Catching up with postings today….

Blind to Love

Not noticed…

he was kind,

extremely patient,

invisible to everyone.

A plain man,

a faded man,

a man blind to love.



Lily of the Valley

After thinking about it for a second,

plus looking over her shoulder…

that tug on the shirt was not a cat.

Curled up on the pillow, it raised

its head briefly exhibiting a cat smile.

She unconvinced herself that it was the cat;

no mention to the others standing with her,

they wouldn’t believe her incidents.

Since childhood, no one but her Grammy had

understood these invisible occurrences…

tugs, whispers, peripheral vision.

Helpers, that’s what she called them.

Greet them, thank them, and they’ll be gone.

Inhaling to speak, one of the group said,

Who has Lily of the Valley perfume on?

That was my grandmother’s favorite scent…




Sometimes life is a dream;

sometimes dreams are life…

not to mention a half-life in between.

Ignoring connections,

isolating oneself in what might be

or could be

or desired to be…

broken or whole.

A damaged spirit

hiding in half light

of impossibility

chained to deliberation

intentionally without dreams.




The colors in her scarf jump

around with the colors in the graffiti.

Not fully blending in but giving

the form a third dimension….


Energy from an arsenal of spray cans,

her little fuchsia popped with the curves.

She was a compliment;

standing alone,

a substantial gift to the background.

Looking out from a tag,

the bland world surrounded her…



Other purpose

Foolish goal to spew words

into an already polluted atmosphere.

Unnecessary requirement self-inflicted

causing notebooks to swell and  overflow.

Unread they sit on bending shelves carrying

the weight of my world observations.

Left behind they can fuel my funeral pyre

releasing charred words to drift with soul;

What other purpose could they serve…




Ok,  maybe that freaky looking albino squirrel

that kept hopping into my dreams wasn’t freaky

or albino at all, MAYBE, it was a spirit squirrel

letting me know that…

what was its point?

Was it signaling what was going to happen within 24 hours?

It stood out in the foliage; it was a colorful scene.

How could one miss its white fur against emerald green?

How could it be a spirit squirrel prophet?

So many questions upon dawn’s breaking,

at least until I leave for work today and spirit squirrel

with its hallowed light fades without voice or vision.





Looking for signs

She had pulled on the mystic underwear

or tried wearing glasses of relativity

or simply relied on candle light and pendulum.

Always scanning her horizon for white buffalo,

magical creatures,  a totem animal…

she desired to inherit her substance,

verify her direction,

remove the misery

rather than drift among mortal beings

encased in their own problems.

Blood with gravity plus a pumping heart

emptied her substance into

a dank forest floor.

Meaning faded as time ran out.

Steady rain kept the birds quiet…


Big Stick


I need a stick.

A big one…

preferably with thorns,

lots of sharp pointy thorns.

Oh, I’ll need a glass of water too.

If you need to ask why…

cause beating sense into people

makes me very thirsty.


Did you see my mouth?

It was hanging open…

shocked into sludge,

I’ve got to study Judge Judy more.

Memorize her snappy

retorts to inane people

of which there are too many…