Still writing a poem a day with only a few skips this year… haven’t printed them out into my 2012 notebook.  My HP printer has decided it has a paper jam and won’t print. I tried reloading the software but that little warning yellow tirangle pops up ahhhhhh I can’t replace it – no funds set aside for replacing it and its fairly new.

Such an odd Christmas tradition…


small setting venue features the annual

December performance by an off-the-wall

blues singer and his rusted metal guitar.

His shaggy appearance and wacky

vocalizations are so far from ballet.

December Nutcracker performance

thrilled the children with festive color, music,

scenery, imaginative story and costumes.

Once there was no belief in Santa;

once their grandmother died at Christmas,

annual traditions were lost to sad memories.

Sitting with my son, we toe tap, sing and clap

ushering in our otherwise non-festive holiday

as we wait for the return of the light…






Exuberance of youth,

Serendipity of universe

Tantalizingly hidden

Under layers of worry.

Conscious vibrates

Halting imagination.

Stardust collapsing

Wobbles ideal;

Centrifuged edges snap

Streaming fractures

of distilled hope.



Rusted Locks


The right side of my brain seems to be eating

the left side of my brain alive; I sit…

I think about the thought of nothing.

Are we nothing but thought?

A steady church goer once upon a time…

singing old time hymns, taking in the sermon,

growing into a steady religious upbringing.

I’m sure that Grammy titch-titched at us drifting,

exploring, slipping away from formality to seek

other ideas and seeking new ways of believing.

Opening the padlocks of past generations

who believed by rote and pulpit sternness,

there was an option for the end of the my day.

Hellish events produced wider less confined view…

hanging onto rusted locks was no longer an option.




Falling Away


Caught clicking and flipping…

what was she searching for?

Hours online clicking…

hours flipping from channel to channel…

hours falling away with vision blurred.

Another one of those days

that seemed to be more frequent.

This world was skidding into fragmentation;

dawn found her restless twitching

into movement, into thought, into breath.

More exhausted than the day before,

she caught herself clicking and flipping…