Another drowning man
finds his way upon my shore.
Another wounded soul
kicked in the teeth by the gods,
bad luck and some Siren…

I taste the bile of knowing
my recurring role in the story,
the suspicious beginning,
the sweet middle, and
oh yes, the bitter end…

I am not doing this again.
My compassion has run out.
My heart is a seeping patchwork,
the work of previous Odysseuses.
This Calypso quits.

And Zeus can kiss my ass…


Written August 2003

Weary of the screams that filled her ears,
Tired of cleaning the blood from her fingernails,
Her acorns turning to ash in her pointed beak,
Macha turns away from the battle
And her sisters
In search for the normal life of home and family.

Loving his children was easy.
Tending the farm a joy.
Laying with him in the night,
She almost felt safe.
Macha dreams of roiling clouds
And jeering crowds
To be betrayed by carelessness.

It’s just a legend but it is her history,
And she curses her part.

written November 30, 2003

I belong here and nowhere and everywhere
I am the sea that rises up and takes back

Sides are being taken and lines are being drawn
I wash over opposing armies indiscrimately

I am the sea that rises up and takes back
Hate and love, right and wrong, life and death

These mean nothing to me
I am the sea that rises up and takes back

I am that I am


Written July 2005

In the darkness of dawn, you will awaken from vivid dreams
In the darkness of dawn, you will look out and wonder
In the darkness of dawn, you will stare out the window into the woods

You have heard the call

In the morning after the sun rises, you will put shoes on your restless feet
In the morning after the sun rises, you will look for the map
In the morning after the sun rises, you will close the door behind you

You have heard the call

In the afternoon with the sun overhead, you will ask yourself “why”
In the afternoon with the sun overhead, you will wipe your brow and sigh
In the afternoon with the sun overhead, you continue around the bend

You have heard the call

In the evening twilight, you will rest in the shade of the large oak tree
In the evening twilight, you will cool your blistered feet in the river
In the evening twilight, you will eat a crust of bread and a juicy fruit

You have heard the call

In the black of night, you will wonder if you did the right thing and went the right way
In the black of night, you will hold yourself and pray to your gods
In the black of night, you will sing the song of your soul to the stars

You have heard the call

In the morning when the birds sing, you will put your shoes back on
In the morning when the birds sing, you will walk stiffly forward
In the morning when the birds sing, you will remember why and smile

You have heard the call


Written July 2006

Lugh dies
and the sun strikes
with rays of heat
that oppress in revenge,
with spears of light
that burn our eyes and skin.

First fruits
Red blood

August comes
and the earth gasps
in the death throes of summer,
a fever pitched battle
against the coming dark.

Barlycorn
Eat and run.

Written in August 2006

I carry in my mind a picture postcard of the day you left,
Sepia-toned, faded, and worn around the edges,
Where my eternally seven-year-old chubby fingers stroke,
In devotion–
A pilgrim to an ancient shrine where,
Saints cry blood and the wicked
Are forgetful–missing and ever present.
Truth, lie, or heretical imagining,
This is my story,
This is my psalm to you–
Dead and gone from the world;
Living and ever leaving from my heart.

Written December 2009

A growing tumor in her brain
breaks down the walls
between life and death
between form and force
between here and gone
As she falls down the well
into the unknown

Sentences stumbled over
and left unfinished
leaving her without speech
leaving her without context
leaving her without a name
As she walks through the gates
into the unknown

Her body must be broken
before she can leave us behind
to rip our clothes in grief
to scream in rage and terror
to hold each other in love
As she climbs the tree
into the unknown

…into the arms of her lost beloved

Written 2009

Last night I was in a fury.
I woke up at 2:17am
And could not go back to sleep.
I was still angry
From earlier in the evening
When my take-out meal
Which was supposed to save me time
Made me late
For a meeting
I didn’t really want to go to
In the first place.

Fuming in the darkness
Because my husband’s hand
Was touching mine
Seeking contact,
Because his shoulder
Was crowding mine
Seeking space,
Because the dog
Was snuggled between my legs
Seeking warmth,
And the kitten
Lay on my chest
Seeking comfort.

Just get the fuck off of me!
Just everybody STOP
TOUCHING ME!
Stop needing things from me!

This morning I was in a rage.
I had not slept well.
I had an ice pick
Lodged in my skull
And a vice
Clamped on my shoulder.
Oh, and it was raining.

At the front door to my office
Stood a wet young man
Looking up at the sky
In sorrow.
I guess that my notice of him
Invited a response.
“I’ve been inside all week
In a conference
Looking out at the sun,
And the one day I have to
Explore the city
It rains,” he said
With a foreign accent
And one of those grimaces
That says I-am-not-all-that-upset.
“Do you have an umbrella?”
I asked.
He shook his head
And so I handed him mine.
“Really? Thank you!” he said
In wonderment and joy.

As I walked through the door
And past the security guard,
I felt tears on my face
Of release and relief.
Now, I’m just tired
but feel a little freer.

Written March 10, 2011