cold as New England
winters. Fallen like wood from
an axe in shards shaped and
sharp as tacks in my back

yard. My pieces are pine
needles spread over a patch of
yellow blanket. Cause I look like
litter to the fox and the hound

as they go. I dry to a dullish
brown and blend in with the ground
as the sun thawed the snow. Men
trod with boots and squirrels

paw with their claws, leaving me
turned up as autumn leaves. I
bottom out in the eaves. A paste of
mud and stick is me.

tonight, in the backyard. They're
falling hard from the sky, like bowling
***** squashing apple pie. They snort
and grunt from a mile, landing on top

of each other in a pig pile. Ma says
I'm mistaken. I say prepare ye, for
some bacon. I took out the frying pan
and turned on the overhead fan. Smoke

will fill this tiled kitchen. But it'll be
finger-lickin’. Men and women will
stop by for a whiff of pig fry. Morning
sun chased the wheel cheese

moon. Bellies swell like hot
air balloons. When life hands you pigs
mountains in size for lunch we will
serve ham sandwiches and fries!

like a steel needle stuck
in the track of a record on
the old Victrola. But now it's like
cherry cola without the fizz. I've

broken into pieces these words
of his. The reds and the blues I've cut
like tile and let them fall in a pile
on top of my dresser drawer. I can pave

a path to Bangor with the yellows
and the black, and trace my way
back to the day. The grey cockatiel
flying around my head repeats,

repeats. His words bled/out my eyes,
nose and ears. And has not stopped
in all these years. A mosaic
of his face warped in time and space.

his hot words like candle
wax, separating the whites from
the blacks then I could relax
into the greys. And gather sage.

If I could melt
down his rage like April
snow by the afternoon I’d see it
go. Underneath it the spring,
and tufts of feathers from the robin.

If I could melt
the past into a song
I'd weep when I sang it,
but still make me strong. I'd pierce
through the flames like the phoenix bird
and rebirth.

in. The days are paper thin
that I can crush them in
my hands like a wafer. It's like
a chafer eating the roots. I can

not flower shoots in a black
tar sky. With coating on my wings
so heavy I cannot fly. I sink
down early like the sun, as squirrels

on the run. Falling like the crimson
leaves, hung over like my roof's
eaves I grow derision in the
gutters.  June, July and August

flutters like a butterfly over hills
and cornflower sky. I retire early to
my grey sofa with a book and a mimosa
to drift off…

is strung by a grey thread
rolling off my four-post bed
at night till the light of a
screaming morn when I sew it

back on with a line from a
song. I'm a bobblehead doll nodding
to the crowds. Floating high like
a balloon, getting lost in the clouds

in a marmalade sky. My head is loose
you can spoon it up like chocolate
mousse. I lost it so many times shopping
for bargains at the five and dime. It fell

between the wooden slats, and was
scratched by a feral cat. I'm like a headless
chicken, running around. Like roux for
the gravy one can say I’ve been thickened.

again, a blend of strawberry fruit
and champagne cake. I lost it by
the lake, sitting in the sedges. It was
old with yellow edges. It floated

like a paper boat, making
illegible every line I wrote. It took
a couple hairpin turns around
the bend and past the ferns. Then

the wind whipped it
south. And it was swallowed
up by a big bass mouth. I tried
to mimic the recipe. But

it was not my specialty. I tried
searching for one just like
it. But they came out flat and ****,
even dining a la carte.

and I earth. He blinded
me with the sun and took from me
my berth. He hiccupped clouds
the size of trains, and poured on

fields of honey plains. He blew
his hot breath like a whistle making
the tall grass scrape my knees like
a bristle. He threw thunderbolts

sharp as pins encircling me
like shark fins. In the cold inky
blackness I skated on his frozen
madness. He dribbled hail of

basketballs breaking the door
of my sugar walls. And cut the moon
like cheese into wedges, driving
his hammer through my hedges.

lying in honey plains,
making chains of daisy
flowers, dancing pirouettes in  
rainbow showers. Skipping

stones in the muddy
river. Watching them bounce,
those silver slivers. Spying the
heron stalking a fish. Seeing if he

delivers the deed in one fell
swoop. Laughing as the otter
swims loop de loop. Catching a
whiff of fallen acorns. The squashed

oak fruit intense as the
day warms. Crimson branches of
leaves wave. The ****** again
gave the old tree a shave!

cannot steal a smile. Narrow
slits that fit awry I cannot pry open
to a cornflower sky, the grass
an emerald hue, a pair of doves

all snug that coo. Cold as Christmas
in the summer, beat on me like
a Timpani drummer. The color drained
like ***** bath water. But left a stain

like the chickens slaughtered. No glint,
even small as a cigarette. I've not seen the
lashes wet. Steely as an elevator door. I press
the buttons. But cannot find my floor.

like a long strand of
hair in the ****, ***** and
hidden. I was a **** in-between
the lines where the sidewalk

ends and the poison ivy
climbs. I spread out like the
plains and withstood the wind,
the sun and the rains. I grew

tall as the trees. I flowered
in a row, even as the winter covered
me in a blanket of snow. I grew
as the grey clouds rolled in

like the old man upstairs
was bowling. Others had gardens
to bloom, with white picket fences
erudite rooms.

another Ground Hog's
Day. Everything's the same,
nothing here to change. The same
sun rises in the east and sets like

dentures in the west. Another day I
brush my yellow teeth, shower and get
dressed. I buy groceries in the store,
run errands and do chores. My phone

is silent as the doorbell chimes. Headlines
print in black ink weather, politics and
crimes. Another night I toss and turn
soaked in sweat. This night is burned,

like breakfast bacon. I'm faking a smile
while the coffee's percolating.  Bills collect
and autumn leaves fall. And this after-
noon I'll wash it down with alcohol.

in an inflatable raft riding
the ocean swells. Above grey
sky and a flock of circling
gulls. Blinded by the mist

rising out of the sea
like a lemon twist
in the martini. The heaving
breast, the biting of the wind

put this elfin body in
a tight tailspin. Waves slapping
this face. Shark bait if this body
doesn’t drown. Screams cannot

be heard. There’s nobody
around. A flash of lightening
puncturing the raft. Madness sets
in. Drink it up and laugh.

is what I grow. For too long
the emerald grass has slept under
a blanket of snow. For years I've
wept under grey bearded

clouds that hung so low, like pig's
snouts. I've not fed the tulip
or daisy. I've become lazy, a melting
popsicle dripping on the stick,

a spasm, a ****. Yes, I was a tic, moving
without rhyme, bottled like thyme that
sat on the shelf. I was for me and into
myself. All that I planted didn't sprout. Head

was overgrown with weeds
I didn't prune. Floating high in the air like
a helium balloon. Shrinking in the afternoon
sun. Wearing this habit like I was a nun.

men
through closed doors
Yes or no,
it's lost its lure.

I'm not chasing
castles in the air.
My feet are on the ground
and they're staying there.

I’m not chasing
rabbits down a hole.
I've changed the objective,
made another goal.

I'm not chasing
yesterday.
It's gone.
Time to move on!

with me today. All the gold
has turned grey. Marshmallow fluff
of woven shawls has rolled down
lanes like bowling *****. The wind is

whipping me like eggs, in peaks of
white that stands on stage. My eyes are
clouds dripping sweet dew down ruddy
hills I powdered with rouge. The fog

outside is like my bathroom mirror. But I
cannot wipe it off with the cotton
washcloth. And the pelting of the rain
on my windowpane rings through

my ears like a screaming baby's
tears. One, with colic that cannot be
soothed. Like my life, a wrinkled dress
I iron out but cannot be smoothed.

or move forward. I'm growing
older, shedding like the old oak trees
in winter. I'm a piece of cinder
after the fire, a lumpy grey

coal that's tired. I've worked hard
for my fifteen minutes of fame. I've
watched and waited. But it never
came. I threw myself into it,

painting it black and red. I rose before
the sun and clung to it in bed. I fed
it every day and walked it like
a dog. I slogged away my after

noons.  I pruned and watered and
stood over it. I cannot take back
the years or divide them in halves.
If so, what do I have?

with blank faces
questions laced with
ridicule. What do you
do? The answer will

not merit a smile
or a nod. For there is
no applaud for a woman
with tongue and pen

to fill the craving of mercenary
men. The lure of a cornflower sky
and a pair of doves flying by or
a canopy of emerald leaves

dancing in a summer's breeze
doesn't cash in. Or the splash of
a raindrop fallen on my parasol or
the loud "gaaa" of the bluejay's call.

in my roof
and I'm dripping
down on the terra cotta
rouge tile floor. They

place a bucket under
me. But I let go like autumn
leaves from the old oak
tree. They patch my holes

with lies.  But it doesn't stick
like flies to paper. And the sun
just makes me vapor. The ceiling
bears the water stain. And its shape

has no border. Like this life,
in great disorder. So, they paint
over it with course brush strokes,
like covering a zit. But at night

I still drip. And now I’ve grown
mold, a black thick coat of old
age. Like leopard’s spots
don’t change.

in the attic of this head,
taking up the space between
my ears. There's no room
for song or rhyme. There's no time

for rest or sleep. I'm a sheep
without a flock. I'm a holey puppet
sock. I'm a pool of wax. I just can
not relax. I toss like ***** laundry

in the washing machine. But never
get clean. I'm a foggy mirror,
the bearer of yesterday. I cannot
wipe away these thoughts with

a damp cloth. I cannot drown them
in the lime and gin. They’re embedded
in my skin. They stick like tar and feather,
matted to the brain. If they were ***** bath

water I'd pull the plug and drain
the mess out.  But my arms are not
wings. They're chains that cannot reach  
shore. My head's anchored to the ocean floor.

a kindling wood,
not big am I. If I stood up
straight I could pass for
a blade of grass. Splintered

and thin. Lost in a forest
of oaks and pines. Men walk
over me. Covered in brown
fallen leaves from the autumn

deciduous trees. I’m hidden under
the brush. My buds could flower
to plush valentines if I drank rain
water and ate sunshine. But I snapped

in two from the hooves of heavy
men wearing leather shoes. I bent
to break. No bigger than a match
now. But I can catch fire. I’m a pyre

of the black ink night. I light
the sky into a smoky orange ocean
from the motion of rubbing my broken
pieces together.

I made weeping over my watery
grave. Looking in a pool mirror on
the ground, I didn't recognize my
face. I saw an old woman, wrinkled

and disgraced. My honey hair
was tangled as my mind. I let my future
fall far behind. When did warm summer
showers turn to pelting hail? When did

a dancing breeze turn into a raging
gale? When did the blooming lilac trees
scratch my nose making me sneeze?
When did the melodic hum of the robin’s

rupture my eardrums? When did
the horizon drop from my eyes
in plain sight? When did grey clouds
roll in dousing the sun's smiling light?

had me tripping over myself as
a child. Trying to balance this body
was like standing on a teeter-
totter. I could float on my back

like an otter. Just don't ask me
to stand. My legs were rubber
bands. As I grew my legs bent
outward. So, a train could run through

them. I was not plumb. I was
uneven. When I met him
my legs became tree trunks,
growing roots under the ground. I

could not move. He cut me down.
I was not limber. So, I built my house
from timber. From all that fallen wood
stood my home, on sunset hill.

am I. The only high-rise I enjoy
is the sun rise early in the morning.
I don't like lying tangled up in the sheets
in my bed snoring. My friends are

the jay and the robin, the chipmunk
and bunnies hopping in my back
yard. The only stars I follow are
the shining beacons painted on

a moonlit sky. I have no ties
that bind me. You can find me
under the old oak tree in a canopy
of emerald leaves, swinging in my denim

hammock, drinking coffee out of
my ceramic cup, curled up with a
book. Simple things you cannot take from
me, cool me down like a summer's breeze.

as a wedding band. It molds
like wet clay to my hand. It's not
loud as a freight train, more
like a gentle summer's

rain. I cannot hold the world
inside of it. There’re only a few
that fit. It’s not hot like the
midday sun. It's warm and

sweet like a Belgian bun. My circle
is tight. But it doesn't strangle me,
allowing me room to breathe. Even
small there's room to grow. Spreading

my wings, embracing me through
highs and lows. It's a bouquet of
colorful flowers in my garden. And no
winter has made it harden.

don't bend or drop
their petals. They’ve metal
stems from end to end.
They don't perfume the air,

like the lilac trees or
feed the hungry bees. They don't
blow in the wind or bloom
in my garden. They look like

a picture in a frame, all standing
the same height.  They don't like
water or sunlight. These types of flowers
can stay in the dark for hours. They'll

not wilt in the palm of my hand. I'll not
see them along God's green land. They’re
like a lot of women, I know. They don’t
have the power to grow.

when I fell over him. We both
packed a ton of luggage from
shorts to dresses to spouses
and stresses. But we didn’t

iron out the baggage we
carried, nor did he tell me that
he was still married! He tripped on
his words as he ate chicken aspic. After

every entrée he’d pull out his
plastic, sign the paper. And hand it over
to the waiter.  Outside temperatures
rise and so did his temper. After

the bill we went on ****** of anisette
and drunken fast ***. We threw it
all out for this, for the life we
thought we had missed.

long before the barking
winter. Before this earth
grew cold and splintered.
Hardened like frost on

the ground outside. Before
weeping icicles in the powder
coffee cup and throwing up on all
the lies. Before chain-link ties

bounded milky hands. Before
pencil legs turned rubber bands,
making it unable to stand or
walk out the door, before

this ginger head rolled
on the floor. Should have run
at “hello”. The mouth screamed
yes. But spiked heels move slow.

would I be with you? Was I
your last resort when all
the rentals were booked. Would you
have looked at me if

they opened up
to you? Funny how life picks
the woman that wears white. If he
said yes to me would we still

be? Funny how life
carries me out to sea like
the tide. But like the tide too,
pushed me back onto the

shore. Funny how the man picks
the house where I reside, like flowers
in his garden. And our castle dreams
harden. Funny how we say we had

a voice when we were frozen, like icicles
hanging on the eaves. We're knocked
to the ground like crimson autumn leaves
from our backyard trees.

will blind me
with their cheshire smile
or cut me down to fit
like red mosaic tile

No One
will have me drunk
on whiskey lime words
salted tongue in my ear
then cage me like birds

No One
will seep
into the folds of my skin
burn my butterflies
or make my head spin

No One
is all
that they seem
to while those green years
on rivers of dreams

about the laughing cornflower sky
honey wheat fields of dandelions
a red-tailed hawk soaring high.
Spraying ink in a billowing black cloud

like the octopus in the sea
a puff of ebony is my shroud.
Planting word seeds in the ground
where men have toiled and plowed,

Deep and dark as cherry wine
my pen, my airplane.
Flying off the page in every line.
Traveling over mountains

to deserts of sleeping lions.
Not a man can tell me where to land.
This is my life, my flight,
laboring birth with my right hand.

herself on the fence,
not moving left or right. Searches
morn and night for the answer. Only
leaves to make dinner. She has no

nest. She has no tree. But she
has longing. For what she does not
know, to fly or build her home? Another
day passes. Another cycle of the sun

and moon. Another snowy, cold
December. Another hot, sunny
June. Another round of eggs hatching
to fly south. Another nest a robin's

patching and feeding hungry
mouths. She sees it all on
the splintered fence. If she could
condence like dew on a cool

October morning. If a blade
of grass was calling to her like
a worm. It's only when the neighbor's
grey cat's hungry that she squirms.

his lies
like pieces of glass
cutting her hollow
as they fall and they pass

She swallowed
her pain
inflating like a balloon
following her around
like a cheese wheel moon

She swallowed
her tears
like salt on the rim
and threw away years
on the likes of him

She swallowed
his memory
like a bitter pill
weighing her down
after all this time still

with vanilla ***** and wedges of men
strawberry wine, stilettos and pen. I have
so many like Swiss cheese. You can
thread them together as if they were

beads. I stuff them with pound cake
and chocolate ice cream, tampons
and broom closet screams. Fill them
with lines of rhyme and feathered

earrings. Some I was born with. Some
I’ve made. But I’ll not forget the ones
given to me. They grew over the years,
like a little brother that didn't leave

home, large as the mountains,
and deep as the seas. But I’m proud
that I pushed out my babies. And I'll fill
all their holes with love and with cream.

Everyone has holes. Some we are born with. Some we have made. And others are given to us. Some we leave empty. Some we fill in with terrible things. Mine, I chose to share.

This is the title of my new poetry book!

If I couldn't walk
would you be my cane?
If I couldn't think
would you be my brain?

If I couldn't talk
would you be my tongue?
If I couldn't breathe
would you be my lung?

If I couldn't see
would you be my eyes?
If I fall down
would you help me rise?

If I get lonely
would you be by my side?
If I lose my way
would you be my guide?

If I get sick
would you comfort me?
If I'm locked up
would you be my key?

If I lose someone
would you help me grieve?
If I lost hope
would you help me believe?

If I get riled
would you calm me down?
If I get sad
would you be my clown?

I need you more
than I’d dare say.
If I asked you
would you promise to stay?

from the moment
we’re born. The doctors
perform the ritual of cutting
us off from our mothers when
they sever the umbilical
chord.

We get cut
again, if we are boys and our
parents circumcise us
by choice.

We get cut
out of people’s lives
as we get older. Some
relationships don’t last
forever.

We get cut
on the job
when the company
is downsizing. Only to
learn no one else is now
hiring.

We get cut
from the team
from our partner’s wills
in essential –
we can’t get through life
without undergoing the knife

like the hole in her
pantyhose in rungs from her
thigh to her ankle. As the rest
of her, so mangled. Like on

fumes when the gas gauge
is down. Like her nose when a cold
goes around. Like a clock on batteries
she loses time. And as river, it's a

downhill climb. Like sweat on her thin
soft nape, or maple syrup on a stacked
plate of crepes. But as wild horses
she gallops to sea. Her honey long

hair flying in the breeze. From men,
women and jobs to woods, robins and
frogs. Like a crab on the beach she's
a hermit. If you ask her, she'll confirm it.

I seldom rarely treasure
just a moments pleasure.
But what we have right here,
In an instant could disappear.

I've come to really appreciate,
special times one can't recreate.
All the firsts that we go through,
can never be restored to new.

A sweet and innocent first kiss.
First steps your baby don't miss.
Those first words baby spoken.
First love, a tender heart open.

I don't want to jump ahead!
I want to stay here instead.
I know soon it will all be gone.
A moment does not last for long.

Moments become memories.
Never to be as keen as discoveries!
They're all that's left of what we had.
Kind of makes one feel sad.

So please do me this favor.
Take a moment; let us savor.
Let not us rush it past!
By God it goes much too fast!

climbing up a pole,
trying so hard to attach,
for my tentacles to latch on,
like a babe. So, I can grow up

and be strong. But spiraling
around a splintered post cut
my green curls, like swirls of
hair falling from the barber's

chair. If I was a sunflower I'd have
the power to ride the sky. My golden
petals waving hi. But I'm a tendril, a thin
piece of thread without a back or

head. A crisp snap of dry leaves,
a wisp of smoke billowing in the breeze. If I
was a rose I'd be wrapped in evergreen
boughs, bloom as the sun and the robin rouse.

broken boy? When you
walk in the door at night,
as you turn the key and
put on the light. Who are you

climbing the stairs, a silhouette
hanging on the wall, walking down
the hall. Who are you in the bathroom
mirror as your washing the crimson

smile off your lips, holding the razor,
with a tight grip so close to your
wrist? Who are you as slipping the clothes
off your skin, free-falling in your bed,

a mountain of cotton sheets, for
the living dead. The room is black,
as the days ahead. You left your face
at your girlfriend's door. And your

puff's stuffed in the bedroom
drawer. Who are you as the ****** sun
stabs its daggers through the window
curtain, and you don a Richard Burton

for your clients that day, spraying your
wavy hair so it lays in place. And lacing your
shoes? Pouring the coffee and reading
the news?

is so aberrantly broken
he's choken on his
words. His life is a blur
of ****** sunrises and murky

sunsets, of icy showers of soap and
umbrellas. He’s been beaten and
jammed into dark cellars, crammed
into tight spaces. He cannot tie

his shoelaces. He cannot write
his name. They try to tame him
with drugs, his mother with kisses
and hugs. But his brain is

unwired. The lawyers and doctors
she hired could not do a thing. Like
all the king's horses and men
his pieces one cannot mend.

a drop out of him. Like toothpaste
in a tube sticking to the sides
like glue. Cannot be pushed out,
even if rolled up like rug. Like my snug

denim jeans cannot be held
together. The zipper sticks to my rolling
belly, wobbling like a bowl of strawberry
jelly. Like the gunk I squeeze out of

my red, hard pimple. If I can squeeze
the truth out of him, if it was that
simple! Like a baby pushing through
my birth canal. I bear down tight with such

morale. But his head's too big to
pass. If it was easy like breaking
gas!  I'll not get it out of him. It's attached
just like his limb.

right
you like
her smile's bright
skin's tight
and she's chesty

Swipe
left
he's hefty
his nose, a balloon
like a Flintstone cartoon

Swipe
for a match
to land a catch
there's a rolling batch
of new pictures to

Swipe
like a line dance
to the left
to the right
did he use a filter
or is he a bodybuilder?

Swipe
your future is in your finger
Mary Ann or Ginger?

and he's the *****. He stuck out
like a toe with gout, red and round
with a swollen head. I turned him so
often, he lost his thread. I wanted to

hang my portrait on him. But I gave
my life to him. The picture didn't fit
the frame. The wall cracked and the plaster
chipped. And the shank sunk in

like it had been clipped. A silver spot
looking like a dime that had no purpose
and had no rhyme. I couldn't pull him
out. He was stripped. And so was I.

a dewdrop clinging to a leaf.
I'm a pearl that has grown teeth.
You plucked me from a rosy bloom,
tore me right from mother's womb.

I'm not a present, a box you wrap,
or a breast, a pheasant under glass.
Not a paper doll you cut out
with scissors along the dotted line.

I'm sleek and sweet as wine.
Not one to wilt and wither.
Not a piece of broken feather fluff
you stuff into a cotton pillow.

I'm not a floating cloud to billow.
Not a marionette rolling in sweat.
I'm a woman, fierce and strong.
not a pair of legs in a satin thong.

sharper than a straight razor
one slip and she's slit
like the joker's smile
bleeding on the bathroom tile

His teeth coated in sugar poison
A box to keep his toys in
in the throes of passion
love you cannot ration

His lips dip south
hair caught in his mouth
death in a wet wine kiss
guess he was remiss

I ****** out of the hose
of my crimson carpet. This time
I'll part with it. All the dust bunnies
and planted soil that glittered just

like foil is now a clump
of smokeless ash heading towards
the trash. With the cookie crumbs
and lies I built a fort up to

the skies. Mangled hair and fleas
made me wince and sneeze. Broken
glass and spilled perfume curled up in a
Bissell womb. The fibers growing

limbs big as Mount Washington! I bagged
it all, cells of skin and lime, tin and
turpentine, nails and shards, a landfill from
discard. Pebbles and rocks/days of hopscotch.

like the old coupon
in your top desk drawer
the one you forgot to bring
to the store
we could have saved a lot if you did
we paid for this more than we should

We Expired
like your red pollo aftershave
the one I gave you many Christmas's past
that you didn't open till yesterday
and now gives you a rash
like a port-wine stain

We Expired
like curdled milk
in lumps bumping inside
the gallon in the fridge
smelling sour
as the pus draining from
poking my pimple in the shower

We Expired
like carrion
on the side of the road
with the stomach and
intestines laid out
and the tongue sticking
between the teeth
like a dead plank of wood
on the beach

rising like yeast up the old oak
tree. Springing like a slinky to maul
the metal cage, clinging to it
like words on a page. Gobbling all

the feed till he shakes out
most of the seed to the ground. So,
the bunnies have a meal next time
they come around. I fixed ones

with traps but the beast finds
his way between the gaps. I placed
a teeter-totter dome over the top
so, he'll wobble and fall. But he doesn't

stop!  He shakes and shimmies
like chocolate jimmies on an ice cream
cone dipping headfirst inside the bowl. It's war!
I swore I'd save the seeds and kernels

of corn for the robin's baby born.  He has
the acorns to himself!  Greedy gut has
the fattest tail and ****. And the beadiest
eyes I've seen. And he's downright mean!