words are shining, shimmering, skating by

jumping between cars and dancing in side views

as i follow the bridge across my river.

the sun streams across my shoulder,

threatening to burn with her passion

as i chase and grab and cup,

catching my thoughts like fireflies.

i am barefoot on an august night,

soft grass beneath emerging stars.

nothing makes sense as written,

words of the brilliant bang against my brain –

phrases of beauty and perfect images

painted by syllables

stare at me and mock my feeble feelings,

laugh at my unsteady words and my

shaking left hand

reaching towards the sky.

someday those shy stars will be mine

and my words will be heard

by the ether.



(this was begun last june, and just finished recently, in my attempt to poke my creative side!)

the weather tonight makes me feel like i feel in early autumn, as summer fades from my fingertips and a chill crawls around my shoulders. it feels like new endings and old beginnings, like the things i’ve done a thousand times and still fear, like worn wood splintering into bare feet. i stand outside and count the stars, drawing lines with my eyes to connect constellations, most of which i make up. i am antsy, unsettled, worried. i feel churned, turned, spun around. Something is happening, energy is vibrating,  and i can’t pin down the source.

the universe is unsettled, like shaken oil and vinegar, bubbling through itself to find it’s  higher ground. the world turns itself over and over, looking for a side that feels right, a place to settle in, comfort. my pillow cradles my aching head, full of sharply edged questions. The buzzing buzzes and drones drone as the world moves on in it’s chaotic spiral. The constant background noise of our lives, the hisses and hums and lights and clocks lulls to sleep.

we are here, along for the ride, floating with the beasts as we try to make sense of our fortunes. it ends somewhere, and the universe, space and time will be here longer than we ever could be, holding on to what comes next. we worry and wander, seeking answers that were never ours to know. we try to find the worms living under the rocks, staying in the cool, keeping to the shade. too timid to ask the real questions, we stay low and try hard and keep quiet.

the inside quakes, unable to handle all of the truths at once. the shell stays steady, a start to something new. shaken and scared, it’s hard to trust,and  almost impossible to believe. forward with faith into the cosmos we float, the winds change as the future shifts and all moves closer to being one.






for Bluebell Books Poetry Slam Week 3




the darkening clouds
move in like ground troops
controlling my sky,
stealing my sunshine.
the trees scream
and fight for their space,
but the darkness scurries in.
there is no room for light,
no place for the comfort of blue,
nowhere to run but into the storm.
my muscles tense and i wonder
if will it all consume me,
like the sky threatens to do
with each growing growl of thunder.

gain – inspired by photo below, for Blue Bell Books short story slam.


the morning rose early, with wild green grass and tiny buzzing insects looking for a snack amongst the gathered crowd. the heat had yet to settle in, the dew was almost chilly. a breeze timidly moved in this was the day of the floating. the magical moment of beauty, the highlight of the summer in Alexander, Maryland. this is what they waited for.

lovers snuggled and old men drank coffee  near hot air balloons that looked like wonder bread bags. excitement rose in the air against the august heat, which had come out of it’s hiding place and settled, like a blanket, upon the shoulders of the gathered people. something was finally about to happen. nothing ever happened in Alexander.

the mayor had won a contest, had written an essay that had gotten the tiny town the honor. 3 balloons were going to launch from the high school football field, and fly above town. passengers in the balloons included the mayor himself, and 6 raffle winners. they were allowed to bring cameras but not cell phones. all were excited, some were scared. this was an Adventure.

once they landed, on the same field, surrounded by townsfolk clapping and hooting, the riders stepped out. they had seen the world from a new distance; each individual underwent dramatic, unspeakable changes. they understood. on that day, they became a larger part of the world.

A color poem…


the colors i feel on days like these

prove i should be alive.

the air is purple around me,

green static and yellows flash –

it is all real, hovering beyond

the point where you can see.

but in my cartoon world

the colors are brighter than

you ever made with a box of crayons –

my reds are filled in

with brushes.

i don’t expect you to understand,

and, anyway, if you did you

could steal my secret.

it is enough for you to know

i enjoy the colors of every day

enough for all of us –

just in case someone misses

the way the blue sky feels

upon their skin.

i spread the sunshine on

to anyone who will have it

so we can carry

on the color –

the world deserves to know.


nana has been sending a lot of birds these days,

and i’m sure it’s because she knows i need them.

it’s always unexpected, though i should

expect them by now, they cross my path

when my mind is blank.

i don’t believe the dead are watching us –

i’m sure they have better things to do

but i know that nana still sends me love,

and i know that sometimes love is

what i need to keep myself in this world.

red wings flit and flutter in front

of my car as i drive to work,

to meet friends, to run my errands –

it doesn’t matter what i’m doing –

it is springtime and

they are there and i feel like

i’ve gotten a hug from 20 years ago.


if you want to bring me flowers

be careful what you choose,

i can’t handle it when

they smell like a funeral.

maybe it comes from seeing

too many too early,

or maybe i’m just

too soft, sensitive,


easily injured, simply saddened.

i do my best to

hide behind daisies

and keep the smile strong

but sometimes the scent

seeps in.

this i know –

moments stick in my brain

like photographs

scattered in a scrapbook

glued among glitter by my own hand,

locked away by

smells or songs or

sensation – sentiments are strong.

sadness lives in

hidden pods within my brain,

pods that pop at

the strangest times,

releasing tears and wounds and blood and

memories held close.

i am sometimes strong enough

to handle them,

the waves wash me away

and my psyche is cleaned, cleared

by the release of my

toxic humors.

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