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Friday, November 20, 2015

Stark Naked

Chasing Tiger Stark Naked
Naked of Leaves ...

The stark tree towered over the pink and green grove;
Naked of leaves, it’s twisted
Limbs exposing all its imperfections.
Surely it was no taller than
The others clothed and covered with late spring’s garb.
Yet this immodest tree seduces the eye to it alone;
Its branches, sculpted by life to a uniqueness of its own,
Are displayed wide and unashamed.
Its bent shaped limbs continue their reach for the sky.
Proud, its unabashed stance giving it added height;
The stark tree towered high,
As high as the bare rock cliff in its shadow.


            June 29, 2004

Following Tiger

Ariel Chasing Tiger
Sketch: Following Tiger

Sunrays bathed us,

You sought the shadows and hid;

I’m drawn to follow.

April 29, 2004

Tuesday, October 27, 2015


sin wave

Let me tell you what I know;

since that day, my heart beats

in syncopation with yours.

Any distance between us

is distance that muffles my heart;

our sin sealing my bond to you.

My mistake - thinking this trembling

a synonym of lust.

A curious cyanide process*,

extracting faithfulness from cynicism.

Perhaps it was an ill-timed synapse

throwing me from my center,

throwing me in synchronicity to your orbit,

burning as I spin

like the suns in Constellation Centaurus.

Perhaps it is my soul beating inside,

in sympathy to my heart,

that has built a synagogue of yearning -

of yearning for your exposed soul.


*cyanide process = a metallurgical technique for extracting gold from low-grade ore.

This came to me as I was playing with sounds - especially that slippery flirty slide of "S". Seemed too fun not to be a sin!

Monday, October 19, 2015

Nothing Important

Ariel email in a bottle
Waiting to hear from you

I open my mail account

quickly scan the list for your address,

for your reply.

There are business suggestions

ways to improve my life,

invitations to flirt and be loved …

but nothing important.

Nothing from you.

Living my days

in hopeful moments,

anger felt turns back on me

keep reminding myself that

you were never mine.


April 7, 2003

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Valentine’s Day

Remembering past

Of the leading lady;

The script made of

Personal Reviews by friends,

Treasured letters from lovers,

Shared dreams.

I need no-one

To play the role of lover;

I will spend tonight

With all the people

I ever loved,

And truly be my real self,
And applaud.


Feb 14, 1991

Wednesday, April 1, 2015


And yet one more April PAD madness!

This came to me today


Almost 24 hours

and not one poem about you.

Not this poem;

this poem is about hunger and missing meals,

about poverty.

This poem is about eating air as the body cries for what it needs.

It is about shivering in the dark,

cold and alone as I pray for arms to enfold me;

about not approaching you for fear of rejection.

This poem is about feeling unworthy

of the smallest kindness

and building some noble romantic tale to tell myself

on some cold lonely night after you strode away -

perhaps true, perhaps not.

This poem is about a cry that has gone silent;

so desperate, without hope, it no longer seeks your charity.

In evening's concealing dark

it simply tucks itself into a closed doorway

curls tight into its vulnerable self

and awaits an unwelcoming dawn.

This poem isn't about you.;

it should be about falling into poverty,

about losing everything,

losing hope.

It shouldn't be about you.

Almost 24 hours.


April 1, 2015


April is National Poetry Month - and for poets there are Poem-A-Day challenges everywhere. A PAD today, this is based on the attached picture prompt (posted in Facebook's community "Poet", a space I started years & years ago and still co-moderate. It started with about 8 poets; it's now at 1,174 members, a global community!)

Photo provided by Rex Eisenbraun. Not sure who deserves the photo credit.


Even from the distance of a black-and-white photo

I leaned out of frames to look for you.

Arm around steel girders, climbing grainy constructions,

I wonder if the wind will carry you -

like a WW2 postcard lost in the mail

and I capture you in my skirt ...

or perhaps like a tardy cargo ship tugging up a canal

I view you from my spyglass -

you will appear ... faded, monotone

but you with your scent

and that finger laid against your Cupid's bow.

For you, I risk that fall

and bring tucked inside that photo box.

For you, I would willingly gather dust and fade;

a memory that turns vintage warm when you will

chance upon it with shaking unsteady hands.

Perhaps then, with my leaning out of frames

and you peering through frames-

perhaps then we will find each other.


April 1, 2015