Walking the Woods at Picklegate Crossing On the far side of Picklegate Crossing is an abandoned farm-and-woodswhere the last frogs of the season mount a series of root-steps, tree fingers squeezing their drink from soil. My son chunks off the burial shrouds of dead oaks we pass, their bits scattered at the base, like the sloughed-off throat skin of forest dragons. Dried leaves windskitter across our path like summer crabs. Plum-bombs drop, roll across the pine needles at our feet. Shades of ketchup, mustard, relish: these woods from top to bottom.

why leave the house   wall shows sunny day not like windscream sleet it says is out there now   no matter how pretty out is best-day best-moment display trumps it change view if you want and no bugs crawling

a scorched tongue from your favorite soup that could've been avoided if you had just waited - but it looked SO good and at least now you know next time to just wait like the tide waits for the moon not eager like Valentine's merchandise sitting on shelves on the 26th of December or an invitation to Sunday brunch before having Saturday night's hangover and how could I say yes to mimosas and hash browns before taking that shot of tequila - no lime, hold the salt let the alcohol linger in the back of my throat like a comment being suppressed by politeness because if I didn't have anythin

Violets are red Roses are blue I don’t see colour So why should you?

a river of rocks
nestles deeper in its bed
bereft of water
skipping stones collect star dust
and bathe in pools of moonlight

~Fredericksburg, Virginia

First published in Peacock Journal, 17 Mar. 2017. Web.  

However you look at it, it's evil and cruel All about inflicting the most pain whenever and wherever it can This is the hell on earth I am begging you to end once and for all If you care at all about your fellow human beings, you will rearrange how you treat them Never again let bullies take up arms against our children God first you will turn to instead of harsh and crushing words It's the stand we all need to take if we seek a better world tomorrow So let go if you can of those poisoned prejudices in your mind Allow the glory of love and true faith to flow Call out others you know to make

The blue pomegranate hangs ripe for the picking on a nearly barren tree at the desolate borders of awareness in a shattered wastelandscape you can only reach by riding a tired horse for three days and nights through the rain. Do not eat the blue pomegranate. If you must ingest this fruit, cut it cleanly from the tree with a single stroke of your blade, trap its roll upon the ground, sever its leathery hide and consume its sticky seeds in a single sitting. For those who linger over this rare and insidious fruit and dwell upon the fibrous intricacies of its integument, the consequent deran

Walking the dog, then rushing to rehearsal 
in traffic slow as slugs, exhaust from cars
 making him gag, the place as far as Mars,
 to play Variations On a Theme of Purcell 
might seem to some a big ordeal, for what? 
It wouldn’t have been so terrible had he 
made sure to read the call sheet. For you see, 
after he got through walking the small mutt, 
he took him home, then headed for a city 
which wasn’t where the orchestra was meeting. 
When he realized, his brain cells started beating 
him up.

If I were a woman instead of a man, Or a woman who could and still can Be ambidextrous, bi, or confused, If two spirits in one could be fused, What would the critics write about to be amused? But I am ME! Solid, energetic, free! Maybe rattled, rated, berated, Shaking off showers of advice, All I want is to feel, to love, to be nice. Earn my being, my wage, No wise man or sage, No muse, no witch, no queen, No king, don’t care if I’m private or out to be seen. All I want is to follow my avocation, Laugh, have fun, be amused without ration To share the world’s burden, help the poor Pray, work