the buck moon

I’m so very thrilled that a new poem of mine, the buck moon, was included in this wonderful magazine!
Into the Void, is available in both print and digital form.

Included in ‘Nine New Lit Mags You Need to Read’ as one of “nine new journals that appeared on the scene within the past couple of years and have already made their mark on the literary landscape” in the November/December 2016 Issue of Poets & Writers.”

the buck moon

there is a moon where newness emerges
from above the forward brow line
 placid black almond eyes
antlers and smooth skin twist
against harder things
strip away velvet underpinnings 

wrap the chilled arms of night air
forest canopy dulling shadow
 dancing silhouettes vague 
 and 
 slippery
vulnerable newness pressed to pounding chests
no light
 forecasting the future
suckle the dark together
escape 

 alone

making art

he asks
why do I have to take art
I respond
art is not something you take
it is something you give

she says
I can’t even draw a stick figure
I respond
life saving fire has been born
of simple sticks

he says
I can’t do anything right
I respond
you’re in good company
now put all your wrongs together

and make beautiful art

tiger mouth/acrylicI really like this verse (first posted last year) but not because I wrote it.
I wish we said this to young creative hearts more often.

tiger – acrylic on canvas, long ago-thank you

falling

spectacular glow against the robust purple grey sky
leaves spiraling in wind directing thin branches to bow
unreal color drenching the landscape
but what am I seeing
not glorious
scratched pencil lines and spinning circles
into ovals with broad maws and wild fur
sharp orbs and blocky nostrils
I’m hearing too many voices
the wind is a sailing eraser
the wall

Art Wall 1Art Wall 2Art Wall 3Art Wall 5Art Wall 6Art Wall 7Art Wall 8Art Wall 4RHinopaper falling like leaves
when
almost home I look up through a tree
these
these are the falling papers
this is the wind
this is what I need to remember
this is why
I have eyes
autumnsketches done for students to demo different animals…
picture taken when I returned home from subbing
while standing in my driveway looking up

Nina’s shoulder pads

she adored shoulder pads
tucked beneath her brassiere straps
the eighties rage
her build was delicate
not like her niece
who resembled a linebacker
if she didn’t slice the shoulder pads out of her fashion finds
Nina appreciated how the foam pieces squared-off her petite form
on her body, clothing draped as it was meant to
she had style and a talent for accessorizing
my aunt lived with grace, style and beauty
she remained dignified and lovely
even near the end
her eyes
gorgeous, dark and wide
unlike stacked boxes of jewels
and endless drawers of shoulder pads
irreplaceable gems
I miss their soft, elegant glow
still

Red Wolf

Red Wolf

When I was little, Nina had a little fox stole that sat on the top a cushy chair in her bedroom.
Happy Birthday, Nina. Today, she would have turned 83.

The Colors of Humanity

Imagine our earth a giant color wheel
each of us a gorgeous dot of pigment
equal reds, equal greens, all colors equal

but we humans don’t think in terms of equal
quite as much as we should
we are alike
but ‘enjoy’ thinking otherwise
we tend to shove one another around
crash head to head
  we cancel each other out
and become void
we choose to destroy our brilliance


yet
if we agreed

equal to be equal
equal reds, equal greens
if we learned to stand
side by side
what beauty there would be

on the color wheel they call this complimenting
on the earth we’d call it peace
parrotI can’t think of a more beautiful, earthly color coexistent than a parrot
parrot in Prisma pencil done around 2002

opposing colors on the color wheel are called complimentary because when placed side by side they brighten, when these same colors are mixed in equal measure, they create a neutral or gray

For My Friend, Who Thinks She’s Lost Her Words

I am writing this for my friend
who thinks she’s lost her words
who thinks her words

are trapped beneath rocks
who believes she doesn’t possess the thirst
to move those dry mountains
my dear friend
needs to know
her words, those languid thoughts
the beautiful ones under the rocks
will seep into the rich black soil
decompose
reform
then be carried onward by industrious insect and
cyclical underground element
until they flow into jostling aquifers
cascading into wild rivers
roaming up as sparkling wells
into crystal waters that feed bubbling fountains
in thirst she will sip
and those wet words
her words, will quench her imagination
saturate her parched muse
and her pen will flow once again
with the beauty
she thought she’d lost
somewhere along the way

Turquoise Eyes

Turquoise Eyes

Dedicated to my dear friend, Deb who has done nothing but encourage me to keep writing even when I  believe (as I do often), I am anything but a writer…

He Doesn’t Care, poem published in the Avocet

he doesn’t care

he doesn’t care about crowns
he doesn’t know he is a king
his only kingdom is survival

we attached a silly moniker
for his magnificence
like we determine specie classification
all listed below us
we name each

for the natural beauty, grace and strength
we covet

we only become great with great effort
not like them
who fly, leap, run, swim
in a way that makes us
desire trophies

we manufacture superiority
how we love roaring
we are the rulers of this earthly kingdom
you are only, King of the Jungle
because that’s what we named you…
Lionessdrawn with prisma pencils a few years back

 

I. Doe and Deer II.The Littlest Dear

 

I. Doe and Deer
deer familytoward the back end where the trees grew thick
and adjoining woods within range
she moseyed about the lawn

a pair of leggy fawns nearby
one did not roam far
the other
well, the other
scampered, hopped, sprinted, leaped
jumped over a hedgerow and disappeared
my mind yelled, get back over here!
I held my breath


moments ticked by
measured by my desk timer shaped like an egg
there to ensure I vacate my studio every so often
over those bushes with a freewheeling bound

she pranced back into view
so confident
her sister
remained clinging to mama
with just blades of grass between
all the while

the doe continued steadily munching
taking no notice of the staying
or the leaping
she was a constant
and they were not
at least
not for a long time, yet…

II. The Littlest Dear

there was a young deer
though there were many others
none were like this one
her back was not quite right
things that were supposed to be inside
were outside
she was dying
life was pooling quickly in those somber, black eyes
her last place of rest was against the cold cement wall
of my home’s foundation
I sat ministering her
misting her cracked muzzle
hoping to keep ignorant flies at bay
I rubbed the velvet between her ears, still so very soft
I sang songs, my words were choked garble
I wondered if she’d had a good life
I whispered goodbye
and asked anyone listening
to please take care
of this little dear

Deer Friends

art I. while in my studio thinking about an idea, I had the good fortune of a doe and her 2 young ones crossing my backyard, so very enchanting (as long as the vegetable garden gate is closed) – I went a little sappy and put a little smile on the frolicking fawn 🙂

art II. previously published during Xmas

both stories here are true…I think about that littlest ”dear’ more often than I probably should