You toss me watercolor daisies,

when my hands would conjure you a garden

of blazing bouquets, if you hint just the least.

For one minute, if you’d care at all.


You sing me listless tunes you’ve worn,

when my fingers would line out such symphonies

of sounds never heard, if you join just the least.

For one minute, if you’d sing along.


You press crumpled paper into my fist,

when my purse bursts seams wide with gold-full,

of riches never seen, if you’d open just the least.

For one minute, if you’d only let go.

Ask me. I Dare You

Ask me. I dare you.

[But I forgot… ]

I soak color from the walls, brushing it into pictures, twisting it into wool afghans.

All these against leather sofas on wood floors.

Charged with sunlight from unveiled windows.

Smells of  home cooked food linger over an old sad body draped in beautiful clothing.

I walk every day, unless I dance wildly to whole-hearted red-blooded music.

Long tub baths go best with sweet-smelling oil.

And books.

Meaningful conversations with loved ones emanate laughter, tears and hugs.

A house full of children, music, and dance…  where all join in.

[can you hear it?]

And the first one to get there…


small men

My poem here depicts all mankind… not just male men. ‘Small people’  reminds me of a second-rate 70s pop song. ‘Small humans’ make me think of babies and children. ‘Small Women’ sounds like a piece of fiction… so I am left with my ‘small man’. Which means if the shoe fits… 

the small man

climbs to small heights

within short reach. 

His small mind fills smaller heart 

with tiny thrones

over things yet smaller.

Imposing gaze, 

thunderous little voice,

fail to disguise small words.

Always leave holes

never enough

in empty spaces.



The sky.

Cool dark black

I wander quietly

Alone. Bare feet

Unafraid of any.

I journey out

surprised at

deep stillness.

Shining stars.

Warm feet

invade hard ground

Answers back in

coldly burnt soles.

Hearth burning deep in

Radiantly warms, soulfully

permeates walls.

Windows bring comfort

thoughtful memory.

Laughter filling,

eating, drinking

embracing, tickling,

singing, and loving


Tattooed inside

me. Speak to me

who I am.

Bring me



Chart each unsearchable outpost,

Plumb unfathomable depths of soul

Infinite pixels of mind

Imagination’s horizons.

On some abyssal plain, desire’s colors glow dark and deep.

No beam penetrates

No eye perceives

No breath permits

Chasms yawn twixt treadmill

and  horizon, confined to cage. I

Scan seashore, touch and marvel,

Points, light and hues.

Eternity rests under my fingers.

Kyrie Eleison, Bartimeus’ Song

Bent underneath humanity,
huddled close behind darkened eyes…
palms open, empty.

‘Kyrie! …mercy for sinners.
Beg wholeness, wellness, while
Men take up stones, hurl words
One finger writes conviction into sand,
Accusations cease,
We go, sin no more.

If Kyrie! … dead men taunt ‘if’
Demand things withheld.
Reject the offering,
Press on insistent answers,
Who sinned?
Denying the least of these…

Kyrie! … mend  the broken
Hands and voices, lift them as a banner.
Over shame. Against defeat.
Shout all open hearts.
Quickly, before sight dims.
See here, little children, he bids us: