Hey, it's National Poetry Month, so I've decided to post a few poems this April. It's been fun for me to look back over my decades-long collection of poems to find a few that will be just right for this moment in time. None of those wild, whiny, passionate unrequited love poems I seemed prone … Continue reading How to Find the Muse
For Saint Patrick’s Day, I thought I would share a bit of Irish history (sometimes called mythology). This poem tells the story of Patrick’s encounter with a poet named Oisin. Oisin (pronounced O-sheen) was the son of Finn MacUail (pronounced M’Cool) who was a great warrior. Oisin was the poet who recorded his father’s great … Continue reading Oisin and Patrick: an Irish Tale
When I feel sad disconnected unsure of where I belong I invite the poet in. She will remember the soft yellow-gray belly of the mocking bird vibrating as he trills high above me on the outer branch of a tree at the edge of the bridge. Darn, I can’t remember what kind of tree … Continue reading Poetic License
This is a re-run from the early days of this blog, but still topical and seasonal. Enjoy! I pledge allegiance to this sand and gravel road that runs between the river and my house, clumps of California poppies rangy stalks of fragrant fennel burgeoning fig trees that grow wild on the river bank. I pledge … Continue reading Happy Birthday, USA
In early June comes a five-day period when every peach on the tree arrives at a perfect skin-splitting ripeness and you race the birds rushing into the back yard with a blue plastic bucket. You drag the six-foot aluminum ladder from the garage climb tenuously and reach for each round fuzzy piece of fruit with … Continue reading In Celebration of the Solstice: Abundance
Every year on Pearl Harbor Day, I like to tell the story of my late mother, who was picking oranges with her best friend on December 7th, 1941, when they got the news that the Japanese had bombed the US Naval Base in Hawaii. Every year after, she picked the first orange of the season … Continue reading Juicy
Knowing she was sad, eleven crows arrived with gifts: delicate feathers chips of quartz and granite, short lengths of red and yellow yarn, crumpled bits of paper all colorful, some shiny with beef tallow others sticky and vanilla-scented. How did they know? she wondered as they littered her winter green lawn with their offerings, creating a mosaic as vibrant as a Van Gogh night … Continue reading Knowing she was sad, eleven crows
Recently I was doing a yoga DVD and I got my first taste of vertigo. I think it happened when I was doing one of those poses where you’re bent over, your head near your shins, and you lift one arm straight up, then you twist your neck to look at the ceiling. That seems … Continue reading Vertigo
Before paper, everyone spoke in rhyme or else you’d forget what was on your grocery list. You’d go out to buy a hat and be forced to buy food for a cat, even though you only had a pet mouse to keep you company in your house. Before paper, babies were given very short names … Continue reading Before Paper
School children rushed up the city street. The shu-shush of their corduroy pants woke the white paper birch trees from their dreams. The children had come from an ocean as green and foamy as champagne. Their skin was translucent like the skin of a yellow plum blushing blue, and their eyes were brown but lit … Continue reading White Paper and Water
