days turn shimmering
gold to putrid brown
air, crisped
fruit, crisped
leaves underfoot
As over~ripe
romance falls
dead from old
episodes aired
as premiere
Something less
nonchalant or
On cooler wind
stirring darkening sky
Where soot~
stained comfort
warms wooden hearts
to their freedom
are driven to learn
these hours just
falling for you


To Us

(for Susan)

To memories saved
connections craved
and hearts unscathed

For freedom
the right to rebel

To beautiful surroundings
and echos resounding
amid the confounding

For loyalty
and universal trust

To life in the now
and not knowing how
to accept what's allowed

For transience
and deep recognition

To hopes yet undreamt
future moments unspent
without the smallest regret
or bitter resent


Last Days of Summer

the final chance
to truly relax

with windows open
or a walk down the tracks

a final picnic
dinner in the park

or a laugh in the sprinkler
running in the yard

one final book
on the swing in the shade

one more ice cream
cone at parades

a final trip in
the community pool

gathering bed sheets
before stormy cool

the final goodbye
to our partners in crime

one final fine
for speeding through time



There's a road in the mountains
overgrown in back hills
in places where pavement
comes dangerously close
to being smooth

This road winds to
childhood to this secret
hideout suspended in time

We wave here at strangers
who are life-long friends ~ children
of parents who grew up together
danced at prom together
and hid from their parents together
at the general store no longer there

We fill our hearts
with the comfort
of family saving room
for homemade ice cream
dripping from the porch swing

As we inspect cracked
panelling and peeling paint
and that which strains
to contain the detailed
imperfection trapped
beneath chipped and warped
shingle-covered walls

Concealing the snake
which lurks just out
of reach of skittish cats



She met him at the bar
for an extra-dirty martini
drowning in

He looked in her eyes~
outwardly normal;
internally fatal~
while stirring whiskey in his coffee

She glanced aside
and then ignored
his permanent state
of denial

His words dripped slowly
with the honey consistency
of sweetened condensed milk:
"You serious about this?"

She considered
the moment
before nodding consent

to his inevitable
tearing reply:
babies are so...
is all."

The silence screamed
things she wouldn't say

and since nothing
was drying anyway
she downed her martini
and mutely walked away.

Thanks to my collaborators for providing random phrases for this poem (whether they knew it or not). I'm nothing without my friends! (Jeff, Ami, Jason, Glennda, Jessie, Kirsten, Melanie, Eric, & Cat)


it can't be fought
this force that's taught
of actual insubstantial draw

the silent snare
tangles all who care
pulls them up against the wall

it holds on tight
regardless of fight
bound to the hopeless thrall

until poles switch
and make life a bitch
and violent repulsion greets all


Waiting for Summer

The last thing I knew
June was coming
creeping around the corner

But I blinked
and I missed it

Because the chill and the rain
didn't stop for summer
They taunted and teased
and held it at bay

So I made my own sun
and kept it inside

and June slipped
and fell into July
which simply melted
to nothing

And as August skulks
in deadly heat
there's no relief in this

Because now, here
I'm trapped
just waiting
for summer to arrive


Hard, Slow Work

It started small
like all things do
one lonely bunny
of lint and dust
cowering in the corner
praying not to be noticed

But that small rabbit grew
over time became two
then four and then eight...
Needing to cohabitate

And as all children do
these tiny messes became
something more
to be handled
than parents should
so they learn to let go

What once was just dust
or a few stray hairs
became monumental
in scope or size

The bigger the mess
the scarier it becomes
and the whelming goes over

How long did it take
for this mess to be made
and how do we start
to take it all apart

One rodent at a time
the same way they came
with baby steps
into grown-up junk

Daddy's Girl

Those eyes are mine
and your thoughts
my mirror

I am your daughter

You're not perfect
and we'll often disagree
but what's comforting here
is that I'm not either

just like you

I've inherited more
than just DNA

I'll become who I am
with the strength
gained from you


It's All Just One Big Cliche

If you are reading this,
your life is sadder than mine.

if my opinion counts
for anything
that is.
Your mileage may vary.

Just don't get carried away,
you're better than me.
You know
you know better.

where do you think you're going?
Don't take offense;
I'm just saying...
Never mind,
do your thing.

I wouldn't want
to stand in your way.
Far be it from me
to be the fly in your ointment.

Prompt: "If you are reading this..."


Prolonged Exposure

Tracing the outline
of her face
from a photograph
he thought

Maybe sometimes
our feelings fade
long before the images
or the impressions
left behind

It seemed like
only yesterday
he held her in his arms
but the reality
was this face
sadly smiling
in his hand

This proof of fading
wordlessly begun
far longer ago
than either of them
had realized
at the time

~"Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph..."
~Title: "Prolonged Exposure"


Yesterday's Mirror

(for someone as beautiful as I am)

I stare in her eyes
her thoughts trying to hide
to keep her safe from me

but the reality is this:
she is me
the younger
more innocent
the quieter
version of me

I know her pain
because I share it still

I tell her
don't let this eat you
don't let this beat you

there is a way out
I'm only finding it now
and I'm in far deeper
so it's harder to get out

I hand her the map
hoping she'll follow
lending her courage

and I watch
as the beautiful reflection
of myself grows


Salt & Saffron

What good is a day
of no more than just hours:
only time to be filled,
or long lists to complete?

Is the flavor of this day
something we savor?
Or will it be passed off
as yesterday’s gruel?

Cherish each moment
and own what it holds
before the salt is spilt
and the saffron grows old.

Poetry Prompts:
~Write a poem using the following start: "What good is a day..."
~Write a poem about seasonings. For example, "Salt and Saffron".

Between Silences

In the time
between the silences
we find ourselves knowing
the something that we share
is more than enough
to verify our hopes and dreams

In the time between the silences
The hours flutter by
in incandescent luminescence
where we carry one another
to the comfort we hope to keep

In the time between the silences
we open thoughtful glances
into future's distant haze
and dance around the void
that only too soon comes

In the time between the silences
we gain strength for what's to come
the inevitable separation
which gives meaning to all these times
and to this space where we escape

Poetry Prompts : Write a poem using "Between Silences".



more than just something to believe
it pulses through our veins
carrying our life

more than just the reason we're here
it causes our change
burying disguises

more than just a passing whim
it grows inside us
betraying our dreams

more than just who we are
it sentences us
to staying extreme


Ya No Soy Yo

ya no soy yo

Yo soy
un fantasma en el viento
una sombra sobre el mar

Yo soy
nunca hace

Yo no soy la chica
que crees que sabes

Por lo menos
no soy el mismo yo
am no longer me

I am
a ghost on the wind
a shadow on the sea

I am
which never makes

I'm not the girl
you think you know

At least
I am not the same

“Yo, ya no soy yo. Por lo menos no soy el mismo yo interior.”
~ Diarios de Motocicleta
I am no longer me. At least I am not the same inside.
~ The Motorcycle Diaries
for Typescript ~ Wednesday Writing Challenge: Movie Quotes



Fate is a cold-hearted bitch
Pulling on strings that strangle hearts
Controlling our lives with an iron fist

Patience and Hope can’t measure up
To the callous decisions held in her darts
When she determines she’s had enough

She’s like a small boy tormenting a fly
With every turn cutting off wings
With little remorse the torture applied

She rains on us all, making worthy unjust
But her allure holds us captive despite the stings
In devastatingly beautiful passive trust


I've been struggling a lot lately. There are a lot of things I'm struggling with that I can't put here in this blog, because regardless of how transparency doesn't bother me in the slightest, I've come to realize that guarding others in my life and their privacy is more important than my own. I can do a lot for other people that far surpass what I can do for me. And I suppose this is the strength that I have to cling to right now.

Before I go on, if you think this blog is about you and you're a part of my life, it most likely is. It seems that most of my closest friends right now are dealing with similar issues of inadequacy and general dissatisfaction with their place in life. But this is more about me, because I'm simply THAT narcissistic (and yeah, I'll wait until you're done chuckling at the obvious irony of a narcissistic individual having self-esteem issues... Are you done now?).

Here it is... I'm filled with an intense sadness at the lack of perceived beauty. We live our lives in constant struggle rather than allowing ourselves to just... BE. Beauty surrounds us in nature, in relationships, even in something or someone entirely foreign to us. And that is just the beginning. But we're far too busy being insanely busy or just insanely caught up in the unimportant stuff to notice.

And our insanity leads us to feeling short-circuited and like we've failed at achieving anything of import in our lives. And when we feel like this, our esteem tanks. Our confidence tanks. Our ability to know and express our real desires and needs tanks. We become complete strangers to ourselves.

So I'm mourning the loss of the person I knew and understood. As well as a lot of other losses these days. But it's nice to know I'm not alone in it. I've got great company.



(for one of my most beautiful & poetic students)

Standing before me
with outstretched hands,
trembling you plead,
"Teacher, it's me."

Handing me a mass
of brightly pumping flesh
You turn away~
bleeding thoughts & glistening eyes.

Dripping red stains only I can see
on the brand new carpet.

11 september 1998

For the end of French fries & croissant rolls with butter...

School is
a murky playground full of
in bratty sibling rivalry

The Hatfields & McCoys
enjoyed the company of
the blood-red wounds
of decapitated

without a worthy cause...

20 april 1999
(written the day of the Columbine Shooting)

jumbled thoughts

a tiny boat
battered & beaten
by sandy
rippled waves
drifts ~
cloud covered stars
shy away
in uncertain indecision
leaving love lost & alone ~
the solitary flash
off distant shores
single out
the tiny boat ~
drawing it in
guiding it to safety

06 march 2000

kallista melankolia

(Greek: "the best sorrow")

i am
the soot-stained slush fading
to gutter stream oblivion

the rain falling
on shooting
star-crossed fates

the moment darkly
enslaving morning rays

the piece of sand
deserting burning waves

i am
the place you go
to hide away from me

13 november 1998

Tripping Down Memory Lane

I stumbled across an old file today of poems written by a first year school teacher ~ fresh out of college. I'll share some here on my blog... Hope you enjoy them.


B.P.D. (Blue Pool Down)

sink or swim
but i never learned
in the middle
way over my head
for air
trying to grasp
but striking
at hands reaching
to help
so tired
slipping slowly
grabbing aimlessly
one last try
i'll take you with me
i will not go


Days of dolls and dandelions
envision evening elegance

The image tells her who to be
the mirror reveals the way

Pursuing perfection, she pouts
Wondering at womanly worries

Her delicate innocence rejects
glamorous sophistication

Fidgeting fingers fondle
chasing her charming chin

She's learned this is beauty
and made this her quest

Abandoning adolescent apathy
to aspire to adult artifice




Tiredly she searches the depths of her purse
as eager hands await the treasure
of tiny metal pieces

Eyes glow in reflected pools
mesmerized in fluid mirrors
constantly changing

The clumsy drops break gentle ripples
sinking beneath him softly casting
magic spells from dancing fingers

one for love
one for friendship
one for loss restored

worthless now
this cast-off copper
send their pleas to gods

before they've landed, his ritual done
carelessly misunderstood
he turns and skips away