I miss my mother
And the sadness in her heart
And the old Adirondack songs she used to sing off key
I never thought I would miss that
But I do now
So much later

And I miss my Aunt
Her full body laugh, her twinkle,
Her short stocky strength
And her compassion for me
Because
Really
No one else showed me that compassion
Not like she did

And how did they have that laugh
Born of a life so hard
How did it survive
And why wasn’t it passed down to us
It was like it was their possession
And we were not privy to it

I have my mother’s cat
He cries for food all the time
It seems
Crying for love
Wanting for sustenance
Just like her

I don’t treat him the way my mother did
She let him eat on the table with her
It was hard for him
No more stove access
No tables, countertops
No Colonel Sanders chicken skins
No shared turkey sandwich

He likes to lie on cold sheets
Or under them
He doesn’t like too much affection
Lest he scratch me
Just like her

He used to miss Her
But now I’m his one and only
And he is mine
Such as it might be
(As my mother would say)

Our horses were her friends
But we were not
Better said, the horses were her secret
And we were not

Her secret life
Was not ours to know
Only her facade of motherly love
Indeed, not selfless

Now I lay her down to rest
Except another layer
Keeps revealing itself to me
As I continue to reveal myself
To me

Someday I will be able to forgive her forever
Once and for all
And love all that she was
And all that she wasn’t

She was just a human being
Who happened to be my mother

A million years of karmic debts,
an ancient timeless place
where jabs and hurts and familial retaliations
swirl like witches hats and brooms
in a dust storm of drama,
and I just get to be.

My tears bow down to me,
humble servants
in my quest
for compassion
for those lost
in the fragments of their existence.

What was my life
But A Thousand Mirrors
Illusions waiting to be shattered.

At times they cracked by themselves
But more often they cracked and shattered by the Grace of God
And by the Grace of Love
And by the Grace of The Messengers of Love
You know Who you are.

The illusions are cracking
And I am falling towards love.

What’s left when you leave behind
All the indignities, all the lies
What’s left is you, My Dear
Soft and pink
So delicate
That a spider’s breath would leave a ripple
Upon your innocence.

Curled up on my bed
I once again
purge myself
of my

Childhood Lies.

Icky old men
Selling their wares
Selling their worn out wares.

I got up
I was happy
I raised my arms to the sun
I thanked it
I danced
I hugged myself
I went about my business
I went to bed happy

He sits at his desk
Contemplating his unfulfilled destiny.
His bulky form shadows old letters.
Thick fingers linger and ****** photos
And dusty promises,
His "Awakening"
Turned into a funeral
Of ideals and love.
Oh yes . . .
His integrity is in tact.

My Dad
Didn't speak,
Worked endlessly,
Ate bowls of white bread
With milk and sugar
Before bedtime,
Got up early
By himself,
Percolated morning coffee -
Blip Blip Blip -
Into my bedroom
From the kitchen.
He watched over me
Silently,
Worried
Silently,
Protected me
Silently,
Loved me
Silently.

Why didn't you send that boy away?

Because you never would have spoken to me again
And I could not have borne that.

Now I know.
You were right.
And I apologize.

I am the "Lap Cat".
"Lap cat"???
Why am I
being called a "Lap Cat"? --
Then the "steak" (*** roast)
came out.
Oh yea . . . !
We be likin' the "steak".
In fact,
I'd do most anything -
even be a "Lap Cat" -
to keep the "steak" comin'.
Unfortunately,
two other critters
with whom I share this humble abode,
have discovered
my secret passion
and,
doggone it,
demand
their share of the loot.
In case you're bad at math,
this leaves less for me.
I'll just
have to
puke up the Meow Mix
a little more often
to accentuate my point.
The battle
of the (animal vs human) minds
has begun;
don't underestimate
the devious methods
of . . .
the "Lap Cat".

by-
Fred

Go away little wisp.
I know what you are up to.
I pay the slightest notice,
you morph into an innocent, seductive puff
strutting to and fro
offering companionship,
comfort,
yes, even love.
I admire you; you gust, fat and fluffy.
I compliment; you explode into a cumulous mass hovering ominously above.
I worry; ashen gray lithely overtakes beguiling white.
Rumbling belly fills with rage and swells with forboding.
There is no longer an escape.
My thoughts
are pulled into shadow
and slapped onto earth
in torrents of unrestrained rage.
Completely engulfed, I choke, and
swirl in great muddy vortexes down lost drains.
Who am I?
Who are my thoughts?
I only have you to grasp onto,
and that is no solace.

Give me a pink hat
to match the blonde hair.
Give me twenty-five men.
Let one of them be drunk.
Give me a deck of cards
that sends me good luck.
Give me great heaps of money,
ready to serve.
And let's see what happens.

A woman is supposed to feel impressed when a man cries.
Ohhh, poor man.
He was moved to tears.
Or, rather, finally, he was unable to hold them back.
And a woman is supposed to feel impressed.

Mosquito's path
skittering 'cross
arm hairs,
loitering beyond
hearing range

Lazy flow'ry trail
leaving scent
a lovely cell

Celestial chanting
at conversation's edge

Dreams that steal 'way
in intimate folds
of everyday experience

All are discreet places
you may
hear my gentle call
to come home.

you tip toed
out of my life
surreptitious
back steps
softly with door
do not disturb
the dreams
hanging tenuous
from clouds
lest they sail to ground
no glint of light
on silver hair
hands so light
not to brush cheek
awaken senses
stilled breath
averting eyes
I might accidentally
lock them
causing you
to lose resolve
gently you left
while I dreamt
of horses
and winter
and hands locked together
oblivious to
impending thud
of dawn

Why ravage
precious time
on Earth
with complaints
and petty insults?
Like seeds of flowers'
summers spent,
the minutes sail on
careless breath
while waiting
for your
blessings.

I'm just a casualty of your carelessness,
the road **** of your love,
the curve that you could not quite make,
the shrunken blood-stained glove.

While you careened with wild abandon
upon those tree-lined country roads,
I grabbed the car wheel frantically
in desperate need to hold

onto a steady safe existence
a life line to salvation
and now it's you who toes the line
while I support creation.

Nonetheless,
you are the life line to my love,
I'm your unexpected guest.
There's nothing you can do to me
to put me out to rest.

Everytime I complain about something
I give away my power.

I had a boyfriend.
His name was - well, I can't tell you.
He came into poverty of spirit - like the rest of us.

Jesus!  Who left us here!
We looked around.
Didn't recognize a thing,
which was why
we congregated, delicate souls together,
following one another around.
We recognized each other,
our sense of loss,
what was meant to be.

Like a dutiful pup
returning a dry stick,
we tried to make a go of it,
struggling against all hope
to navigate our way through
unfamiliar
hostile
landscape.

In the end,
it was not enough.
So sad.
Little did we know --
it was all just a game
and we were the pawns.

Far, far beyond the universe
could be heard tittering
teacup laughter.
Massive,
caliginous clouds
bowed to the sound, and
scattered,
foiling
their resolve
to wreak havoc.
In their wake,
a breath of dampness escaped,
a blessing.

The dry stick
has been planted.
Tiny outstretched
green buds
beg to be noticed,
nurtured.
Maybe we can make this our home
after all.

you just sit in
the bottom of my heart
like you belong there
leaning against the
hollow cave
one leg thrown over the other
hands locked behind your head
relaxed
whistling an airy tune
just like it was
your living room
and i was your house
i carry you around like this
all day
every day
and you
smugly
refuse to leave

I got dumped
by you
the only guy who I ever believed
really loved me -
how ironic.

I got talked into you
by you
despite my reluctance
despite my misgivings
despite all of my contrived logic.

We rode together
in carriages
and walked
snow-lined streets
in nineteenth century
New York City.

Resistance evaporated,
like steamy breath
from horses' nostrils
on a wintry night.

Despite the cold,
beads of sweat
settled on my arms and legs,
so sweet they were,
I licked them off
myself.

My troubled vision
transformed
into knowing
and there was nothing left
to banter about
to and fro
yes and no
up and down.

But just before the titillating ******
could occur
. . .
you dumped me.

I took that carriage ride alone
back to my former self.
I tipped the driver generously
for returning me
to the abrasiveness
of words
and the sense
of duality.
They became my comfort now.

He said he couldn't leave his wife
alone that night
even though
I propositioned him
handsomely.
Clearly he was tempted.

How deluded we mortals be.

Tight-****** chest
thinks it's protecting itself
from the evening thunder
and all that it portends.

Unaware of its dilemma,
the distant sound
of a faint rainfall
gently persuades itself into its grip,
loosening it.

The blessing occurs.
The tears fall.

She came into my life
a karmic explosion
over a pristine
midnight blue
upstate New York
lake,
its breath
damp and warm
and sweet.

Gasping,
labored efforts
expelled a preganant breath,
a prelude to
life.

Blackflies engaged in rutualistic seance.
Lethagic mosquitos emerged
from the evening's sweet mist.
But then raged into frantic spirals,
squealing out futile messages.

Timid pines,
guardians of the ancient site,
loosed their rigid stance,
Prickly spines shivered to the ground.
Anxiously, they awaited rumors
that would quell the fetal dread
that flowed through veins,
invading their bliss.

A bulky mass stirred from somnolent state
in that mud-lined basin,
releasing brown ribbons of agitation,
and inciting a ravenous hunger.

Friendly galaxies,
former guides in his dream state,
abandoned his cause,
flickering a vague adieu.

Having cradled him for so long,
the slick muddy floor now sent him flailing to and fro,
an ungainly dance,
embarassing to watch.

Where once he thrived,
he now gasped for air.

Crusty old lion
sits atop the fence,
a transient from the endless circus,
eyeing a prickly pear cactus flower.

Meditating upon its ephemeral beauty,
he asks the eternal question:
Fleeting flower of yellow and pink,
is the will to charm still there?

My son, how could I not
be charmed by your
exquisite roar, followed by
the delicate blooming of your innocence?

Then remember me that I
may remember our predicament!

- collaboration with Brian Oarr

From last night's wine

From the bruiser of a woman
Who challenged me
With insecurities so well-packed away
That she actually thinks she is in control!!!!!!

From the unfulfilling patience
Of an unfulfilled love
Of an absent lover

I'm so tired I accidentally left my dog locked outside all day.
(Good thing he's so good-natured.)
I can stand to learn from his forgiving nature.

I think I'll go now.
I have some grumbling to do.

Who stole you?
Your beautiful face,
Your lovely heart,
Your sweetness,
Your tenderness?
Who stole you?