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I have a problem with will power, which means a bite at night threatens my life.

I scratch and tear until the flesh rips away.

So be careful about poking me in my soft spot.

I might paw at you way past the point of drawing blood.

By Then I'll Be Hungry

I’m serving blueberry daydreams with cherry sky pies.

Let’s get naked for a few hours and have a very productive late afternoon.

When the sun was born, God passed her around for all of us to hold. She glowed brighter with each of our kisses until she was just plain out of control on fire with our love.

I tell you this because I am in free fall orbit, and it’s not nearly dinnertime.



For the mythological Gooseberry Garden and Poetry Jam's question about Aphrodite's Jam.

Friendly Universe, Fallen World: The 5-Course Dream and a Chocolate Shake

Used to be, men with power could kill hundreds of thousands. Today, men in power could kill hundreds of millions. 

And they are headed for it. To deny this is to deny an obvious cycle of history.

The men with their hand on the switch of power aren’t bad. They are just diseased. They slave for masters with no faces, masters that cannot survive outside the shadows.

In a situation like this, it's possible somebody might say something to anger the men at the top so much that they remove their hands from the switches of power in order to strangle the outspoken. If that happens, I propose we take action.

I propose we hug and kiss them, hug them very tight and kiss their faces as if they are our own brothers and sons, because they are. Love them for the burden they have carried for so long, for those they have marginalized and murdered because they felt they had no choice. Love them for their own lives that have been sucked away by their dark masters.

Take them into our circle of family and friends forever.

Disassemble the switches.

And shine light in the shadows forever.


For dVerse Open Link Nite.

Positioning the Pack

The pack moves. The ground says. If you see one of us, ten hide in the green.

We adjust on the move.

We follow he who is worthy. We bring food to our weak. We move slowly for our injured. Our young work only when they have grown completely.

We mate for life with one partner.

We take down the largest animals of the land, but only what we need.

Our lives are man’s aspirations.

I know where you come from. I have seen your beginnings. I was a part of it.

Look at me. Look into my eternal eyes and know it is true.

I have seen your end too.


Submitted for dVerse repetition and the Big Bad Wolf Exercise.

The Wine Cellar

Our grandfathers blended hardy grapes with the strong taste of working under the sun for decades.

Our grandmothers brought together the flavor of childhood friendship with grapes grown alongside the alley.

Somewhere in this musty basement is a bottle with first crushes married to the sweetest grapes of the season.

Somewhere is a bottle holding the enjoyment of grandchildren with the last harvest of the year.

The bottles had been the least expensive wine at the grocery store, bought for the glass, emptied over dinners because nothing goes to waste, sanitized, and stacked under the stairs until the grapes ripened.

A new shade of life behind original labels. 

In the ancestral wine cellar, dust covers the racks of treasures.

They are for another age to open, and for dinner tonight.

We are still corking.

Cracked My Back

Nobody knows how we evolved. We used to be apes. This appears to be the history. At some point we stood up straight. How that was accomplished we don’t know. We have some good theories.

And I’d like to add mine to the mix. Put it this way:

I found myself standing up straighter than ever the day it went to the next level between us.


For dVerse Open Link Nite.

Rise Onto Me

I buried you under so much earth the mountains slipped. 

The soil was salted. I sealed your grave with a dark spell, and chilled the entire neck of woods.

I sent memories of you down the river.

The birds left. The sky surrendered. This entire corner of the world was forgotten.

And I moved on. I took love on the other side of the mountains, but it ended in a mad season.

Now I am in another.

You are exactly where I left you, as cozy as could be. Only now your rotted face perfectly matches my pain. Everything happens for a reason, my love, and now we can finally be together.

This forest tomb becomes our nest.

I always knew I’d raise you from the dead.

And enjoy you.


For Poetry Picnic at Gooseberry Island.

Late Summer Madness

Dark clouds arrived over my high ground, filtering sunlight and growing shadows over the land.

The shadows kissed the faces of the innocent. 

The hidden histories were recited. I sculpted them into the clouds. Then I leaked darkness into the sky and swirled a wish.

I wished for man to feel the shortening of days.

How long my mad season will last I do not know. The dark clouds obey the Wind. The Wind will do nothing except anything you say.

Your September forecast: Fall in my fields and forget your worries.

For dVerse Poetry Pub.

Singing with the Spirits

One tree is special. One tree’s roots run deeper and branches reach higher than any other. Fire does not work beneath this tree.

In the open, forest animals gather as we toast the sparks in the darkening sky, as we sing to the smoke and call to the spirits with dancing.

The old owl is out. The tall grass sways. A mole insists on tickling my ankle. The wolf king is pleased to meet your big cats. The fireflies are kissing your face as if they just met you. 

The moon, resting in the high branches, has even joined us.

I know you don’t like big parties, but I just couldn’t help inviting all my friends. I haven’t seen them in so long. Tonight is a celebration of life, and of returning to life now that you are in mine.