the workload of my short-staffed
drugstore didn’t exist.

A bit at a time, I say to the fridge
opened for briefer moments.

A more intensive task comes next.
Removing stickiness inside me.

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Everyone Knows

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on February 25, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Indifference is the essence of inhumanity.
George Bernard Shaw

Everyone Knows

Everyone knows my name, face, and products.
I appear on screens across the world.
Wealth and I speak a coded language,
encrypted inside green and silver.
Luxury touches every corner of my existence.
I touch no one. Distance keeps profits safe.

Then, for fun, I bet my associate, “If I walk
through one of my factories in a central state
and someone recognizes me, another layoff is possible.
The workers are not watching what they are doing.”

I did. One of the older men on the line
almost ran into me.

“Geesh, do you know who that is?”
another man whispered. He was loud as thunder.
“Quiet, Jake, his son was laid off last time around.
He couldn’t feed eight kids
no more. His baby died last week.”

I finished my check without adequate
detail. I will send someone from my staff
for the next inspection. Workers need to watch
where they are going.

originally published in For a Better World

public domain illustration

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My Integrated Neighborhood

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , on February 19, 2025| 1 Comment »

Your neighbor is the man who needs you. Elbert Hubbard

My Integrated Neighborhood

“Need help carrying groceries?”
a young man calls from across the street.
Wednesday evening and our trash cans
are at the curb ready for weekly pickup.
Our next-door neighbor
moved them before he
tended to his own.

I smile at gifts surrounding
my husband and me,
at the brown, black, and white faces
that reveal hearts exploding with care.

Garbage exists
inside and outside the population.
Love moves it along.

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After a Friend’s Death

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on February 4, 2025| 2 Comments »

After a Friend’s Death

Grief is like the ocean; it comes in waves, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim. Vicki Harrison

One sip of coffee.
I ask it to wash away chaos
inside my head, to stop yesterday
from flooding the kind of memories
that jolt reality, to cause a friend’s dead fingers
to move again.


Outside, the wind stops
as if it understands.
All moments end.


I recall making my friend laugh.
A story about childhood innocence.


Now may I hold onto that memory
at least for the next moment.

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Innocence

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on January 28, 2025| 1 Comment »

Children are the hands by which we take hold of heaven. Henry Ward Beecher

THE DOLL HOUSE

Her pink shirt stained
with chocolate birthday cake,
the little girl moves miniature figures
through her new doll house.


The adults talk.
Their voices rise and fall with
grunts and whines.

That child’s daddy needs a new attitude.

Ray should knock off the bourbon
before his liver turns into a sponge
like the one in Nita’s filthy sink.

What’s the point of a 25-cent coupon
on four cans of tuna?

High-priced gas in a ’96 Chevy is
like putting diamonds
into a broken goddamn gumball ring.

The little girl pauses,
interrupted by dull laughter, a cynic’s applause,
as she prepares her doll family for a special trip
under the stairway,
where purple sand and white sea wait,
with a sky where the only clouds permitted
are made of ice cream and marshmallows,
and no one over the age of six may enter.

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Challenged, a poem

Posted in poetry, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 14, 2025| Leave a Comment »

“In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks.”

John Muir

Challenged

My stanzas seem
to lie on the page
as tired, fractured syllables, rootless.

And then I read nature poems by
Oliver, Dickinson, or Thoreau,
for inspiration and imagine being

inside the bark of an oak,
the heart of a bobcat,
or a fish at the end of a hook.

I travel from my familiar home
to mysterious lands continents away
in a crude handmade boat, jump

from its side and swim in uncharted water,
my purpose, to touch, absorb, and respect experience
words can touch yet never capture.

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