Tuesday, January 7, 2014


Unacceptably extreme
in 2014 USA to say
I am a  socialist 
but it nauseates me
to read one woman
pays $12,000 for
strappy red shoes
she brags she will
wear only once  while
another woman decides
to skip supper each winter
night to keep the heat on.
I can't keep swallowing the
lie that what we have is what'
we deserve.  Those  of us
with plenty may have earned 
it (or inherited it or married it)
Maybe we made better choices,
or maybe we were just luckier
or born with talents that pay well.
But everybody had a mother.
Easy to remember no tiny baby
 deserves more than any other.
Easy to forget when they grow up.
Hard to stomach responsibility
to care for one another. For me
capitalism unfettered has become
unacceptablly extreme. 

Just We Two (for Bob)

 We Two
So much truth.
Just we two know.
So many memories
Just we two share.
It has been hard
Just we two,
not against the world
but in it, together.
just we two.
It has been good.
So much work
just we can do.
So much love
Just we two feel.    

Monday, January 6, 2014

After Writing

There's a feeling behind my eyes
when I've written all day, an ache
I would exchange  for no pleasure.
My brain is tired.  I don't remember
what I ate, if I ate at all, forgetfulness,
I would exchange for no pleasure.
Words from  my mind ran my fingers,
flowed onto the screen, into my bones.
I fight the clock, the phone for this pleasure..
There's a feeling behind my eyes
when I've written all day, an ache
I would exchange  for no pleasure.

Sunday, January 5, 2014


People laugh at resolutions.
I do not understand why.
I need resolve.
I need to resolve.
It is too easy to drift,
to life on default.
I need to resolve
I need resolve
I do not understand why
People laugh at resolutions.

Saturday, January 4, 2014


Last year I made good
choices and bad choices.
I came from love, 
and I came from ego.
This year will be the same.
I will make good choices'
And I will make bad choices.
May I come more from

love than from ego. 

Thursday, January 2, 2014


Sitting the night
in the house
of the dead,
I treasure round
weight, rough orange
skin, rich aroma ot
tangerine in my hand.
Little sun reminds me
to rejoice in mysenses,
my beating heart, life.
I wonder if the deceased
knew the sweet tart taste
of tangerine on her tongue

Wednesday, January 1, 2014


Skinny dark skinned man
hauled two heavy suit cases
onto the city bus, year end dusk.
He asked the driver for his stop,
but language failed.  She could
not understand a word he said.
Alien sounds tangled in the air.
Whatever place he fought to name,
she could not take him there.
He flapped hands, raised voice.
Driver ordered him to sit.  He sat.
I watched helpless as he made
the sign of the cross three times.
Desperation evaporated. He looked
up and recognized a land mark,
smiled, rang bell for next stop,
left bus in peace, relief.  Maybe
miracles happen every day.