Category: Poetry

waking to this new day dusted with early-spring snow the Earth still sleeps wrapped in an extra blanket with hot coffee and a cat on my lap I warm to the day one foot still in night reluctantly stepping into day I let this poem...

I love to be filled with the rejuvenation that creating brings steeped in nature on a warm, sunny day the sun diamonding off the lake as pelicans lift in flight circling the lake to fish then landing, waterski-like on the...

I see you pass on the trail where I live and I smile I recognize you since you visit often I say hello you turn as if you hear my unspoken words you are one of the few who can actually hear me when you stop to take pictures of...

the sun melts me in Rocky Mountain spring I rush to meet you my song sings of joy to be warm at last moving freely, flowing forward when I see you I know without a doubt it is you, it’s always been you I long to stop for just a...

(in memory of my father and uncles) I am seventeen and go to Spain where I stare at men with Spanish noses, Spanish chins. While Madrileños do not seem to mind or find it strange that a foreign girl would stare at them, what...

Boccaccio hoped his brilliant book would be perused by lovely women alone in their beds. Each of his hundred tales would leap like a cat onto her coverlet, and twist its body this way and that inviting her caresses on its belly,...

She still hears the sound of her own name in his voice, sees someone young and slim on the sand and gravel floor of the lake, his arms held open like a door, while, through a cloud of August algae, she dog-paddles toward him,...

A Sphinx in the museum wears the face of a woman and the body of a marble lion— You used to call me “Sphinxie” when you asked me a question, claiming I “knew everything” though I tried to tell you the ancient Sphinx only asked...

In the Congo important people were like ghosts: leaving notes in the hum of fans: pleas for advancement, ahems of gossip, rules of order, dire hosannas. Only the stamps are reminders that there was such a place and there were...

Mrs. Natura upstairs shushes us: it’s time: for her late husband’s favorite show: a real factory rat, he was: familiar with how blue windows cast gigantic pools of blue light: how whole shifts lined up for salt in...