her eyes face the pavement
“they” whisper
in booming voices
secrets no one could know
tearing at her invisible flesh
piece by piece
bit by bit

the backside of her heart vacant
“they” say
“they” laugh
“they” commune
“they” cackle
exhaling poisonous fumes
their souls
shriveling with each round

this assault will continue
as must she

Dolores/oilthis 4’x’3 painting is almost 30 years old – one of my dear sisters allowed me to stretch and contort her beautiful face for the purposes of art
where I have common brown – dolores’ eyes are beautiful blue

this verse was published last year, I reworked it extensively
every time I return to my older poems – I cringe a little, laugh sometimes, then rewrite

Persian rug

such was her heartbreak
the scars were visible from space
trust like a wildebeest
giving way to the crocodile jaws of desire
door to the truth
hinged directly beneath his lying tongue
cut off from his actions
it remained locked
distant to her pain
her heavy chest sunk to the bedroom floor
an ocean of aimless wood
washed over by a handmade find
discovered at an estate sale up north
on a crisp autumn day with golden air
fingers interlocked in an electric ballet
their last hand clasp
today would be dark
the blue sky tarp burnt black
the worn Persian rug often for their lovemaking
until it was the only hard, soft spot remaining
to cushion her shattering pieces

communal totem

created way, way college-back for a design class that I didn’t very much care for

festooned chaos

since Halloween is near and my soon-to-be printed (yea) book
is due mid-December or earlier (yea)
I’m posting the only verse in love of the monster
that pays direct homage to this most wicked and deliciously sweet celebrationfestooned-chaos-text-color

love of the monster, is a black and white illustrated book
color was added here to protect the innocent;)

please do not leave me alone

please don’t leave me alone
with me
she isn’t always patient
often acerbic
with her
demanding the muse
to squat in her studio
silent so she can think
with or without a voice
outside her
this night is especially dark
 blustering trees their arms grabbing
wind pushes those
in his way
muse on a dead leaf
brilliant color now diminished
from overuse
the sky is howling
autumn is upon them
muse and artist
with no words or lines
thoughts in color
passed summer’s glow
dead umber like soil in shadow
ideas in flat space
wind cannot reach
muse cannot speak
senses dulled enough
to hibernate
please don’t leave me alone
I can’t think in dark caves

Shy Bear/Prisma

Shy Bear/Prisma

this is our will

we declare
claim what we want
this is our will
build, create, engineer, refine
spectacular minds ceaseless in dialogues
questioning this universe and beyond
we place ourselves above all living organisms
pontificate our supremacy
other occupiers require too much space
our supernatural right as leaders
take what we desire
force them into boxes
into dead holes
onto ragged patches

perhaps it is we
who are on the bottom
we who have always been the lowly
we who belong in the corners
if all beasts possessed our human capacity
for thought and reason
they might also destroy
the very home they hunt and graze upon
only those with grand intellectual mindsets
can perpetrate the killing of this planet
art previously published – Prisma on construction paper


it’s unsettled, this thing in our chest
delicate as the velvet underside of lamb’s ear
bellwether of change
preparing to die
in the dark
in the cold
as winter shoves her fingers down its sleepy throat
dormant into the dirt
winter steals beyond the plant
she will claim our hearts with frigid hands 

I am sorry I have no answers
experienced in living
neophyte in death
parse these words gently
it’s unsettled this thing in our chest
delicate as the velvet underside of lamb’s ear

I do apologize for this lamentation
this jeremiad from dust
to dust

oatmeal walls

oatmeal walls

sketched last year-no one died for the writing of this piece-all is well

dying brilliance

used up leaves feather autumn’s nest
brilliance dying of pigmentation aflame
trees let go, releasing themselves in sexless slumber
I see you sitting there by the emptied benches
echoing laughter turned vagrant summer memories
this park, a memorial forgotten once more
until half-masted flags fly
a lifetime from now
confounded insects remain idealistic in cold shrinking shadows
they go unnoticed by you 
carved into a wooden back someone’s footprint, missteps of love
you and I will be used up during our autumn
I wonder if we shall tire of ourselves
as the trees tire of their dying brilliance

Autumn Leaves

Autumn Leaves

I seem to be on a nature word path this week, not sure how long it will go on
art created a year or so go, previously published

chiseled stallion manes

a grand canyon
opens upon herself
deliberate in need
a succubus of blazing color
lifted from sunken oyster shells
bewitched by desert suns
he, Bryce
wild stallion manes

chiseled of stone
breaking gravity
powdered blue with atmosphere
tawny bleached

breathless creations
we limited to human-ness
can only admire

skeleton stallion

skeleton stallion

many years ago, I saw the Grand  Canyon and believed her lovely, but I was exceptionally amazed at the unusual beauty of Bryce Canyon, Utah
the background in this sketch is an homage to Bryce

I remember now

can’t remember the last time I was in love with earth
witnessing her miraculous gifts
appreciating silent nature
rather than absorbing pixel and pen minutia

stunning my drowsy eyes was this unexpected moment
4:20 am
it was the moon I needed to touch
his large, low gloriously warm pulse in lusty azure
barely cloaked in the fading veil of night
the taffy-stretched shadow of a red sunset maple
stretched across the dark grass
as if she too, desired infinite perfection
stars tucked away in their opaque shells for another night
this was the moon’s moment
my moment
with him
I stood frozen
and not for the frost assaulting the holes of old moccasins
I peeked through my eyelashes to capture his light
to practice this magic in my mind
committing him to memory
and why I have the good fortune to breathe
etching my soul with our rehearsed minutes
before anxious society attempts to rub my magic out
racing on all compass lines
4:35 am
I remain in the exact same spot
craving forever
knowing the sun will wipe him away
my beautiful moon

wish I could tell you
4:20 am
brilliant gentle fingering rays
enticed me from my lazy bed
the dark truth
4:20 am
my Dachshund needed to urinate

I remember now–
I’m honestly in love with earth

Praying Wizard

Praying Wizard

My first

author-shot-full-b_w-1Well, what can I say? My moment of truth has arrived. Come mid-December, my first book filled with my heart and dreams will be out there orbiting reader-land. I can only hope it will alight upon many a curious traveler. I honestly don’t know how love of the monster will be received. I’ve created a little book (spine is just shy of 1/4″) filled with big monsters. The monsters are paired with love poems that I think best represent their personalities. So I have these passionate words married to fearsome images, other times, the images are not so fearsome, maybe a smiling, pretty ‘vampiress.’ So it’s anyone’s guess if my little book will have any bite;) At the very least it will be an interesting experiment for my off-kilter sense of humor and love of all things monster. And now I must practice what I preach. I must be as brave as I’ve taught my children to be.
Here goes…
cover-image-jpegmy exceptionally talented sister-in-art, Grace Roselli took my author photo