Grandmother–Featured Poem for March, 2022

Many of us have lived with or still enjoy old dogs. I remember my childhood dog, India, with this poem. If you had not heard, there are more dogs than children in San Francisco. I see a bunch of them out my window at the park all day. Sometimes they come at late dusk or…

What Did The Scrub Jay Notice?Featured Poem for February, 2022

Lilacs are special flowers for me. I grew up with three shades of lilac bushes around our house. They come in lilac-lilac, deep purple and white and smell ever so slightly different, or so I imagined. T.S.Eliot’s poems made an early impression on me and I appreciated his use of lilacs evoking the wild, mystical,…

Convalescence-Featured Poem August, 2021

I now know more people who have had breakthrough Delta COVID than I know who had COVID before they were vaccinated. While my friends don’t happen to be dangerously sick, thankfully, this is a time to do our best to remember that sickness and displacement can also bring opportunities for connection and caring. I wish…

Respect- Featured Poem for February, 2021

I first wrote Respect as a more ordinarily formatted poem, but I am presenting it below as a Haibun. This is an originally Japanese form of prose paired with a haiku. Haibuns lend themselves to experimentation of form. Our intensive time in the house, these pandemic days, draws my attention to neighborhood non-human creatures. I…

Overlooked Ghosts––Featured Poem for December, 2020

Living among Monterey pines in San Francisco, I temporarily forgot about deciduous leaves in winter. Thank you to Sacramento for bringing them back to me. Stay well these Holidays. Overlooked Ghosts You can see their spirits streaming awayin ectoplasm prints preserved each autumn.Not every tree’s leavesmanifest dying so clearly— releasing slow-motion scarlet flamesas they are…

Land Park Fall – Featured Poem for November, 2020

We lived part-time in Sacramento over the past 18 months. Their trees are large, beautiful, and numerous. They reminded me of Massachusetts, at least part of the time. When the orange tree ripened, I was quite sure I was not in New England. Sacramento just outlawed leaf blowers. I approve. This poem is from the…