Her tiny breasts, dancers curved back

Silver earrings, steel grey hair, wet black eyes

We talk around, our varied folded desires

Hers may be, driving home in dusty truck to

A brown man who works with his hands

He can lift her and they dance at dusk, beneath solstice blossom

She feels she’s come a long way, her reedy soul throbs

Through back roads with weary curves, street lights illuminating her angular shape

And my desire is a velvet flame, like slow monarch flutters, trying to keep pace with winged migration

She is the swelling of a slow breathing, southern land

Shimmering in undulate mountains

Emptied of life, save thin cayote, sharp against moon

I am low to earth, crawling toward her wrist

Breathing the pulse of a woman, her careful sensuality

Turning in darkness, multilayered

Impossible to tame


This wide world

marthagraham1It is lovely

Watching you sleep

Perchance to dream

And with the late snow storm

Whitening outside like hungry baker

Spilling his bag of flour

We cocoon ourselves

Close by spitting fire

Casting spirit animals on chalky walls

The photos of your ancestors

Their ink held eyes glaring

I fear they may not understand

Our kind of intimacy

Their world scrapped tenderness

For raw knuckled survival, no time for choice

Yet we knead our own rise with weary elbows

Perhaps the nature of love has changed clothes

And now wears matching nightgowns, joining toes under blankets

Reading books with curling corners, still watching with appreciation

When like a slip of shimmering glass

You get up to draw the curtains

Only the sound of falling snow

Hushed against our warm roof

Can be heard in this wide world

For all

Before, it would vex me when my nose ran and I didn’t have a tissue

when the tap dripped and no matter how I jiggled it, the drip drip drip would perpetuate, leaving a little rust stain, impossible to clean

when the cat would kick his litter out and eating fast, his food would spill, over the side, as he bent to consume just to again use and befowl

his cycle of eat/pee/poo seemed deliberately artful as if should he speak he’d say; that’s what I think of you

I would be annoyed at myself, when I forgot to latch the garden gate after mowing

and at night hear the sound of things moving, wondering at the fragility of life, should something creep up and strike

how easy to be hit by speeding car or thunder bolt, I spent far too long worrying the clouds of their impending storm

before, I would stand in front of tiny mirror, angled at my waist-line muttering things, without knowing how shallow I’d become

the baubles and the bells and whistles, trappings of someone as yet to acknowledge herself

just the illusion, the dress, the costume

I built castles and didn’t consider the ground

I forgot the child’s dear wish to fly and thought only of earthly options

my head was packed with good sense and no dreams

it mattered more that I possessed signs and wonders than to be real

in time as our tinsel fades and the corners of our smile grow brittle

when challenges mount formerly wrinkle free forehead

we stand so far from truth we could not hear if it shouted

come back from the festival, where drunk on yourself you see

only reflections of you in the carnival mirror of the sea

spend time stripped of your attachments and awards

they serve no purpose when they matter not at all

stand a while with nothing, sense the pleasure of a day

born only once

the joy of survival

a moment without pain

where like children we find wonder

In those days of simplicity beneath the sun

before we learned to live so thin, nutrition coming from emptiness

before it would vex me that the bulb needed replacing, garbage taken out, the dried remainder of eggs did not come off breakfast plate

and now

I smile when for a moment I am peaceful and the lap of night winks closed for another day to unfold, the first strain of pink ushering dawn

and hope

for it takes only one change, for all.


Chaplin_The_Kid_editThey said she was uncool

they laughed at her pathetic attempt

to fit in to the A-Crowd and be

whatever cool intended

she was not able to tan with

baby oil and lemon

therefore didn’t look good in yellow

or the teeny tiny jock shorts

all the girls with the floppy hair

and shiny legs knew

if you wanted to be an A-Lister

better get bronze and angular

she had the legs of a cross-legged child

with fat bits that poked through

her back wasn’t too straight from hunching

over the tv with bowl of Coco Puffs

they said she was uncool

because she couldn’t spell and didn’t know how

to french kiss or accept blow backs

of weak marijuana in local park

she didn’t stand as tall and couldn’t climb up

to fondle faceless boys who shriveled afterward

she wasn’t full chested, more of an empty shirt

what’s the point? one asked, just give me a hand job

and she didn’t know it took so much momentum

of her thin unused wrist

so she had to prop it up with the other hand

and everyone took the piss

you can’t even wank a boy without losing steam

how are you going to ride him?

she didn’t want to ride a boy, or even a horse

she didn’t need to be cool if it meant spitting out semen afterwards

her freckles and her pasty face, weren’t the sum total of her soul

if it’s uncool to be an outsider, she thought

I’ll make it into an art-form

so she wore purple when the IT color was red

flattened her chest instead of wearing WonderBra

liked polka dot panties over thong

didn’t touch cold-sore boys, even with gloves on

watched the girls from the A-List grow fatigued

of sore jaws and empty hearts and stained skirts

whilst she painted and danced and cycled and swam

climbed trees, shot arrows, read on roof tops, ate bags of blue gumballs

her teeth were not as white as those with lithe brown thighs

her sneakers did not have the right logo

she wore thrift store sweaters and Hello Kitty socks

they said she was uncool

for not knowing how to pleasure and perform

she told her dolls and her bears

it meant she got another summer without having to worry

about being pinched and poked by thirsty boys

with Ralph Lauren t-shirts and Converse All Stars

taunted by girls with Abercrombie skirts and Victoria’s Secret push-up

comparing cleavage and score cards

what a relief to be uncool

her name didn’t begin with A

it began with C and she preferred hanging upside down

from the jungle jim

watching the world fool

young girls



And nothing more

For we are this moment and nothing more
Car idling, your face breaking, steam on windscreen, contrast downpour
Sudden, unexpected, as saying goodbye creeps upon us and words make mockery in their sense
What to say? As camera cannot capture the feeling of your hand, the rough callus on your thumb, snatches of rain obscuring sky, everything has turned to water including us

For we are this moment and nothing more
Unfamiliar faces, we children crammed, damp knees at top of stairs, screaming in delight when discovered, break apart like fingers of chocolate, squealing mock fear, different hiding places, under bed, behind washing basket, smell of laundry powder and sweat. We sneak into vacated rooms, tasting cigars, tiny glasses of cough syrup, wearing furs, laughing at the helium fancy of after hour dates

For we are this moment and nothing more
Still long in thigh from all those high kicks, now stuck in repose, inertia massaging my toes, time ticks a fitful pacemaker, just because she’s gone, the sun still shines, the avocados bloom, fruit trees this year beckon bees, as butterflies circle afraid to commit, a hummingbird, fragile like water wash, scares with thrumming wing, the sleeping lizard who darts into brickwork, and the cat who dozed in sun, stretched long and slender begins to groom. Life cannot be denied even in the broken hearts of children who like ivy, grew too soon


New season

(This is from one of my poetry collections, I’m not writing much poetry at present due to my illness, so I will be re-posting older poems until I am up and running again).


When we were young

Wearing thrift store clothes like raw diamonds

Unshaved legs soft in abandon

One pair of shoes, muddy by door

Tumbling into bed without washing

Seemed like hair grew over night

And every day we woke fresher

Favorable light is youth

A supple branch that bends


We sat opposite each other cross-legged

Nimble in rolling weed

Feeling everything

Each other’s fluid tread

The children in our future

Kicking impatient song

Staying up all night

Laughing at where time had gone


We had plenty for every record

Listening carefully

See the message

Head back in dream

Impregnate the future

With transposed screen


When we were older

Cold the tiles this time of year

Flossing by the sink

Seeing bags and thinning hair

My breasts

Surely didn’t hang so low


Why does it take so long

To prepare ourselves?

First the mask

Then the teeth

Finally the wig

Are we in age

Madam Tussaud’s wax figures?

Where did sleeping on laughter

Shift to carefully preserved?


But as I climb into bed next to you

Cold limbed

A light headache

I feel the same


The familiar

And age falls from me

As leaf from tree

To become dormant and turn to bud

With new season

Such is time

When you are

With me

Ode to absentia

I have written enough about you to fill a slim volume

or maybe two ships

set sail for one of the countries you visit

sending me letters in the day, with marks and fingerprints from all around the world

they would smell

like you, even as that was impossible

and I prepared, as nobody ever can

for the day I would lose you

why not, you ask, appreciate the now, when you are here on earth?

I have, though, we have never spent our lives together or even entwined

I have been saying goodbye all these years

yet it will not be sufficient, it could never be enough

you are more of me, than myself

and I feel you inside even though you are not here now, and gone in the future

loving you has felt like continual loss and little gain

yet I do, more than anything else, for you are that kite, unmoored itself and got away

the thought that comes creeping up as you laugh, as if I had a twin, and yes, she was the one who grew in courage, living full in ways I knew only from books

you have the lifeline of twenty palms and though you could not be a mother, you have always inspired me, like the character from a favorite story

reaching near and never touching, someone marvelous and unable to approach

I live sometimes with my eyes seeing through yours

the waves of your life nearing but never reaching, shore

at some point there will be a day when you are not simply absent and not around the corner

but further then, impossible to mend, hands of time, spent longing

it may be my song to want and not receive, the beauty that is you, and your life as it cleaves

further away, until from a great distance I cannot distinquish, squinting until my eyes hurt and run

I would if I could, but I never have, and I won’t

it is the theatre of our lives to play out

my role is that of thirsty

yours to make ordinary seem


you are the giver of dreams

I shall always wish

for one more day where I see

your figure coming closer through the dusk

perhaps to stay a while, even if we do not touch

I long, in layers, not to lose, what I have, not.