Eye of the Hurricane

Every night I hear the engines rev, then tires burning black marks on the street.
And when the cars pause to take a breath, still silence bends its knee to light and heat
And noise: the booming echoes voice these works of fire sold by the shrewd Shrewsbury pyrotechnicians
To residents familiar with plot-lines and settings in The Wire: blue-collar workers, gang members, and beauticians.
These beautiful mortars join their sinister (gunshot) sister upon the moonlit soundscape of the city,
Though daylight is no guarantee of fist or knife as choice weapon, and none of these will make the crime more pretty.
A rage breeds here, though this year perhaps more subdued when compared to the national or global attitude.
This place has accumulated vile tragedies, now adding to the pile viral disease.
Yet in this chaos, sin, and pain, despite the picture seeming bleak
Here lies a gleaming lovers lane, here a spring and flowing creek,
Here the eye of the hurricane, a place for hope and joy to speak
And say not “I won’t, can’t, shouldn’t, haven’t” too
But simply, and beautifully, “I do.”

Photo by Julia Wanner


The pie is too small;
The pieces slit to slivers still only go so far.

The pie is too small,
And Chad just grabbed the biggest slice–
It would be nice
To have his ego just for a day,
An oversized sweatshirt to snuggle in.

The pie is too small,
And Maddie’s mmmmming loud and long
Like she wants you to know what you’re missing.

The pie is too small;
It isn’t cake to have it all
And eat it too.

Does it ADD up?

I should probably—that painting is crooked;
Let me just—what’s that honking sound outside?
Maybe it’s that green SUV—a flock of birds!
Look at them swoop and swirl, come together and divide!
Look at them swoop and swirl, a whirling, twirling ride!
Look at them swoop and swirl, an aerial roiling tide!
I should buy some more detergent; let me add that to the list:
Pumpkin, sweet potato, radish, cilantro
What else? What else? What else?
“Elsa, do you wanna build a snowman?”

Focus! Focus! Per contro!
The list? The painting? The birds? The honking? The task?
One day, nay one hour, or one minute undivided—

Is that too much to ask?

A busted firehydrant of synaptic activity
The brain a popcorn maker of unfocused creativity
You see?
Life takes a little longer for someone with ADD.


A twisted ankle leaves me hobbling
Along this cobbled path of stream and stone.
A turn of fate so sudden, so unbidden–
To take the hidden parts and make them known.
I travel slowly, though I’m not alone,
For true friends salve the heart and soothe the bone.


Behold, this stone shall be a witness to us.

A Little No, A Long Review

A pebble dribbled slowly from shoe to walking shoe—
A thought beget a word beget an action beget you.
Trace the line from last to first as if that was its flow:
A darkness, smoke and wick relit, wax builds to heady glow—
A pleasant, if absurd delight, a dream scenario:
A horde of Corgi puppies with their dogwalker in tow.
This present darkness leaves a hint, an ill-begotten clue
That all the dreams I ever dreamt can’t hold a candle to.

Riesling Reflections

Against all odds (and evens, too) I am the place I am;
It wasn’t me who got me here–
No dream, no scheme, no plan.

There was a word when I was young and then a space between
For growing things that grow mature,
All fresh and lush and green.

A seedling still, but evergreen, I raise my branches high:
A sign of openness, a sign
To You, my true supply.

I am a transplant far from home but rooted in the vine,
Thinking thoughts of glory shown
When water turned to wine.

How I Want My Love Life

Fill my heart until it overflows
And don’t turn off the tap.
Let love flood through my veins and in my bones,
Completing every gap.

Just leave it running, never turn it off
And let me be a geyser
Gushing love with every sentence from my mouth–
A giver, not a miser.

This truth is true into eternity:
I only love because He first loved me.


You threw your arms around
me like you loved me,
Like you’re really glad you found
me and you hugged me
Like you knighted or you crowned
me with the sun because
You thought I couldn’t see
through your smokescreen.

Imprefect, or however it’s spelled

A flaw is a law with an F,
A rule with the reason bereft,
Where logic has failed
And chaos prevailed:
An audiobook for the deaf.

The Journey

Trace the path from dot to dot until you’ve made a line
Each dot is like a moment
Each segment a length of time
Without all the connectors to hold them all in place
The dots are bits of coal dust
Floating out in space
And without the dots the segments are just a pile of sticks
As lonely as the Maytag man
With nothing there to fix
But dots and segments hand in hand lead to my abode
And past it–on to future homes, further down the road.

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