about the laughing cornflower sky
honey wheat fields of dandelions
a red-tailed hawk soaring high.
Spraying ink in a billowing black cloud

like the octopus in the sea
a puff of ebony is my shroud.
Planting word seeds in the ground
where men have toiled and plowed,

Deep and dark as cherry wine
my pen, my airplane.
Flying off the page in every line.
Traveling over mountains

to deserts of sleeping lions.
Not a man can tell me where to land.
This is my life, my flight,
laboring birth with my right hand.

herself on the fence,
not moving left or right. Searches
morn and night for the answer. Only
leaves to make dinner. She has no

nest. She has no tree. But she
has longing. For what she does not
know, to fly or build her home? Another
day passes. Another cycle of the sun

and moon. Another snowy, cold
December. Another hot, sunny
June. Another round of eggs hatching
to fly south. Another nest a robin's

patching and feeding hungry
mouths. She sees it all on
the splintered fence. If she could
condence like dew on a cool

October morning. If a blade
of grass was calling to her like
a worm. It's only when the neighbor's
grey cat's hungry that she squirms.

his lies
like pieces of glass
cutting her hollow
as they fall and they pass

She swallowed
her pain
inflating like a balloon
following her around
like a cheese wheel moon

She swallowed
her tears
like salt on the rim
and threw away years
on the likes of him

She swallowed
his memory
like a bitter pill
weighing her down
after all this time still

with vanilla ***** and wedges of men
strawberry wine, stilettos and pen. I have
so many like Swiss cheese. You can
thread them together as if they were

beads. I stuff them with pound cake
and chocolate ice cream, tampons
and broom closet screams. Fill them
with lines of rhyme and feathered

earrings. Some I was born with. Some
I’ve made. But I’ll not forget the ones
given to me. They grew over the years,
like a little brother that didn't leave

home, large as the mountains,
and deep as the seas. But I’m proud
that I pushed out my babies. And I'll fill
all their holes with love and with cream.

Everyone has holes. Some we are born with. Some we have made. And others are given to us. Some we leave empty. Some we fill in with terrible things. Mine, I chose to share.

This is the title of my new poetry book!

If I couldn't walk
would you be my cane?
If I couldn't think
would you be my brain?

If I couldn't talk
would you be my tongue?
If I couldn't breathe
would you be my lung?

If I couldn't see
would you be my eyes?
If I fall down
would you help me rise?

If I get lonely
would you be by my side?
If I lose my way
would you be my guide?

If I get sick
would you comfort me?
If I'm locked up
would you be my key?

If I lose someone
would you help me grieve?
If I lost hope
would you help me believe?

If I get riled
would you calm me down?
If I get sad
would you be my clown?

I need you more
than I’d dare say.
If I asked you
would you promise to stay?

from the moment
we’re born. The doctors
perform the ritual of cutting
us off from our mothers when
they sever the umbilical
chord.

We get cut
again, if we are boys and our
parents circumcise us
by choice.

We get cut
out of people’s lives
as we get older. Some
relationships don’t last
forever.

We get cut
on the job
when the company
is downsizing. Only to
learn no one else is now
hiring.

We get cut
from the team
from our partner’s wills
in essential –
we can’t get through life
without undergoing the knife

like the hole in her
pantyhose in rungs from her
thigh to her ankle. As the rest
of her, so mangled. Like on

fumes when the gas gauge
is down. Like her nose when a cold
goes around. Like a clock on batteries
she loses time. And as river, it's a

downhill climb. Like sweat on her thin
soft nape, or maple syrup on a stacked
plate of crepes. But as wild horses
she gallops to sea. Her honey long

hair flying in the breeze. From men,
women and jobs to woods, robins and
frogs. Like a crab on the beach she's
a hermit. If you ask her, she'll confirm it.

I seldom rarely treasure
just a moments pleasure.
But what we have right here,
In an instant could disappear.

I've come to really appreciate,
special times one can't recreate.
All the firsts that we go through,
can never be restored to new.

A sweet and innocent first kiss.
First steps your baby don't miss.
Those first words baby spoken.
First love, a tender heart open.

I don't want to jump ahead!
I want to stay here instead.
I know soon it will all be gone.
A moment does not last for long.

Moments become memories.
Never to be as keen as discoveries!
They're all that's left of what we had.
Kind of makes one feel sad.

So please do me this favor.
Take a moment; let us savor.
Let not us rush it past!
By God it goes much too fast!

climbing up a pole,
trying so hard to attach,
for my tentacles to latch on,
like a babe. So, I can grow up

and be strong. But spiraling
around a splintered post cut
my green curls, like swirls of
hair falling from the barber's

chair. If I was a sunflower I'd have
the power to ride the sky. My golden
petals waving hi. But I'm a tendril, a thin
piece of thread without a back or

head. A crisp snap of dry leaves,
a wisp of smoke billowing in the breeze. If I
was a rose I'd be wrapped in evergreen
boughs, bloom as the sun and the robin rouse.

broken boy? When you
walk in the door at night,
as you turn the key and
put on the light. Who are you

climbing the stairs, a silhouette
hanging on the wall, walking down
the hall. Who are you in the bathroom
mirror as your washing the crimson

smile off your lips, holding the razor,
with a tight grip so close to your
wrist? Who are you as slipping the clothes
off your skin, free-falling in your bed,

a mountain of cotton sheets, for
the living dead. The room is black,
as the days ahead. You left your face
at your girlfriend's door. And your

puff's stuffed in the bedroom
drawer. Who are you as the ****** sun
stabs its daggers through the window
curtain, and you don a Richard Burton

for your clients that day, spraying your
wavy hair so it lays in place. And lacing your
shoes? Pouring the coffee and reading
the news?

is so aberrantly broken
he's choken on his
words. His life is a blur
of ****** sunrises and murky

sunsets, of icy showers of soap and
umbrellas. He’s been beaten and
jammed into dark cellars, crammed
into tight spaces. He cannot tie

his shoelaces. He cannot write
his name. They try to tame him
with drugs, his mother with kisses
and hugs. But his brain is

unwired. The lawyers and doctors
she hired could not do a thing. Like
all the king's horses and men
his pieces one cannot mend.

a drop out of him. Like toothpaste
in a tube sticking to the sides
like glue. Cannot be pushed out,
even if rolled up like rug. Like my snug

denim jeans cannot be held
together. The zipper sticks to my rolling
belly, wobbling like a bowl of strawberry
jelly. Like the gunk I squeeze out of

my red, hard pimple. If I can squeeze
the truth out of him, if it was that
simple! Like a baby pushing through
my birth canal. I bear down tight with such

morale. But his head's too big to
pass. If it was easy like breaking
gas!  I'll not get it out of him. It's attached
just like his limb.

right
you like
her smile's bright
skin's tight
and she's chesty

Swipe
left
he's hefty
his nose, a balloon
like a Flintstone cartoon

Swipe
for a match
to land a catch
there's a rolling batch
of new pictures to

Swipe
like a line dance
to the left
to the right
did he use a filter
or is he a bodybuilder?

Swipe
your future is in your finger
Mary Ann or Ginger?

and he's the *****. He stuck out
like a toe with gout, red and round
with a swollen head. I turned him so
often, he lost his thread. I wanted to

hang my portrait on him. But I gave
my life to him. The picture didn't fit
the frame. The wall cracked and the plaster
chipped. And the shank sunk in

like it had been clipped. A silver spot
looking like a dime that had no purpose
and had no rhyme. I couldn't pull him
out. He was stripped. And so was I.

a dewdrop clinging to a leaf.
I'm a pearl that has grown teeth.
You plucked me from a rosy bloom,
tore me right from mother's womb.

I'm not a present, a box you wrap,
or a breast, a pheasant under glass.
Not a paper doll you cut out
with scissors along the dotted line.

I'm sleek and sweet as wine.
Not one to wilt and wither.
Not a piece of broken feather fluff
you stuff into a cotton pillow.

I'm not a floating cloud to billow.
Not a marionette rolling in sweat.
I'm a woman, fierce and strong.
not a pair of legs in a satin thong.

sharper than a straight razor
one slip and she's slit
like the joker's smile
bleeding on the bathroom tile

His teeth coated in sugar poison
A box to keep his toys in
in the throes of passion
love you cannot ration

His lips dip south
hair caught in his mouth
death in a wet wine kiss
guess he was remiss

I ****** out of the hose
of my crimson carpet. This time
I'll part with it. All the dust bunnies
and planted soil that glittered just

like foil is now a clump
of smokeless ash heading towards
the trash. With the cookie crumbs
and lies I built a fort up to

the skies. Mangled hair and fleas
made me wince and sneeze. Broken
glass and spilled perfume curled up in a
Bissell womb. The fibers growing

limbs big as Mount Washington! I bagged
it all, cells of skin and lime, tin and
turpentine, nails and shards, a landfill from
discard. Pebbles and rocks/days of hopscotch.

like the old coupon
in your top desk drawer
the one you forgot to bring
to the store
we could have saved a lot if you did
we paid for this more than we should

We Expired
like your red pollo aftershave
the one I gave you many Christmas's past
that you didn't open till yesterday
and now gives you a rash
like a port-wine stain

We Expired
like curdled milk
in lumps bumping inside
the gallon in the fridge
smelling sour
as the pus draining from
poking my pimple in the shower

We Expired
like carrion
on the side of the road
with the stomach and
intestines laid out
and the tongue sticking
between the teeth
like a dead plank of wood
on the beach

rising like yeast up the old oak
tree. Springing like a slinky to maul
the metal cage, clinging to it
like words on a page. Gobbling all

the feed till he shakes out
most of the seed to the ground. So,
the bunnies have a meal next time
they come around. I fixed ones

with traps but the beast finds
his way between the gaps. I placed
a teeter-totter dome over the top
so, he'll wobble and fall. But he doesn't

stop!  He shakes and shimmies
like chocolate jimmies on an ice cream
cone dipping headfirst inside the bowl. It's war!
I swore I'd save the seeds and kernels

of corn for the robin's baby born.  He has
the acorns to himself!  Greedy gut has
the fattest tail and ****. And the beadiest
eyes I've seen. And he's downright mean!

ball paddled back and
forth by the both of
them. Small, so I
fit in the palm of their

hand with their fingers
enclosing around me, light
and round, hitting the
table. Dizzy by the

sensation of not having
a true destination. Falling to
the ground. Jumping hurdles,
and flying through the air

like a jet over the net. Ricocheting
as a bullet out of a gun. I'm home
spun. A pearl without a strand. Now
where will I land?

you stood tall and so strong
from green to red as my thong
raining down your brown capped nuts
gray rats chasing them just like a putz

Year after year
I lay in a bed of rope and cornflower cotton
my youngest son for mother's day had gotten
under your pointed lobed canopy
with a glass of strawberry wine, so happily

Year after year
the scratching of claws
the jay and robin applause
Downy woodpecker drills
such laugh and some thrills

Year after year
you shed your emerald coat
leaves dance in the air as they float
to the soft ground
covering it in a carpet of brown

all those times he walked
out of the restaurant to talk to you
on his cell phone while she sat
looking at her plate of honey

grilled salmon alone? What did
she think when you called him in
the wee hours of the morning waking him
from a sound sleep? And he replied

as he lied next to her on their four-
poster bed with the skylight window
overhead that it was so nice to hear
your sunflower voice dancing pirouettes

on the wire's edge. And what did she
think when he left the house all those times
to buy milk in his tight ripped jeans after he'd
preen himself and splash on the polo red after-

shave? He must have gave some excuse that
the trip took hours when the store was just around
the corner. Did he bilk when she asked
where was the milk?

with pretty faces
cleft chins
and wide tooth grins
with sparling eyes
that hypnotize
wear pretty clothes
drive pretty fast cars
have manicured nails and yards
tell pretty jokes
that make us laugh
and flatter folks
have marbled baths
and house maids
that scrub their toilets
and put out the trash
work out in gyms
to show off their bulging biceps
and sixpacks
flash their credit cards
at five-star restaurants
order champagne
clams on the half-shell
and lobster from Maine
give me migraines
those pretty boys
like their toys
and Netflix
their refrigerator is empty
but their desk drawers are full
with pictures of pretty chicks
and bottles of Advil
those pretty boys
the ones that are so bubbly
to me are only ugly

he mowed down. He watered
me and cut me down. I grew
even in the shade. I stood up
straight, an emerald blade. Stood as

grey clouds rolled in and
the rain fell, as the dew
dropped pearls upon my cells. I stood
in the sun's scorching rays that

turned my sweet green into yellow
hay. I looked up to the cornflower
sky, as the blinding wind flew right
by. Bunnies nibbled my leaves and

dogs peed on me. Men and women
walked all over me, leaving me
lying on my side flat. But still,
here I am! I sprung back!

It's a big world.
But little care.
There's lots of people.
But no one's there.

Who calls?
The dentist office
for your six-month cleaning.
The doctor's for another screening.

The world is full of noise.
But no one's there to listen.
Earphones drown your voice.
And cell phones block your vision.

Where did all the words go?
There are no cards or letters.
Bills fall in your mailbox.
You're one of many debtors.

But when you die
they'll be many bodies around you.
People all surround you, many men and
women, and some even children.

the cottontail munches on the
sweet green grass. The squirrels
circle him as they pass, chasing
each other up the old oak tree,

to reach the birdfeeder and eat
the seeds. The blue jay jeers
his resounding call, as another
acorn falls to the ground with a

kerplop. The bunny hops away to find
a quiet place with shade. A honey bee
flutters around me. Two ducks waddle
into view under a cornflower sky

of blue. I sit on my deck drinking it
all in with a glass of lime and gin. A robin
takes a dip, splashing into the birdbath. I take
a sip and smile. Life like this is all worthwhile.

his pearly straight teeth
and chiseled jaw
the fire in his chestnut eyes
the crowds he draw

No one saw past
his sharp wit
his washboard stomach
he was fit

No one saw past
his satin jet-black hair
his way with the ladies
he'd open the doors/pull out their chair

No one saw past
all his lies
how can they now?
with a tummy full of butterflies

of his cigarette
a menthol smoke silhouette
circling his wet crimson lips
with just the tip between
his stained crooked teeth
he ***** me hard
till I'm charred
pulling me out
with his ***** yellow nail fingers
I linger there as he speaks
growing smaller on the exhale
I wail cause I remember when
I was white and clean
but now
bent and twisted
a stump in a metal tray
where all his other smokes lay
among the ashes
in a blanket of powdery gray
I smolder
old and colder
my fire snuffed
on his last puff

Low
slapping my face
in the ***** cracks
of a broken vase

I fell so
High
knocking a buttered sun
out of the cornflower sky

I fell so
Far
passing a naked moon
through a fallen star

I fell so
Near
tearing a jagged hole
in my crimson lace brassiere

I fell so
Wide
there wasn't a place
anywhere safe to hide

I fell so
Narrow
dying from the sting
of a poisonous arrow

inside my head.
Rising like of a loaf of bread,
blueish grey and soft as lead.
I'm a bobble doll
whose head's about to fall.

I carry it all
on my shoulder,
heavy as a boulder.
This year is making me older.
The weight of it
hunching my back.
Lowering my gait.
I cannot stand straight.

I carry it all
in my gut.
It runs a rut
through my innards.
The little sprinter
starts to splinter,
cutting my inside,
gaping holes feet wide.

I carry it all
in a bottle.
I've bottled it up for so long
trying so hard to stay strong.
Now I just let it all pass
out from my back like gas.

that his Tommy Bahama
thyme linen shirt
is pressed. Every day he’s
dressed in a new color with
a stand-up collar.

He cares
that is ebony satin hair
is coiffured and sprayed,
parted on the left side and laid
flat. No gust of wind can
disturb that!

He cares
that his cobalt convertible
BMW is washed and waxed. He’s not
relaxed till it glitters as gold. If
there's a scratch on the leather
next week it's sold.

He cares
that his wine cellar
is stocked with Dom Perignon
in the first row up top.

He cares
about women -
every one of them,
long as they're beautiful,
young and thin.

with his silver spoon,
hitting the shell of this hard
boiled egg.  I fracture like
a broken leg. Splitting off in

misshapen jagged pieces
he discards, like a pair of ripped
leotards. I'm just a chip off
the old block, a weathered plank

from a floating dock. A wood shaving
from a cedar tree. He scatters me
like the autumn leaves. I've worn
so many coats my colors are flaking. Peeling

like paint, these curls blanket the ground,
sticking to blades of grass like pollen
fallen from the sky. Polka-dots dancing
pirouettes on his tie.

has not a trace of
love. It hangs on
the neck like a pair of boxing
gloves. Brows are thin

and spread uneven. The eyes
have no shine. They're clouded
thick like meat in brine. The nose
rose like a mountain in the air. I see

through the nostrils all the grey
hair. Cheeks are pale. There's more
color in my glass of ale. The mouth
is stuck in a pout. Cannot catch a

smile. I'd have more luck fishing
for trout. The head oscillates like
a fan. You look the same. But
you're not the same man.

no man has a voice.  Circling
like smoke rings blown from
the mouth of a cigarette. Men
flattened against the wall like

a silhouette. Painted like a port
wine stain on a face that none
see. The train on the platform
takes leave.  The traffic and the

horns. People talking into their
phones. Cars running red lights, police
sirens and medflights. Billboards
on top of large buildings. Children

fastened in their seats and
screaming. Jackhammers digging up
the ground. The pounding of a migraine
in the head. Not a word is said. And it spreads –

Silence

Is there too much piling on your plate?
Is the time for you growing late?
Think you're never going to set things straight?
All You have to do is wait.

Troubles seem to inflate.
I know the strain of all that weight.
You mustn't let that dictate.
All you have to do is wait.

Don't let something seal your fate.
I've come to know and appreciate
that in due time all things shall abate.
All you have to do is wait.

Patience is such a virtuous trait.
When things aren't looking so great
remember that it's never to late!
All you have to do is wait.

Don't allow your ego to deflate.
Don't fill up on foolish hate.
The solution is yours!  You alone can create.
All you have to do is wait.

are sharp spikes
velvet stiletto shoes
walking towers of jagged blues
digging up holes with my sole

My edges
are rotating arrows
like a weathervane
my pain spinning in the wind
under a cornflower sky
but not getting off
sitting like a ****
not able to fly

My edges
are four pointed corners
of a square
so, I don't roll like a stone
I pose in the air

My edges
are colored fringe
decorating the outside
as I unhinge

I spend all my days
and nights with. I curl up
on the couch with. My ocean
fleece blanket is a pouch

which I wrap my body in. It's
my cocoon on a rainy
afternoon. This blackened
silhouette burns me like

a smoking cigarette, enshrouds
me in a fog, as I lay sleeping like
a log. Dancing pirouettes in
my crimson cotton sweats, with

a book between my hands,
a ***** and lime sitting on the
nightstand. I have no plans. I like to
doze till twilight hits my toes.

he has fangs
and not teeth? He has
scales and not bangs.

Couldn't she see
he hasn't legs? He slithers
on his belly. And was hatched
from an egg!

Couldn't she see
his pupils are slitted
and cannot dilate or
contract? He'll outgrow her
like his skin once she’s wrapped
up in him. And then he’ll leave her flat.

Couldn't she see
his tongue is split
at the tip like a fork? And in
one little kiss she'll be slabs
of salt pork.

her song as perfume
like a garden in full bloom.
Sweet as the lilac trees,
in a warm embracing breeze.

She spilled
her long honey hair
like a waterfall
all over him,
his face and his limbs.

She spilled
her creamy *******
like a bird's nests,
out from her tight dress.
The color of robin's eggs-
Blue.
Then she flew.

She spilled
her teardrops
like a rain shower,
in a large paper cup.
Then she drank
it all up.

falling through square holes,
a rain shower of brown.
Sifting through/seeing it pour down.
Looking for the golden

nugget. But all I'm collecting
are rocks in my purple bucket.
Grey stones bouncing in a circle
plastic mesh, as the sun is whistling

hot, burning out my flesh.
Waves crashing to the shore,
like a stoner strung on ****.
All this for not!

I exhale on my next
breath.

like the carcass of a duck.
Sans feathers before the roasting.
Man pouring champagne in a red neck flute,
toasting his capture and making me mute.

I was plucked
like a woman's brow.
Tweezed till I was extracted.
Men were distracted in shaping me.
Thinning me out like garden of weeds.

I was plucked
like ukulele strings
to make beautiful music
out of all my suffering.
Strumming my thumb on mahogany,
sweet as a baby wallaby.

I was plucked
like blueberries off the shrub.
Dropped in a tin pail
took home and scrubbed.
I was a tasty snack.
But after you're plucked
they can't put you back.

the day I was born
cut from the red ****** cord
that nourished me
cut like a hanging branch
sawed off the maple tree

I was shorn
like the green grass
in spring
before my time
of flowering
didn’t stand an inch to grow
every weekend
I was mowed

I was shorn
like wool's sheep
on the old man's farm
skirted, rolled and bagged
blind, naked and sagged

I was shorn
of the skin I’ve worn
all my life
shed it like a snake
at night
grew a new birthday suit
didn’t iron out
the wrinkles
learned to dress
finessed in crinkles

the bird outside
my window, the chattering
blue jay as he ***** from
branch to branch. And the cranch
of the squirrel breaking
acorns with his teeth, turning it
with his claws beneath my stairs.
The buzzing bee dancing circles
around the azalea. If I only lived
in Australia! And the neighbor's
kids racing their scooters down
the street while I'm trying to watch tv,
as my poetry sits quietly on the coffee
table gathering dust. And the cable box
is playing a nature show as I doze
to the splashing of the orca. There goes
another day down the drain.

was the last time
he was going to make me
bleed. Every step forward I was
walking barefooted on broken
glass. Every breath inhaled in his
field of wheat was gas.

The last time
I couldn't handle
his contempt. Exhausted from
my attempt to reach him. I was
just a leech swimming in the reeds
of a muddy lake, wrapping around
his foot like a creeper. Kicking me
off like a smelly old sneaker.

The last time
I was this small
I'd no body hair and crawl
on my mother's yellow diamond
tiled floor heading out
her kitchen door.

The last time
I saw his moon head and
tomato red face he was facing away
from me, barking like a mangy
dog up a tree. I slogged turning
a corner, hearing this heart murmur for
the last time.

pelting rain
you're soaking wet. No umbrella.
Cold water seeping through your chest.
You're not dressed for this
weather. Your hair looks like a rat,
flat and sticking to the wrinkles
on your face. You shiver to the bone
all the way home.

Just because it stopped
blowing 137 knots. You fought it
off. But the hurricane left a wreckage
of debris, downed houses, buildings
and trees. The neighbors
forced to flee.

Just because it stopped
them from calling you names
it didn't ***** out the flame. The rage
gutted you inside. They burned your
skin alive.

woven red organza silk
dewdrops of mother's milk
riding bronco over bumps
cherry lips eating up her lumps

She's Diaphanous
crystal blue water
a playful, squirming swimming otter
diving up and down/ in and out
for a meal of rainbow trout

She's Diaphanous
splintered pieces of glass
refracting light in a pass
a prism of dancing color
to only shine, not make duller

She's Diaphanous
rose petal shower curtains
mellifluous as Richard Burton
a feathered peacock in the light
bubbly as a can of sprite

even if he wears pants
and walks upright
upstairs in his head
there is no light

He's not a man
even if he has ****** hair
and shaves his hedge
or grows a beard
he lives on razor's edge

He's not a man
even with hanging *****
notches on his bed
he doesn't care
he's in the red

He's not a man
even though he pays taxes
golfs on Sunday
holds a college degree
look at Ted Bundy

intense
burning mid-day sun
blistering his skin
leaving him tail-spun

She was too
splintered
jabbing at his arms
too many winters
putting out alarms

She was too
needy
taking all his time
greedy
a woman in her prime

He was too
old
to play around
but men cannot be told
and he'd not slow down

with just myself. Lying in a red hammock
curled up under a cornflower sky, with a book
to read as a cardinal flies by.  Or walking
in the woods among the ferns and the trees

I find tranquility. The chattering song of
the jay, the stillness of a breaking day. Women are
critical and glib, drooling like babies wearing
a bib. Green- eyed and petty. Raining on me

like colored confetti. Friendship is overrated,
leaving me lonely and weighted. The babbling
of a brook I'll take than that of a woman. Time is
a gift not to squander. Thoughts are words

to sit and to ponder. Women spread them like
strawberry jam, rolling out of their mouths
like a broken dam. Like the sun and the moon
I'm a solitary man.