Where did you go?


One minute there was four of us
Together in the cold white room.
You cradled in daddy’s arms,
So foggy from the pain
Meds, but rumbling still
Your recognition.

Then two vials of liquid into
Your leg and
You are gone.
He holds his hand on your
Breast as if to insist you
Stay in this place but
It doesn’t work.

The doctor nods and whispers
You are gone but, already
I heard it. The dead silence.
The ceiling comes down.

The doctor takes you from
Us and I see your
Tail hanging from the
Green fleece.
No faith abides in
Anything beyond that
Vision.

Where did you go?

Read on…Where did you go?

To Get Things Done



It’s all an illusion: to carry a
Coffee full and fret a
Little if it will drop on the white
Rug or if it will scorch your
Tongue. Eventually every cup
Goes cold and empty, just dregs
And those impatient jitters
To get things done, hop on the
To do list and move.

That’s best: don’t
Sit too still in the
Early morning breeze inside the
Screened-in lie of
Beforehands. Better to drown out
The siren sweeties calling out
Their what-ifs with the
Hammering bills of the
Pecker finding breakfast inside
The dead. … Read on…To Get Things Done

The Carnival Ride Called Anger


I had a ticket on the
Carnival ride called anger in my
Hand and I gave it to her
And she tore it in half
And then the popcorn bucket
Exploded because the
Carny never bothered to
Buckle anyone in or tell you
To stow your sunglasses and
Anyone within 10 yards of my
Heart got a free ride regardless
Of their height so we all got
Flung about screaming and
The littlest ones froze in place
With a terror grip holding the
Crossbar until the ride stopped
Scrambling us all and the
Tornado voice died down and
In the end we all sighed and
Cried and hugged each other, all of
Us, of course, except that
Fat clown-faced
Carny who tore the
Ticket, smirked
And strutted away. … Read on…The Carnival Ride Called Anger

Emergent Occasions


No man is an Island, intire of it selfe;

Every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine;

If a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Mannor of thy friends or of thine owne were;

Any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde;

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

— John Donne
‘Meditation XVII’ from
Devotions upon Emergent Occasions

Out the car my foot hit the cement at exactly
Noon, exactly the moment the bell tolled
The bell hitting me close by yet, I ignored her,

Until she shouted and roared, until she leapt
High; I ignored her until the occasion
Emerges and so that I had to beat back the waves.

How true, I learn; one can never unring the bell.
No. Unsell your filthy body you
Holy whore, just see if you can.

Wring out my sweet, soaking dishrag and
Twist her with your might and she will
Only be more ragged and limp.

The day presses on into isolotary comfort of night.
Dinner bells gone cold.
Faberware stands hard up and dried in racks.

I am diminished. One foot on the cement
Clod floating away from the
Maine land, all’s quiet, except the ringing in my ears. … Read on…Emergent Occasions