another daydream

another daydream

Tuesday, April 6, 2021

"Study Break"

 Study Break


spring       like another

when the future       spreads out 
wide       as a field
first times       for such       and such 
seemingly       far       looming soon


outside the classroom       books set 
aside       the dandelions       call       
my name       


plentiful yellow       deigning    
to pop up       as I bellyflop       to them       
knot their stems       

round round       for a tiara       
to wear       the rest of       an afternoon

Photo by Natalia Luchanko




Friday, March 26, 2021

"Not a Lone Wolf"

 Not a Lone Wolf

                        after Monica Hesse


I do not need to hear 

that he “snapped,” or “had a bad day” 


I do not need to hear 

that he was heartbroken 


I do not need to hear 

that he was a churchgoer


I do not need to hear 

how he struggled with “temptation”


Don’t even need to know his name, really


Don’t need to hear thoughts and prayers


Don’t need to read excerpts of a weird manifesto


I want to hear about systems that helped build
the shooter


––things he saw celebrated, things he saw excused 


people who he was taught have value,
people who he was taught have none. 



Extracts from Monica Hesse’s article “Things I do not ever need to hear or read about a shooter again,” The Washington Post March 19, 2021


Wednesday, March 17, 2021

"Art in an Age of Uncertainty"

Among the many cancellations due to the pandemic, an annual arts festival in Mathias, West Virginia––where I was scheduled to have a poetry table––has led to an interesting turn of events. 

Joshua Miller, who hosts the event on his property, commissioned a poem on the subject of art in uncertain times. I am indebted to him for inspiring the creation of a poem that has found a literary home at High Shelf Press

The photos are from my contributor copy. You can view the entire March issue on their website at:

To inspire others is such a gift. 

Warm wishes, 

Thursday, March 4, 2021

New Book Coming Soon...!

How I love to showcase art––and here is the book cover for my new publication, coming in April from Kelsay Books. Sandra Guiloff is the cover artist, supremely gifted in her intuitive artistic vision. Look forward to sharing this collection of poems with you! 


Warm wishes,

Wednesday, February 17, 2021

"For Whomsoever"

 For Whomsoever 


I hope you have the chance to do nothing. 

You can stop here, heed no further. 


Or nestle between beginnings/endings 

of wording: there         there         there


It’s the way an elder consoles the hurt child. 

There, there, there. 


Bringing him close, bringing her close, 

into the nexus of an us:


us understanding, us having been there. 

There, there. It will get better. 


When you’re grown, making a living, 

I hope you have the chance to do nothing. 


To take it in, the medicine of air.

To feel held by the air. 



Wednesday, January 27, 2021

"Poetry is not a luxury"

 Let's bask in the words of Audre Lorde:

"Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives." 

Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Patchwork Poem: Writers of The Washington Post

 January 6, 2021

Breaching the barriers

––their flags and banners 

snapping in the cold wind––

sprawling crowd 

shouting, chanting.

Nobody stopped them.

A sickening sight unfurls––

the flags and the onslaught.

Crowds climbed up scaffolding,

surged up the steps,

defied orders to disperse,

breached the capitol.

Our naivete was a talisman 

against disorder. 

The marauders freely roamed,

strolling through the statuaries. 
Precious artifacts were paraded 
around as props and prizes.

It happened because we refused 
to believe it could happen.

A sickening sight unfurls. 

Your gas masks are under your chairs.

This souring sentiment 

may lead to more violence.

This blindness to cataclysm

snapping in the cold wind.



Writers of The Washington Post: Dan Balz, Rebecca Tan, Peter Jamison, Meagan Flynn, John Woodrow Cox, Marc Fisher, Jessica Contrera, Carol D. Leonnig, Aaron C. Davis, Dan Lamothe, David A. Fahrenthold, Phillip Kennicott, Philip Rucker, Maura Judkis, Ellen McCarthy, Marissa J. Lang



Thursday, December 31, 2020




When comfort divorces you,

whether or not 
this was warranted, 
whether or not 
you assumed its existence 
had a guarantee

––like those plates 
advertised not to break––
whether or not you saw this coming,
you want to go back 
to normal that’s torn asunder.


It may be harsh to meet 

a surface of concreteness

whether or not 
you call it a ‘new normal’
to save your ass 
from the guesswork
of hazardous life.

Whether or not 
you cried, unsteady 
as a toddler trying to walk, 
this is freefall; 

you launch into the dark

––like a moth, not 
particularly lovely,
taking on the night shift 

of pollination 
as each nocturnal jasmine 
opens, opens––
whether or not
you can sleep,
beauty is consuming 
the darkness.