The moon drops,
hard stone, into the quiet
pool of night,
bathing the dark
in dull off-white.
The night has ivory
teeth, and feet
padding over gravel.
Scraping through
like death, hooded and dark,
pale beneath;
nothing but brittle bone.


Between the Lines

What’s missed are

deeper meanings,

sounds pass teeth & lips,

signifiers mutilated,

transformed by space

between; what’s shaped

you has not shaped me.

Usages change, same language,

same words, same

phrases, varied

interpretations, unique

viewpoints, different readings;

all yearning, all feelings

blurred & re-figured by time

spent living between the lines.

On Winter

Part III

Crows on carrion carry on cawing,

carving out a living on dead things,

flapping black flags on the roadside,

undertakers of the animal kingdom,

leaving white bone and fur bits by

winter highways, ravens on dark wings

weaving shadows over wintered fields.

Corvus corax, common raven,

dark intelligence, inquisitive

sentinels against a snow white world.

Part II & Part I

On NaNoWriMo with a full-time job and overtime hours this month…

I am in over my head. I’m fixing up an academic paper to send in with my graduate school applications. I’m trying to keep up with this blog. I’m neck deep in rewrites for NaNoWriMo. This is probably our busiest month at work this year. And i want to write more short stories and poetry.

I need to get organized if I hope to accomplish even a fraction of this list. In the interest of preserving my sanity, my posts this month will be of the poetic variety. I have stuff to do, and precious little time. This idea–a serial poem in parts– has been pinging around in my brain for nearly a year. It’s time to eject it.

Part I is posted.

The rest are on the way.

On Winter


Part I

I cannot remember a gentler December

With so many blue sky days

And grass so green, and birds and all,

Choosing this year to stay

A little bit longer than when winter’s stronger

Before they all fly away,

And now so deep in February’s thrall

With earth and sky matched gray

I long for the joyous chirping and chorus

Of little birds having their say

Flitting here and perching there

Enjoying the sun’s bright rays.