late summer haiku
poppy seeds scatter to soil
illusions shattered
dead rose petals fall softly
poppy seeds scatter to soil
illusions shattered
dead rose petals fall softly
“If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.” ~John Keats Poetry, life and love can be so easy when we allow them to be. Let’s allow it. Let’s lie in a field of buttercups watching the clouds and wiggling our toes and let the…
reading her my poetry about a man with a swagger ‘neath red flame chandeliers (and comparing notes) circular narratives about life and gypsies and making sense of men (and ourselves) a text to her lover in a moment of mischief fueled with red wine (and some flirting) “I think she’s trying to get me drunk,”…
within the burgeoning spring the wind blows fiercely living things are wrenched apart
The hardest thing about ending a relationship (or two)(or three…) is finding a place for that person in your life and dealing with their conflict about where to put you in theirs. I have much love in my heart for people. It doesn’t just go away because a relationship has been reconfigured into something else….
His Futile War He and she The space between Push Pull Plunder Pillage Penetrate– Her earth Her womb Her mystery. She will not be contained. She engulfs– like the ocean or quicksand. She envelopes– like a carpet of sky or hot lava. She is volcanic mystery overflowing. He tries to contain the uncontainable.
I wonder how many women have written or thought, “I am not a side dish, an appetizer, or dessert. I am an entree.” I am not a glass of wine to savor after a night out with your boys. I am not a piece of cake to eat while your wife is sleeping in your…