Tag Archives: poetry


Tune in at 1pm EST to hear me reading some poetry on WVEW 107.7 Brattleboro VT’s community radio station! 

Another Slam!

Another Slam!

Tomorrow (Friday the 31st) myself and a handful of poets will be hosting a slam at the Plainfield Community Center in Vermont starting at 6:30pm. The Everybody Slam is what we hope will be a monthly event where established and aspiring poets of all ages and experience levels can come together to write and perform poetry! If you’re in the area – come check it out!




Your breath melts me

and I become the drop

on your tongue,

soaked into your mouth.


The separation:


to begin with.


The language-less

don’t know anything

has a name.


December comes anyway,

February, March,

I am reborn,

formed by cold

into beautiful insignificance.


Do you see me as I fall before your eyes?


Do you even know I touched you

with my lonesome?


I’ve been afraid of truth-telling

when the stakes are high.


Loss was my parent

wearing my father’s disintegrated face

once I outgrew my childskin,


then it morphed

into lovers who never opened

the soul I wrapped up like a birthday present

and handed over whole.


Still I would not be jaded.

I knew, in the way that I cannot disprove

and refuse to negate

the existence of magic,

that love was the only thing

worth belief,

no matter how many times

it miraged through my hope-shaken hands.


So I hold you,

not clutching

as though I have a fairy in a jar,

but with a tendering awe,

nervously reaching out my fingertip

just to know it’s real enough to touch.


The words sit under my tongue

even as it tastes you,

never thoroughly enough;

each stolen/gifted hour savored

until the flavor is sucked dry,


but I haven’t taken time enough

to memorize the pattern and color of your eyes

still fearing that if I were to address

your wild heart

it would spook like a whitetail

taught that all 2-legs have guns.


On the way to a wedding

my mother told me to be brave,

that it was important,

to be naked


even when culture says

to reveal invites abuse,

though I never listened

until love

gave me

one too many times

without consent.


I’ve never felt taken from,

only that at times I gave too freely

to the same cruel lover,

who arrives each time with a new face,

greedier and hungrier.


I don’t think you’re a bully’s joke.

I don’t think you’re here to teach me another hard lesson.

I don’t think I’ve learned the last,

maneuvered through the final rough patch, but

I do think

you are worthy of pause,

the glimmer in the forest

I know is real

beyond all want of proof.


I have been afraid of love

like I am afraid to go out into the wilderness alone,

knowing exactly what lives there unseen,

the hairs on my neck noticing,

instinct overriding rationale.


I know now that it’s best to wait

until the scent of adrenaline

has dissipated from my hair,

to stand soft in the clearing

and make no sudden movement

as I watch you from this closeness.


I know exactly what you are

and what it might mean to call out your name

into the tingling space,


clutching my breath,

pierced sudden

by recognition.


For Jay


While driving this morning

I caught up to the sun

throwing its hot

on the frosted fields

full of browning goldenrod,


and the finest steam rose up

breathing out of the gnarled creek

in swirling gasps,

held so tenderly and through

by the light’s soft yellow

that I wanted to reach out and take your hand,


even from this impossible distance.

How could anyone not see

that every particle

is pure love. 




Come check it out if you’re local!  18+ crowd. 

Garden Poetry

Garden Poetry

Garden Poetry at the 1st Annual Metro Way Community Garden Poetry Faire. This was a project I was Director of this September.

I didn’t want to make life easy for you.

Simple is for heaven,

here there is work to be done.


To say that you are made of love

is too many words.

So is it to say,

you are love.

Find the lushness of language

and choose just one word

to tell your heart.


The body machine

wants tending.

The soul is stronger

than you credit it.


What if letting go

was all you ever practiced?

What would ache then?

What if stories

were all you ever said?

Does it make you feel  more real

and less like a mote?


Don’t be afraid

to touch deeply into

with more than shaking hands

all that you are,

the one thing that you are,

the oneness.


Don’t run, as you do,

from the edges peered over.

Your brother

threw himself from the plane

and you

are meant to throw yourself

from yourself,

to bare yourself

with no hand-holds,


to not tell the truth,

but to Be Truth

in all moments,

to forget quiet

as something one does

and live

in the calm roaring. 


I have spent myself –

my passion,

is drought;

I drank it all summer,




Blow something

into my parching soul,

enough to stoke

fall’s frag’ling fire

til buried deep in winter I. 


One year away

and I forget snow’s capacity

for purification.

One year gone;

I will

a blooming

from this threat’ning frost

wind blew so cold today

it reminds me

that here:

September isn’t summer

as you are not

and they are not

my lovers



I bought closed-toe shoes

in resignation. 

Love’s Name

Love's Name