Category: Poetry

Here is where my deepest heart lies. These writings emanate from the many times when my passion hits the bottom and other times where it seems to fly on wings. To solace myself, I go to the woods on deep forest trails, pray to waterfalls, look over valleys, and dip my hands in the waters of springs, hoping to soothe myself. Forgive me if I get angry; for at times I’m just plain mad at the world.

Come at a Price

The amount of alcohol in her drink. The loudness of her laugh. Soft shirt sleeves, brushing raw, coded skin. Tender angst made her… Makes her Voice rise Like dinnertime restaurant dishes. All she said, forgotten. All she would have said, remembered.      …

Ripple

Branches, once a small bridge, lie over missing mud, lose their original meaning. Now, a hard turf sits like a soft concrete, an uneven glaze dried upon them. The branches are caked, bricks in dirt, an ancient architecture. I see the trail, in its…

Readers

There are the flash fiction folks, the poetry peeps,  long read lingerers, essay sippers, quote queers, novel nuts, the journalist jackals…sci fi sympathizers, romance unrequited rejects, the mystery mongers, the New York old-timers, speculative spectators, fantasy freaks, comic-con artists, and the not-so-young adult Harry…

Warrior Rock Light

  The river is high for winter, but it’s still the water I know, its muddy banks, dirty shore, lucid waves. Swollen, I can’t follow it to the lighthouse. I cut through brambles, to the trail, stepping on spongy flora forming a false carpet,…

Baskett Slough

There’s so many speaking, not wanting to give up the slough. They’ve had it for the entire winter… to themselves Chickadees, common nighthawks, grebes, sneaky rails and coots.   The marsh, still cold…wet…wants to capture my clumsy steps. Grasses hide the outer rim of…

Scattered Town

One can hear the electrical wires in the rain near the scattered towns. Your voice is still under those lines, in one town or another, poking around old man bars. You wanted to see where the forest ditched the highway, where the grid no…

Above Multnomah Falls

This warm winter makes the creek scream like spring. I dip my hand in, as far in as my long sleeves let me Smooth stones, slick, cold life, years in my hands. My fragile blood beats, knows the water by heart.   It’s good…

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