poetry: open up

14/30

like music i float
trumpet blast, spinning pines
swaying butterfly free

like music i press
rhythm bound, broken sticks
unwinding spooled rage

like music i turn
plucked strings, wide hips
dirty feet step

like music i open
staccato heart, lifting notes
double-time truth


Note: The photo was taken while dancing under the pines at WorldFest and the words were inspired by the sounds of a jazz quartet.


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…
11/30: solstice
12/30: twisted
13/30: starving

poetry: starving 

13/30

birds nibble holes in sunflower leaves
makes them ugly
we can’t have pretty things
while starving

coughing dreams chase away crystal bubbles
rips the cord
we can’t see pretty things
while starving

body aches where fingertips should be
craves what neverwas
we can’t be pretty things
while starving


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…
11/30: solstice
12/30: twisted

poetry: twisted

12/30

sunbeams trace old
memories. twists
delighted joy
with fractured limbs.
freckled shoulders
brush tenderly

against his rough
bark. together
we weather all
shadows. bright green
hardened layers 
protecting soft

insides. heal our
cracking skin. mend
bleeding sap. climb
higher into
branches, always
bending toward light.


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…
11/30: solstice

poetry: solstice

11/30

on longest day
tilt toward sun
find cypress trees
look close, closer

see soft feather
watch it tremble
remember flying clouds
forget sinking sand

notice sky change
gold, purple, pink
swallow it whole
feel forgiveness burn

dance around flames
emerge a phoenix
weave midsummer memories
into fiery wings

close your eyes 
take a bite
all my words
are still warm


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…

Poetry: Dad gave me…

10/30

Shakespeare’s measured love
Kubrik’s fractured time
Photography’s micro-moments
Nature’s meditative breath 
Animal’s magical simplicity
Book’s escape plan
Quiet’s unspoken pain
Legacy’s abandonment core
Love’s imperceptible gaze

This is me and my dad in the late 1970s. The books above are from a collection I won as a child with my dad at the Fair Oaks Shakespeare Festival. Although I’m always pushing for more, I’m grateful for my hippy animal-loving father. Happy Father’s Day.


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping

poetry: building another new start

with picking out bright yellow sunflowers from Trader Joe’s and hoping my eyes aren’t still puffy from crying myself to sleep last night

with wearing my expensive Dior lip gloss 026, intense mauve shimmer, because it makes me feel fancy

with drinking water from the turtle cup with the metal straw, the one my best friend made for me, because it makes everything taste better

with seeing the text I sent my dad about my feelings was read on Sunday but he’s still not responded, and deciding not to send another one

with wearing the colorful flower dress my four-year-old nephew said was his favorite because it makes me look like a garden

with playing the absolute stupidest game ever on the Nintendo Wii with the teens, drinking Grimace’s birthday shakes, and laughing so hard I remember kegel exercises are important

with waking up early to water outside and saying hi to three bumblebees and one hummingbird who lingered close enough I could see how incredible their wings are

with moving my watermelon plant to another part of the yard because it’s getting choked out by the enormous pumpkin leaves and wanting it to have a chance to survive

with watching all 10 episodes of Drag Me to Dinner with my daughter and wanting to hug every LGBTQ person on the planet and tell them they are loved

with having teary conversations with my teens about respect and communication knowing they will always have me and each other in their corner no matter what

with replacing the bowl of old candy on the counter with a bowl of fresh apples because I can’t make others love me the way I want to be loved, but I can eat healthier

with turning to words again and not worrying if they are good enough because that’s not the point and I can show up exactly how I am

poetry: graduation

5/30

the moon, the stars and me 
watched you walk proudly
across the stage. we smiled
knowing the truth. love
doesn’t recognize such things
as endings or beginnings. only
connection and connection. love
isn’t contingent or feeble.
it doesn’t come with strings
or weights. free and full—
vast as the infinite universe.
i’m forever here for you.

The moon during graduation.

More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember

poetry: remember

4/30

time isn’t linear at all. broken
hearts know this truth. concentric
circles might be closer. i drive
into the rice fields to see myself
riding bareback, kicking up dirt
into the water. cranes take flight
scared by hoofbeats and hollering—
‘your eyes can be so cruel,
just as i can be so cruel.’ vultures
watch me traveltime, hissing
‘you don’t belong here anymore.’
i know. circling, i turn back.


More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache