Sunday, August 10, 2014

re the novel

There had been a certain scene that I've been avoiding/not knowing how to handle pretty much since I started this thing.  Last night it came to me.  So I wrote it.  Weird, adding stuff to the earlier parts of it.

Score, in more ways than one.

And I'm still mostly happy with it this morning.  I finished the third draft recently, so a pleasant surprise.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014


Sunday, May 11, 2014

string you know

I woke up this morning with an idea for tying together my long story aka the novel, even tighter.  It will tie a few characters, and their motivation.  And probably other stuff too that I have yet to realize.  And it won't take much time either.  Probably could do it all today.


Wednesday, April 30, 2014

April 30 Heliocentric

Heliocentric

If you were Kepler, I would have to move away
from you but my heart would hold the same mass
no matter the distance. 

She was the perturbation around
which I ran, the focal
point of our deceleration.

Your equations curve like my back,
twisting with the loss of function you won’t
solve for me.


Tuesday, April 29, 2014

April 29 Those Deleted Lines



Those Deleted Lines

"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better." -Anne Lamott

What we decide is secret
is up to us.  We can tell,
and often should,
to own the stories.
Warm or cold,
hot as a lead pipe,
still ours to state.

The “when you…”
and the “remember when”
mirror my fingers typing
and my pen flowing
with the ease that comes
with sand dropping.

I gain purchase
like rope around a bollard
at the edge
of the dock,
where stories nestle
around me and slip
off my fingers
like fish off a line.




Monday, April 28, 2014

April 28 Behind The Name



Behind The Name

There are goddesses and victors, all tied
to the first few letters.  Family
mythology was incorrect, a combination
of error, mishearings and stolen wishes

to be royal.  Even further back, death and war
was scribed by years and men with pens,
more translations tumble as time
passed. Maybe temples held the stories,

the echoes of a name heard only upon success,
upon triumph, blazing paths home,
even from wings to angels,
amazing that the family got it so wrong.



Sunday, April 27, 2014

April 27 Shifting


Shifting


like the sand under feet
when a wave rolls in,
we got washed away
before my toes gripped
the rose petals on the sheets

Saturday, April 26, 2014

April 26 Not Bethlehem

Not Bethlehem

The two babies were swaddled
in dirty blankets, the blank moldy glow
of the TV lit the dirt stains and the mom
in a slip, and full eye makeup.  Too bad
the door hadn’t opened further
to see the disappeared one,
the one who is rumoured to only sleep.
That manger never looked so good.

Friday, April 25, 2014

April 25 Temperate

Temperate

Spring is worn already,
the greens are browner,
the browns are muddy
like mixed paint,
with all the life erased
from the day’s palette.  Worn
like the disturbed water
of brushes swooshed at the end
of the seasonal class.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

April 24 My Opinion On The Matter



My Opinion On The Matter

A baby is born, stretched
out into the world, its lungs press
into the cry.  His mouth purses
around the imagined nipple, a squeak
that starts the letdown across the room.

The weather cell shows rotation,
the center clears, its areola full
of water weight.  The corn calls
with leaves flapping, dry
soil full of desire, cracks
moaning need.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

April 23 No End Part II



No End Part II

Sometimes exaltation equals
a small moment, when a boy gets past
counting on his fingers, when a girl doesn’t
kick.  Growth can be charted, it is,
but the effect expended
is a shadow of those numbers,
the shadow left after the bruise fades,
the shadow that grows with the light.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

April 22 No End Part I



No End  Part I

The flea bites
and the bedbugs
and the lice
and the bugs
crawling out of a backpack
tells part of the story.

The other part is
worse, and doesn’t need to be
detailed in a poem.

Not usually through suspensions
and meds and IEPS
does change happen.

That comes after a longer
time, past addiction
and fostering and trauma
counseling, if it does.

But the bugs live on,
through all of those things,
even after change.