Featured Poem: January, 2020

Already 2020! I particularly like this little poem. It was inspired by an experience in my San Francisco garden. I guess I am already thinking of spring and my hyacinths are beginning to show green above the ground (yes I planted them a bit late.) It also reminds me of snorkel diving at night in…

Featured Poem: December, 2019

Chimney Raven It croaks twice, sounding deep in my chimney.Pitching my voice to raven guttural,I mimic the call.Its claws scrabbling on the metal flueit caws and awks two times more.I try again, just one croak. I receivesilence.Silence. The next day, the bird declaims againfrom a perch on the neighbor’s roofwhere it sips from a puddle…

Featured Poem: November, 2019

This poem is from the fire season last year, and next year. Diablo Winds The sky’s bruised flesh, apricot with a haze of green. Smoky, harsh air a cataract over the hills. Bristlecone and Bishop pines inseminate the ash-covered ground.

Featured Poem: October, 2019

This poem was just published in the Fall edition of Vistas and Byways. This edition has a special section on Music and they choose this poem. Vistas and Byways the literature review by members of the San Francisco State OLLI program. They introduced it this way… “This frank poem describes how the author overcame inhibition…

Featured Poem March 1, 2019

There is so much rain. I need a flower poem! Lotus A dried bundle of seeming death in the dark and silence, my winter hyacinth. First roots grow slowly. Then her densely folded, tender tip emerges out the bulb. Tiny leaves are blanched naked, cold white grubs. From the downstairs cold closet I carry the…

Featured Poem February 14th, 2019 Valentine’s Day

I Saw A Quail, Sort Of Two Behind the squash courts along the scruffy parking lot, a trail leads off into the trees above the AIDS Memorial garden. It was close to me and seemed reluctant to run or fly away like they normally do, the nervous little things. I realized there was a dead…

Featured Poem, January 7, 2018

There Is A Bison In The Front Yard Ancient rhinoceros of our plains, one solitary bull shuffles and snuffles through autumn grasses. Mahogany mane surrounds a neckless horned head, and drapes humped shoulders, carpets upper front legs. There the robe ends, exposing naked buttocks, slender ankles, delicate hooves. Barely balancing a bow-legged bulk, he precisely…

Featured Poem, January 2019: Fires Burn in Paradise

Fires Burn in Paradise The San Francisco morning sky is dirty dish-water, texture of floating flour dust, smell of burning electrical wires. At our coast, silver mist and fog flows, ebbs, streams. This matte beige air is thick unmoving, silent. Code Red Air Quality looks like this. Up north, firefighters and neighbors battle, flee. I…