Monday, May 25, 2015

I recently heard about a young girl
who left food for crows who visited
her yard. The grateful
birds started leaving gifts -
stolen gifts, but over time the stash
makes an impressive collection - shiny
trinkets and odd bits.

My curiosity is growing
about a crow who's voice makes me shudder.
My curiosity is growing
about a crow with robber instincts.

I'm becoming friends with an amiable
and mutually curious, black-winged,
strong beaked, bold bird who visits
my back yard and bullies the robins. I know

changing my mind is doable. A clerk in a hat
shop helped when she plopped a black,
straw boater on my crown. It's cute - look in the
mirror, she said. The hat changed my
mind about a belief I'd held a long time.
I didn't think I could wear hats.
If I can wear hats - might I
learn to like crows? This could be

Thursday, May 21, 2015


Scott Cairns' forays
into holy mountain
pilgrimages and noetic
explorations leave the
edges of my soul wild
with yearnings girdled
by envy -- envy neither
green nor curdled.

Trees wait for children ...

Monday, May 18, 2015

Water Dogs and Bird Baths

After a swim
dogs stand with four
feet planted steady
and shake their soggy,
baggy coat like
a washing machine
agitating a heavy load
prior to the spin cycle.
Water flies. They smile.

Birds bathe every morning
outside my window
as I drink coffee and watch
them abandon themselves
to frenzied flapping.
Water whips into a creamy
froth of ecstatic joy. Beaks
can't bend into gummy,
toothy canine smiles. In lieu of it,
they sing. I wish I could make
water fly and shake
my troubles off
in this exact way.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

The New Homeless

I saw a young couple 
lingering in McDonald's
parking lot carrying new
bags stuffed with nice 
belongings. She didn't know
the pillow she clutched 
cased in white
would be the first soiled,
soggy item discarded. 
I wanted to beg them 
to turn around
and start over again 
at home before
the dealers
talked them into easy 
money, and a dirty death
requiring loyalty minus
clean sheets. 

Dry Ground

My breasts and womb
have dried up. I'm finished
nourishing new life.

I grieve the familiar
ways my body produced
these miracles.

Now - if only my false self's
ego would pause, dry up and be
done confusing me -
I could be fruitful again.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Find a Way

Rocks allow 
delicate roots
access. But do 
they realize
has power
to break, 
to crack, 
to crumble 

Wednesday, May 13, 2015


soothes wounds
tonta scraped raw.

erases bruises
inĂștil tattooed black.

covers graffiti
gorda vandalized ugly.

Insultos leave injurious
wounds -- lies dressed
up like truth.

My beloved, crooned,
mi amada, seen in the
twinkle of loving eyes --
may take away the taint --
but stains and scars remain
proving how a woman
survives until she thrives.

For my new friend. She shines.  

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Letter From Elleanor

A slow note tucked into an envelope
with a stamp stuck in the corner

penciled poetry and graphite art - 
profound truth spoken
and sent. 

Thank you Elleanor, you made my day. You're an artist and a poet. I especially 
like the hummingbirds sipping nectar everywhere…..