My Poetry


I’m only a mother, she said.
I only wash tiny hands and little feet
And dry tiny tears from chubby cheeks.

I’m only a teacher, she said.
I only instruct fragile minds and prepare the future
And tweak details in innocent little heads.

I’m only a lover, she said
Providing comfort and security
When one is at her weakest.

I’m only a care provider, she said.
I only wash wrinkled bodies and comb matted hair
And close tired eyes.

I’m only a social worker, she said.
I only place dirty children into clean, new homes
And help those who can’t help themselves.

I’m only a waitress, she said.
I only nourish the hungry and water the thirsty
And provide an escape from tired, stressed minds.

I’m only an artist, she said.
I only paint with words and brush
And sing, and dance, and photograph.

I’m Only. You’re Only.
Only, only, only.

But Darling, we’re everything.

Dear Stranger, Part I
You got up early on a Saturday to bask in the light
that streams from the tall, gleaming windows.
But you sit away from them, warming your back.
The light shines upon a book that has taken your mind hostage.
Immediately I know this is not anything you “have” to read –
No, you want to read this story.
I can tell by the way you chew your fingers
in anticipation of each fresh new page;
each a plethora of information greater than the last.
Groups of old men chattering and twittering
does not distract, even if the chatter echoes like a diner
instead of a quiet, sacred space.

Poring over a book on an early Saturday demonstrates dedication
to life and to love.
Thought it is warm in here, you are bundled for the cold that awaits – 19 degrees!
Or maybe you are too entrenched to notice the heat. Perhaps even…
You are blocking all other information and have failed to notice the sun toasting our heads.

But wait – you help a child find something he dropped
Out of one world and into another
Upon seeing this kindness, I know
Every human emotion from one world
Is transferable to the next.

Good morning, dear stranger.
I hope you find another world entirely.
I look into the mirror
And see another world
All I am and all you want me to be
What you fail to realize is
I’m drifting off to sleep.
The Alchemist

Dead leaves snap
crisp in the night
Fog rises from the ground
Hatred and malice scream
Without making the slightest
Whisper of a sound
Vengeance slashes through
the air, thick and tense.
The winding road changes with the forest
Woven in a web of matrimony
to receive the Dementor’s kiss.
The philosopher’s stone
just out of range
The power to a life of perfection
without equivalent exchange.
One.  Two.  Three.
Employ reason.
The Dead Gardens

Once, I saw many wonders of the world, and these are it…

The figure on the bed was calling
Beckoning from her stone garden of blood stained roses
Calling to me, offering to me
An endless dream, a faerie tale
Her screaming like dripping candle wax
And smooth as velvet tapestry
Calling to me as I fell
Through the endless sea. 

The figure on the bed full of grace, malice, and poise
Flew me to the skies, and took me to see
The Garden of Gethsemane
The Christ before the slaughter
I fell to my knees
The figure laughed a wicked laugh
Shrill through the air
So the trees trembled in fear.

Then off to the unicorn enchanted forests
And they were all bleeding.
Singing sorrow in every turn
Weeping, wailing, gnashing their teeth
And at noon mid-day
Silence reigned in terror
And the sky transformed to grey.
All the colors faded to grey.

The weight of love falls hard
The weight of curses falls harder
But none as hard as me
Falling through a dream, far across the sea
Songs sung by Sirens, chanting endlessly.

Returning to her garden
The figure cast me away
Lay herself down to sleep
In her bed of blood stained roses
I watched pallor vanquish her face
Then I fled far from her domain.
Tears freezing outside my eyes.

Never was I to forget
The wonders seen that day.