Friday, March 7, 2014

     Rather than post poems, I would like to share some of my um, well, art.  My dear friend Cynthia, who used to be an amazing award-winning quilter, is sadly, now slowly going blind and has given me many remnants of fabric,buttons, beads, binding and thread.  If it was not for her, I would never have been inspired to make these lovely buddhas, angels and such.  Most have champagne cork heads.
         One different item, several down, is a little black dress I trimmed in film strips for my nephew. Eric's then fiancee, Holly, (now his wife and mama to sweet baby James).  She studied film restoration, loves films, works at a movie theater in TN, and looks great in the dress!

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Twelve Years; Twenty Lines

It was twelve years yesterday
since my father passed away.
Light bulbs flicker off and on; I
can’t see him, but he’s not gone.

He loved the mysterious things
in life, the quiet and private jokes
with folks, the things we cannot see—
Twilight zone moments put that
twinkle in his eye—the unexplainable
is what made him smile.  He would
notice word-play and the deeper
humor in things, like The Far Side,
puns found here and there, or
humorous  acts of God, the
journalistic juxtaposition of
oddity with oddity, even a hint
of mystery.  He was open, and
he opened his heart to me. 
Light bulbs flicker off and on;
I cannot see him, but he is not gone.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Sweet Dreams

It is quite late;
not much to say--
no clever words
no plea, no case.

I knew you once;
still think of you--
time once was spent
more face to face.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The Troble with Reading Your Poems (with apologies to Billy Collins)

It’s not that I don’t trust you, but when I read your poems,
     I wonder if that vase of fresh cut roses you describe
could be fake – could be, that is, an imaginary vase,
     rather than one you actually see on your table.

Is there really a gardenia-scented candle burning 
in a darkening kitchen, as the sun sets over the pines outside?
Or are you sitting on the couch, curtains drawn, an old   
     lamp you have had forever burning instead?

I know that jar of jam you describe—(as you spread some
on a biscuit)— as home-made by your lover—(who tied
the lid with raffia) – might have come from a local grocery 
store, made in large vats in a factory,  sold everywhere.

You should see outside my window, Billy – the terraced
back yard – my neighbor, Nick, with his long-handled
hose is kindly watering my newly-planted hydrenga
tree, and his Black-eyed-Susans, ready to pop.

If I wrote a poem, I’d show you my soft new hammock, 
so white and inviting beneath the walnut tree, my glass-
topped umbrella table holding a tray of blackberry tea.
My favorite yellow finch would stop by in his little black vest. 

I wouldn’t make this up, Billy Collins—I wouldn’t 
even know how. I’d take a photo on my cell
phone and send it to you for proof, but
   I don’t know how to do that either. 
You will have to trust me.

Monday, October 10, 2011


I have wanted for ages to re-organize my books,
but how? All the poetry together first?  All the
religious and spiritual next to psychology? 
All the prize-winning novels and short story
collections?  All the hard covers, then the
paperbacks? No, look--I am arranging my
books like a timeless dinner party, like
my friend Michael who places CD’s of
mnext to other musicians he thinks
they might like to hang out with.

This way T.S. Elliot gets to meet Rumi
   at his Cocktail Party. Gabriel Garcia
Marquez and Haruki Murikami can talk
about Kafha on the Shore and Love in the
Time of Cholera. Earnest Gaines can share
A Lesson BeforeDying with William Faulkner,
As he Lays Dying. Annie Proulx can send her
Postcards to Carl Rogers Way of Being.
Ram Dass can tell Joan Didion The Year of
Magical Thinking was all Grist  for the Mill. 
Amy Tan and Anita Daimant can have an
awakening sharing One Hundred Secret
Scents inside The Red Tent.  Michael Talbot
and Barbara Kingslover can dream Animal
Dreams in The Holographic Universe. 
Oh, yes, this is the way to arrange.  Mary
Oliver and Christina Adam—would so much
appreciate and honor Red Bird, since—you
   know—Any Small Thing Can Save You
Something as small as re-arranging ones
books and finding a brand new collection.