Showing posts from May, 2010
I shall serve both water and neon.. - ---Doug Anderson

Watercolor on Yupo


If there is a special hell for writers it would be in the forced contemplation
of their own works. . - John Dos Passos

nunc est bibendum
Brief Meditation on the Mark of Age

The hunger has gone,
but the thirst remains.
Samuel, age 7:

Are we rich, mawm ?

Oh yes, child.

Humble home,

warm fire.


I Know You, Sister

I know you, sister.
You're the one
who runs and runs.

And you as well,
mountain woman,
you speak the tongue;

your daughter is
the weightless one.
White witch, bright queen,

I too have held
a box of stones
and called it gold.

Blue dreamer,
wife of mist,
I've slept your sleep,

I've kissed your kiss.
Man of blindness,
man in the moon.

Alas, alas. I am you too.

(first published in The Lyric)

Prufrock Takes a Formal Lover

Criss cross, the letters pass, the envelopes
each carrying an unrequited kiss.
The girl in the convertible unhooks
her jeans and idles at a four-way light

expecting lusty greens. His soda pop
is growing warm. He contemplates the time
it takes to eat a peach. The coffee shop
is rich croissants and hard-backed chairs and air

that somersaults as steam before it dares
meet lips. Years pass. She pastures her
convertible and paints the study green.
He takes his tea at noon. A bonnet blows

across the road: cross criss, the near miss –
one hundred sonnets for a sideways kiss.

(first published in Rattapallax)

I am no siren
on a city street belting
out calamity.

Steve Kleitz


Colorado Stones and Gourds:

Jack Mueller


Art Goodtimes

Even with teeth clenched, jaws shut
tongue entrapped in bone, I find I can talk.

Danny Rosen

Cheers to our birth mother,
Dumb Luck.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

Love said, stop your nervous nattering. Love said,
stop your twitching, your restive tapping, your
blah blah blah. And drop to your knees.


...who be these empresses,
atonists, druids and Scythians
who insist

the legends are in us.

Watercolor on Yupo



In praise of all things from good weather to scrambled eggs to the Grand Canyon to the latest book one has read, I note that awesome appears to have been replaced by amazing.

I suggest ducky for those looking to break from the pack.

Where tedium and suddenness
intersect, take a left.
Should the soft hem of a woman’s dress
and the river’s heartless sluicing fuse,
undress. Where dreams are few, will
the ceiling blue. Deeply blessed
or bereft, assume the worst
where endless talk and wisdom loom.
Say nothing cheap of magnitude
or youth, that planet strewn
with the guided dumb, and the guided dead.
Eschew this. Journey true
to your gratitudes and private ends.
Don't ask directions of me, my friend.


(appearing in the current issue of Smartish Pace)


The word comes from Greek and literally means “to speak fair,” that’s fair as in “beautiful.”

So a euphemism has to sound better than the word it replaces.

But sometimes you don’t want to make nice. What about when you want to make things seem worse than they are?

Then you can’t use a euphemism, instead you have to use a dysphemism.

- courtesy Podictionary, the podcast for word lovers

The Wizard, the Wild, and the Iridescent

Many birds in the air on Mayfair and so much high emotion and teen spirit and teen sorrow I have been, we have all been, sweetly rained and emotionally slumped in recent days.

O tempora, o mores ... Oil spills, vinter vedder, eddie weather, nudists in Fruita... Wutt next ...

And so it was the old man shoulders in to the girl-child's room where she isn't letting anyone in for all in her life that's going on and she is weeping through the walls and I have handled it all right and all wrong and we have all run out of words and he shoulders in and tells her that he's got a shoulder, that he's got a shoulder and it's his to give.

And so it was the little brother, always the listener of many things, he comes to me and says to me how does he do that, mawm ...she was just crying her eyes out half an hour ago and now she's giggling... how does he do that ...

and what could I say but he's a magician, and so are you, child.

in hoc signo vinces ...


The Writer

In her r…