The Importance of a Rainbow

, , ,

The Importance of a Rainbow

It was on a long walk home
he taught us:
to look for the light in falling rain;
to read between segregated lines;
to act in courage in the face of rage;
to use benevolence to survive the inhumane.

It is on our long walk home,
that we embrace our vitality
by looking to our rainbows.

For Nelson Mandela with love and gratitude.


This poem can now be found in The Unique & Sundry, which happens to be available on Amazon.

Sweet Love

A poem for All Souls Day, where memories and future dreams sit at the same table reminesing with the ones that have already passed on.


Sweet Love

In tiny balls of creamy divinity
and squares of double layered fudge.
Standing over a hot pot
of liquid sugar stirring
to the point of brittle sweet.

Sopranos and baritones
let’s fill the halls with laughter
as we play and sing the music
that use to fill our lungs
when we were oh so young.

In the precious moments we share
among twinkling lights, that now glow
in your children’s eyes. Let’s create
new memories of how we were
and what we will become.

With warm mugs of soothing tea
cradled in our hands let’s tell
the stories that inspire you and me
and cause that glow to grow
beyond the walls where pictures hang.

Our love folded gently into:
snow white divinity, two toned fudge,
and peanut brittle chunks. Our admiration
plated, wrapped, and tied with tiny bows
delivering sweets to those we love.

It Gets Better, So They Say



It Gets Better, So They Say

Without warmth dawn throws
long shadows across our paths.
We bundle our bodies in layers
to protect ourselves from the cold jeers
that await us because we live.

At least that’s how it feels
but it gets better they say.

A second grade teacher teases
“There are no dumb questions” daring
us to ask. Don’t listen to her lies.
A hand comes up, the words come out
her hand cradles the young head, slams it to the desk.

Snickers from the others quiet
as they fear they could be next. We learn
to never question,
choosing ignorance
over pain.

Vulnerable in youth we are dismissed
or call us to receive some justified scorn.
Relentless waves keep us surfing fear
attempting to avoid
hate’s dark undertow.

At least that’s how it feels.
But it gets better, so they say.

The time comes when loneliness
is what we seek. Across the ocean
of our own tears we set our sails for the island
Isolation. Here we hide behind walls
our fragile hearts create.

The walls close in around us
smothering us in cold and silence. Until we learn
to rip and tear at our own seams
expanding ourselves
to let love in again.

At least that’s how it feels.
It gets better they say and we hope it’s true.

On the streets we are still called
dykes. But love, our arms of valor,
won’t be beat. Even when pushed
into a corner to cower
without “their God given” rights.

We know how to survive. Hand in hand
our hearts expand.
It’s the bully’s turn to learn
love’s gracious touch
of dawn’s warm embrace.

At least that’s how it feels.
It gets better, they are right.

Written for National Anti-bullying Month & dVerse’s OLN # 120

Reality’s Edges

, ,


Reality’s Edges

Descending the clouds
I skim across the edges of you
of me, of an eternity that cannot be seen.
We lie together in Gravity’s embrace
held comfortably in place.

A display of moons turning planets
and planets spinning the sun
weaving the golden threads of the Milky Way
draping the galaxy in splendor.

A soul’s boundary stretches
across oceans and time, far
beyond tangible senses
to a drawn actuality. It is here

descending the clouds
I skim across the edges of you
of me, of an eternity that cannot be seen.
We lie together in Gravity’s embrace
held comfortably in place.

Written for #OLN at dVerse week 102 come and pull up a bar stool

100 Tuesdays


100 Tuesdays

out of a hundred Tuesdays
are scratches carved black and white
on mimed paper of zeros and ones.


and sounds
becoming sketches of experiences lived
drawn to adorn the soul with frivolity and grace.

Lines and stanzas echoing humanity’s glory


Emotions journey through the surreal
to the dark side
of the enlightened psyche

to find a glowing seed
sprouting dVerse.

Written for #OLN in honor of dVerse poets celebrating #week100  


Puppet Strings

, ,

2013-05-21 16.08.19

Puppet Strings

Age pulls at my skin
forcing wrinkles to crumple cheeks.
My once limber and strong back
now moans if I bend
for too long. Yet the puppet strings
controlling the words
that escape my gaping mouth
never seem to lose their elasticity.

I wonder how time bends
to meet the mind’s understanding
and how the night sky only changes
with the proximity of the sun
while a day is measured
as if there are no wrinkles in time
and though the sun does not wear its own dial.

So how can it be:
that wounds are healed by time,
that childhood dreams
are meant to be put way,
and that my words are still tied
to yesterday?
Hand me that pair of scissors
it is time to live impulsively.

Written and shared for #OLN at dVerse with Joseph Hesch behind the bar.

Free Venus!

, , ,

Hello Everyone!

To celebrate my life I am passing out a few gifts!

Today (Friday 3) and Tomorrow (Saturday the 4) Venus Transit: A Snapshot in Haiku & Poetry will be free. If you have not bought a copy, celebrate with me and add this poetry chapbook to your Kindle library!

Thank you!

If you would like a short preview of the e-book you can check out the book trailer: