A sip, a gulp, a drowning.

In the Froth

Lose sleep to write a few more sentences
Death death dismal death sentences
Isn’t it a kinesthetic  kind of
Percocet fix, a Nixon nightmare
Paperweight that heavysets the mood
A rude awakening at 3:02
And too much to do.

Get Thee To a Nursery

There’s nothing worse than newborn moms
Who dote on college men as sons
Most infantile as if their own,
Who chide and chafe with stern reproof
And worries wither to their root,
Who think that there’s no difference
Betwixt young men and young infants:
Go to, go to, young mother dear;
Your baby boy is not found here.

What You See--It Isn't Me

Photo by Eliana Anthony


For: http://dversepoets.com/

One’s All Swollen and One’s in Stitches

Two witches cast spells:
“Bee itches!” and “Switch witch!” yells–
Now which witch is which?
Oh, that's rich!

For: http://haiku-heights.blogspot.com/

“Exire et amare”

I spoke to death quite honestly
And this is what he said to me:
“Treasure every memory
And write everything down.”

The Trial of a Noncommital Wordict

Exhibit A

I hate the rate the candle burns,
The little bread my mettle earns.
I hit the bottom, bounced around,
Bit spittled bullet, cashed the clown,
And what I found on my way down
I hid away in brittle crown;
With sandled feet I greet my fate
I handle graying matter great.
Your Methodist mother fanned the flame
Two fists of fury palmed to tame
The addled thoughts of worried brain
A battleground of mad and sane.
A butter churn of fatty strain,
I bought the jury, turned the main
Like it could sway the verdict.

Poetic Manifesto

I write to light the fire that burns out of control,
I write to fight the dark contagion in my soul,
I write to reach the heights my mouth cannot attain,
I write to teach the thoughts that echo in my brain,
I write to fill the page with humor, truth, and smiling,
I write to spill the rage, the sadness, and reviling,
I write to shift the phrases pointing up above,
I write to lift up praises to the God I love.


Dobranoc and she whispered into night,
A figment of imaginacja,
Mrzonka, yea too difficult to type:
A phantom of the Balkan Austria.

One Giant Leap

Pistons firing and all engines go,
The rockets launch the shuttle forth
Into orbit and over the picnic table,
Landing nonchalantly in the soft grass.

Drafty Dinner

I set the table with embroidered tablecloth
And light some candles casting shadows everywhere.
A flicker shifting air encapsulates the room;
The china catches flames with its reflective sheen
Illuminating all that falls within its range.
A silence settles in like frost on winter grass:
My face alone like ice reflects from drinking glass.


Time is not sand in an hourglass
To be turned over and over
Like a well-tilled garden.
It is a ring that slips off your finger
And drops down the drain.

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