oh yes

it has been months

since it has been warm enough

to warrant the opening

of my apartment’s windows, and i

cannot get enough of this fragrance

the grass mixed with the trees

mixed with the swirls of my neighbor’s

nighttime cigar, and oh yes

this is what it means to live

to experience the aroma

of all that is alive

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 3/27/21

the sound of paper drifting in the wind

 i wouldn’t say

i’m afraid

but i will say

i’m concerned

for what will

remain of me

when my life

comes to a close

will my art and words

enhance the senses

of another soul

seeking fullness

or will the catalogue

of my existence

fade into a drone

heard by no one

not even

the worms

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 1/5/21

 my happy place

is the sound

of a fireplace crackling

as snow gently falls

it is the taste

of a hot cup of tea

on a cold winter night

and it is the smell

of a blanket you slept in

as the blizzard roared

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 12/21/20

 at night, watching the mist rise

as fate would have it

i looked out my window

at just the right time

to watch a thick mist rise up

from a darkened lake

now had this event stopped there

i would have been content

but nature

has never been withholding

of her beauty

the mist continued rising

above the treetops

and then turned left to brush

her white silk against

the roofs of impending homes

but where she went from there

i will never know

because nature

has never been withholding

of her mystery

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 10/12/20

Daydreams

Why, after all these years,

is the sky still that same shade of blue

when the entire vastness, day and night,

could be an endless rainbow?

For good measure,

let’s throw in a dose of glitter, too.

Why couldn’t the moon have been a disco ball

that spins when hung,

casting a translucent dance of shape and color

all throughout the earth?

Insomnia would be such a delightful occasion,

in my humble point of view.

And why, oh why,

can I not hold the stars close to my breasts

and feel the warmth

of their enduring glow?

After all, we’re family

and long overdue for a hug.

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 8/20/20

REDACTED

Headlines are a master of disguise.

 

When speaking about war they say

civilian casualties,

never murders,

 

because the latter would naturally

prompt one to ask:

 

Who

did the murdering?

 

And let’s just say

REDACTED

don’t want you to ask

too many questions when they

push the button,

send the bomb.

 

You’re to supposed to nod in unison with

REDACTED

and walk away,

like they do,

smug in the notion

those “casualties”

could not have been avoided;

 

such a shame.

You do realize, however,

REDACTED

could just as easily

pull the trigger

on you, and again,

your casualty

could not have been avoided;

again, such a shame.

*Published by Central Coast Poetry Shows on 7/26/20