13 November, 2017

In Quite Reflection

In Quiet Reflection

A cat cuddles my legs,
maybe someone
could take her place,
I would stroke her.

On a winter night,
at 54 degrees,
I hold your cold
hand in mine.

We hold onto each other
try hard not to
shed tears, least we
seem weak

Tonight we are a vessel
full of photographs
that tiptoe  our dreams

I cuddle with the cat until you are home.


11 November, 2017

[politcal poetry]

Poets write anger
Photograph oceans calmness
A prior stillness

13 October, 2017



Lashed out
physical damage
in my fist-


from afar, created
the part arrested by
my beast

I administer it oxygen to rejoin me.

12 October, 2017

The Silent

The Silent

Night turns on the peepers
the bullfrog croaks
sleep eludes me-

A trains' horn shatters the night.

Shut out sounds
hear and touch in the silence

A basket in view
write the basket weaver's tale

Silent night lets my juices sing.