Category Archives: Poetry

A wall is not a fence  A fence is not a wall. A wall keeps feared things hidden.   It is tallAnd solidAnd allowsno lightTo pass A fence is a suggestion. Heed or not.   A wire or two,  Some … Continue reading →

Going to Seed I’ve let the dandelions grow, and there are plenty.  No more than buttercups, nor more than peonies.  The lavender has jumped untended borders.  I do not care. I’ve given up on order. Still, bees and butterflies don’t … Continue reading →

Borrego A boney bunch they are, Toe-tipping, teetering, and wary, toddling over slender self-made paths. Horned-selves parading high above the dappled desert floor, above the stalagmitic honey-caves adorned with combs the size of boars and sticky-drip-traps. Above, they tramp. Above … Continue reading →

I’m draped in cedar Woven cedar And a hat   She leads me Because I cannot go without her   It is for me to honor others, For me to walk with grace   And, yet, still, I search for … Continue reading →

Olive or Twist Oliver Twist Freeze Dried Potatoes Free Stride Potatoes Her mind is an open range chicken Off on its own Scrambling in the dirt for worms or kitchen scraps No leash, no fences Wearing little lace-up trainers Off it … Continue reading →

Baja Travels   March 2018       Malice Point   A shard of land Aimed carefully Ready to be flung Or sprung Or catapulted   Or thrust into a bay Where bones of whaling vessels Molder Or vessels meant … Continue reading →

Chicken Sandwiches at the Root Beer Stand in Marion For Cousin Cherri  June 2017 In summer heat, and bored with euchre or parcheesi, Someone would say, usually my Nan, “Let’s go to the root beer stand for chicken sandwiches.” Chopped … Continue reading →

Genetics Lesson LLyn De Danaan June 2017 For Family They pile on To greet Like puppies Warm and smooth, some soothing brown  or honey tinged They touch or brush So hair or finger tips can meet And each one’s face … Continue reading →

My grandma sat beside the stove and slope-rimmed scuttle Enveloped in a wooden rocker and an Afghan shawl or throw. Her hair was black as coal. And always was. Her legs were saplings clothed in sagging, heavy Stockings. Opaque, and … Continue reading →

Two Hills For my cousin Pete Patterson June 2017 There was a standpipe On the highest rise, Above my Grandma’s house. And to the west, a cemetery Always neatly shorn Forbidding to a child born from its ceremony. It was … Continue reading →