Category: Poetry

Black as empty as gone as left as void as sorrow as wing come to rest, as caw from the pine in summer new-born, the nest perched high enough and June blue brush...

“The world writes love poems all the time” –Steve Tomasko   How the sun slips all its orange color into the clouds and the water before leaving, how the m...

  The little plane lifts–a lark at first–from that Idaho runway, to get you into wilderness–only one quick way, engine turning like a law...

  Too high in the air, it’s scary to look down on the mountains of Tennessee, or is it Kentucky when the plane rattles, I rattle too. If I fell I would flo...

  No end to woe.  No way to know Which weighs more.  Today Bliss carries my small boat Turning, oars lost already Miles upstream. Bliss A word we’re barely...

  My son sits at the table. Where’s the witch? What’s the spell to turn him back into a boy? I put a field, an avalanche, and a crow before him to see what...

  Motion attracts me: the birds especially— goldfinches dip and rise—musical breaths of air push at the trees, boughs bow and nod to say happy birthday. Ou...

    She takes the rubbed-soft cover from me and says “The little girl took the book from her daddy and then she went over to the other books she had.”...

                                                                          (Vaccinium deliciosum)   Back in camp from Crater Mountain, I plunge into a ...

  You have to enter sleep like water without trying to swim. It’s a skill, slipping below the line, vanishing into the unseen. Without trying to swim leave...