Category Archives: poem

Memories

I love you more than words running across the road moments I could not have stopped even if I knew how to I love you more than what I, my, me, mine combined to make a whole world of all … Continue reading

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half-moon

Half moon in the night sky as real as a life lived. Someone says goodbye. Someone leaves without a word.  A story begins and ends tonight. My half moon mourns in the sky. The air is scented with the epilogue … Continue reading

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Thursday: Thoughtful Poems

Ode I. 11 Leucon, no one’s allowed to know his fate, Not you, not me: don’t ask, don’t hunt for answers In tea leaves or palms. Be patient with whatever comes. This could be our last winter, it could be … Continue reading

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Show me

Before things get complicated and I not knowing how to navigate the waters rocking the boat. To say I have always known the ways will be a full blown lie. I get lost when the way is known by others. … Continue reading

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of leaving

I am not supposed to mourn the loss of you.  There is no place in this culture where a parent is allowed to hold grief for a child’s leaving home: not this burning sorrow marring the skin. They say grow a … Continue reading

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wandering

Reading your poem makes me want to read another poem about another room where i wandered from corner to corner then onto the next floor of this house some rich man gave to another rich man who then cried, Nothing … Continue reading

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Spring Fever

Days of rain. Winter hangs on, fingers firmly pulling on the white cloak. Traps us inside its concrete sky.  My mind is in the mist. One more day without sun and I start to think I am never going to … Continue reading

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parenting aftermath

They leave and I stop baking  cupcakes cookies shortbread brownies muffins pancakes pies after pies: apple pumpkin blueberry summer tarts sweet breads with whipped butter. The trays stay clean crumb-less kitchen table hums a sorrow song  through its grains of … Continue reading

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Current mood

  The color of crushed grapes planted in spring, five years ago. No one remembers the weather when the vines were born and their fruits squeezed into the oak barrels shipped from somewhere in France where I had walked alone … Continue reading

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Fifty and I

Fifty and I am trapped in this life I’d cultivated. Careful, if you’re not so careful years add to fifty and still feel chained to the ground wings clipped by own teeth, shearing one feather at a time until bones … Continue reading

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