is how long
it took the
paramedics

the whole while
we breathed into
you

pumping your still
chest, counting
beats

we brought you
back for a
moment

our eyes met
you gave us
permission

to let you
go but we’re
stubborn

and never stopped
breathing, compressions
counting

pupils dilated, stained
bed and us
failures


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2014/11/01/fourteen-minutes/-]

He said
          “You’re a bear.”

I said
          “No, I’m a fish.
          Two fish, actually
          Swimming
          in opposite directions
          One tells me: Do it!
          The other says: Oh no
          you betta don’t!”

He said
          “No. You’re a bear.”

I said
          “No. Actually,
          I’m a monkey.
          A crazy, funny monkey
          who can pick up stuff
          with his toes
          then wonder when
          I’ll evolve
          (Even my pops used to call
          me his 'little monkey'.)”

He said
          “Just face it.
          YOU.
          ARE.
          A.
          BEAR.”

I said
          “I beg to differ,
          I am a night owl
          that stares at stars
          or watches Friends
          reruns in the wee hours
          of the morning.
          Ask me a question
          I’ll show you how
          wise I am.”

He said
          “Do you know that
          you are a bear?”

I said
          “Nope. I’m a snake.
          I have tremendous
          sympathy for others,
         great depth of perception
          Am intense, passionate,
          determined,
          at times, headstrong.”

He said
          “But, you are also a bear.
          A hairy bear.”

I said
          “Fine. I’m a bear.
          Are you happy?
          I’m grumpy, lumbering
          & hate bees.
          I’m hairy,
          I hibernate.
          I.
          Am.
          A. Bear.”  

(after a taste
          of honey)

I said
          “And what are you
          Hmmm…?”

He said
          “I’m an otter.
          hairy & cute
          just like you
          Now, give me your paw
          Let’s go splash
          around in the river.”

“Consider me
As one who loved poetry
And persimmons”
–Shiki

As one who loved
Poetry and persimmons
Pomegranates and prose

Who visited
Keats’ nightingale tree
And Freud’s couch

Who stayed
Long after winter storms
Struck spirit with lightning

Who traveled
Beyond starry dusted night
To speak with spirits

Who survived
The ***** and peril
Of the provokers pike

Who rose
Not from clichéd ash
But from papery embers

Who wrote
Down every word
On lined parchment

Who seduced
Your very soul to squander
Its sentiment on one

Who gave
Of himself
Everything


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/10/27/consider-me/]

the lovely
                   vapour
around me

foliage
           trees
  sanctuary
                   among the tall grass

the breath          of universal
                     love
                sustains us

an eternity
                                 of bliss

heaven and earth
in my soul


[Note: This was originally a Blackout Poem written using the Blackout Bard poetry app. The original can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf9g-moht36/]

he was a tambourine
cling-cling-cling
competing with the guitar,
strrr...uuummm...
bass,
puuu-waaa...ssh!
and drums
BO...o...Om!

In the orchestra
he was the conductor's baton
swish-swish-swish
drowned out by the oboe
BRRR...Rooo...
cello
teener-neener-teen
violin
Neee-nah­-neee...nahnahnah-nee...

When he went solo
he was a harp
bling-bling-bling-bling...
graceful, delicate
tling-ling-ring-bling...
his strings plucked
pling-pling-pling-pling
by angels

I went to your house today.
You remembered I was coming.
And to take a bath. And eat.
You told me a story that happened
yesterday, not seventy-five years ago.
You didn’t ask the same question
thirteen times. There was no argument
about prescription drugs or bloodwork.
You didn’t slam the door.
But, of course, none of that happened.
How could it?
You are here and
you are
gone.


[Note: This poem was originally published in Cadence Collective's anthology Then & Now: Conversations With Old Friends, available for purchase here: https://sadiegirlpress.com/2015/11/04/then-now-conversations-with-old-friends/]

(for Terry McMillan)

I was a *****
glacier cold solid ice

claws for fingernails
man killing eyes

not myself, not someone else
thirsty for the wild hunt

self-loathing eating away
the way aphids eat the orange tree

no more empathy
where’d that go?

probably jumped off the same cliff
as romance and joy

at the bottom of a cold canyon
swirling in roaring deep water

caught in the current
beneath the surface, far beneath

carried away for three years
no lifejacket, no life

behind reinforced steel
behind the *****

I was a ***** for three years
until the ***** took a scraper to the icebox

climbed over the edge of the canyon
breaking clawed nails on orange clay

****** at the bottom, ****** but alive
swam to the bottom of freezing waters

found my groove
got it back

shot up from the icy foam
exhaled

picked ripe fruit from the tree
cut it into four pieces

one for romance, one for joy
one for empathy, one for me

no more aphids on the orange tree
no more glacier, no more hunt

oh yes, the ***** is still here
nourishing my soul with the fruit of knowledge

reminding me don’t let go
don’t let me be all they see


[Notes:  This poem was published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/01/17/for-3-years/

First published in Men’s Heartbreak Anthology.]

was all he needed to
make the sickness go away
two a day
two times three is six
large white monstrosities
made his muscles burn
back ache, legs cramp

side effects took hold
and anxiety
waiting for blood tests
and bowel movements
his fingernails grew
as did his beard
he tossed, turned
insomnia invaded

he woke up on day four
looked in the mirror
peeling around his eyes
tingling on the skin
discomfort in the gut
he massaged his belly
six little pills
and not one had worked

myself
            new words
               new meanings
            overtones
                              word­s
   thought
            vast unkown
fertile territories           waiting
                    to cultivate


[Note: This was originally a Blackout Poem written using the Blackout Bard poetry app. The original can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bf7P0NRB7VX/]

(for mama)

I’ll write you a poem
about something
beautiful
about sunny days
open curtains
bougainvillea in bloom
I’ll fill it with verses about love, life
roses that never wither
hearts that never die
when you read it you’ll forget
all the pain in your limbs
in your dreams
in the truth that is life
it’ll be as if you weren’t ailing
with tubes transporting oxygen to your tired lungs
as if there is no pain in the body
as if life wasn’t hard
and taxing
as if people didn’t move away or fade away or stay away
or die
or lose themselves in their own minds

I’ll write you a poem
so beautiful
about beautiful things and beautiful sons
it will whisk you away from tears, anxiety, fear
won’t speak of loss, betrayal, distress
or the spot on the rug
where his pupils were fixed
and dilated
and how when you stare at that spot long enough
the flashbacks roll in
and you relive his last words:
I’m alright
and in it, there will be no talk of depression, ****
or courtrooms filled with ******* judges
instead you’ll find daisies, white puppies
sons who actually live
up to their potentials
husbands who weren’t in denial about their diabetes

I’ll write you a poem and it will be beautiful
because you are beautiful,
life is beautiful
and because beautiful people deserve beautiful poems
and yours will be the most beautiful poem of all
when you read it, think of me
think of love as beautiful
think of life as beautiful
and cry beautiful tears of joy
without shoulda-woulda-coulda’s
without soreness and sadness
only smiles, warm kisses
happiness, blue skies
silver linings, bright sides
where sons have children
hearts are healthy
dementia doesn’t exist
cats don’t die
puppies don’t *** on the rug
ferns stay green forever
and where he is there
sitting in his favorite chair smiling
saying Morning, beautiful


[Note: This poem was originally published by Cadence Collective: https://cadencecollective.net/2015/08/09/beautiful-2/]