Tuesday, September 19, 2017


strings of stars
from navel to heart
rib weave
octaves of
drum tight skin
egg belly
blood nest

For The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads

Sunday, September 17, 2017


Raven rides the line above
and chides her weary hunter.
Want her dead or live, you'd love
to bed her ugly under
the dirt     of the murder tree
on your knees     plot and graving
clad in widow's weeds     raving

For Poetry Pantry at Poets United

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Why Women Didn't Speak Up Decades Ago

because they were raised
to make peace
not waves
because they had little
real power
despite their new power suits
because they had bills
to pay and kids
to feed
because they just
to forget

For Brendan's prompt at Real Toads

Friday, September 15, 2017

I Am Not Seeing

place, lovely as
it may be.  All I see
is the vacancy beside me -
the ghost.

For Sanaa's prompt at Real Toads

Saturday, September 9, 2017

Sometimes Solace

Sometimes solace shadows sunrise,
slipping in with the spreading light -
slow and sleepy from a long night
aligning stars

with where you are,
restless in your bed.

She whispers, "Peace will come
once your promises are kept."

Thursday, September 7, 2017

Heretic Heart

I had a heretic heart
cool and skeptic in my chest.
Prideful of its wildness,
it beat quick with testament.

Then one day I found my love
for madness less than pure -
my heretic heart was humbled
by a craving to be sure.

For Words Count at Real Toads

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

After The Flood

There is no dove,
no olive branch,

just mud.

Sucking, slurping,
sludge to shovel

mud .

Murky water, mosquitoes, mold,
and mud.

The meek are drowning
in their earthy

For Houston and The Tuesday Platform at Real Toads