moon and regulus cropped.jpg

I wish I had slept longer
and the dogs next door
I wish peace
to the family
walking along the sidewalk
and the moon
just a sliver


Sing me to sleep
The night is hard
press’d to give up
its joy
you went too soon
I want to hear you
tell stories
you used to tell

I knew you were happiest
when you were a little girl
traveling state to state
in a time when
girls didn’t give up dolls
so young
as now

For you I would have tea
so we could share
iced, with chips
laughs again over
silly thoughts
he never understood
but I always laughed

Laughs come at a premium now
like gasoline
and forgiveness
your unbounded joy
something I got for free
and tonight
I remember
and laugh

2 days, no sleep


I tore up my fingers on that ring
grasping at what was not mine–
but I stole it–because it was his
and I wanted her not to have it

The late night snacking takes a toll
a lack of sleep notwithstanding
the gremlins that come out only at night
have found a niche under my skin
painful and soothing all at once

Over-thinking also has its price
this bat and ball are nothing to me now
I never did take to diamonds that well
but one time, there was an emerald
that caught my eye

I would have sold all I had for it
until I owned only that and none else
but that won’t feed anyone
and it won’t transport, or shower;
what once were needs are now desires

The tree top seemed out of reach
until waking up to fog I remembered
we must bend and stretch, and
no one gets a free ride
of government cheese for always

but with a little perseverance
I could have every dream fulfilled
if I only dream of mediocrity
and if I am not that hungry

Coffee, cake, and conversation: Is Writing a Process?

“What do you want?”
“Just coffee. Black – like my soul.”
-Cassandra Clare, City of Bones

black and sweet
black and sweet

Thank you for joining me this morning for coffee. Cake? Don’t you think it is a little early for baked goods? Yes, I know I did say there would be cake. Let’s start with the coffee and work up to it, hmm? I just woke up. I have a few things on my mind this morning, mostly to do with writing, with contemplation and meditation. The why’s and how’s and where for’s. First the coffee.

There is something about sharing a cuppa, whether it be coffee, tea or chocolate, that really lends itself, well, to sharing. There is a community about it with so many cultures. Here is a scene from Casablanca. Ilsa and Victor are at the Blue parrot with Ferrari. They share an iced Turkish coffee while discussing travel plans.

Iced Coffee
Iced coffee at the Blue Parrot

Continue reading “Coffee, cake, and conversation: Is Writing a Process?”


what do you want to know
I see you watching
the movements I make
so deliberately
you never see me
for I know you are there

I suppose it is the kinks
that attract you
or maybe the supposed innocence
you sense in my eyes
but I know too much
if it is incorruption
you’re looking for

too much time has passed
for me to get that look back
the regret fogging over
the twisted part of my brain
always making something dirty
out of it
out of your words
supposedly innocent

and other words
like redemption and mercy, and
seem to escape your notice
for they are not shiny
and do not stroke you
when the nights
are just too long

struggling for sleep
three-quarters of an hour
I surrendered and rose early
my mind still on my dreams
envying you there
in the clouds

some call sleep
an ethereal bestowal
deserved by the innocent
but I am unwilling
to spoil this perfect coffee
delving deep for redemption

4 in a bed

I am too long awake
with my companions
greedy for my attention
impatience, and discontent
on my other side

Whimsy comes by
in a lavender tutu
and laughs at us
doing her best
with hand stands
and shadow puppets

Impatience wiggling
my big toe
while discontent
drives a truck full of words
through my brain

I am too long without sleep
delirium, will you
keep me from loneliness
as you pass over my body
closing my eye-lids
without warning

3 a.m.

I can hear no cars. I might be the only one in this time zone awake.

The mind is errant when left on its own. With no goal in mind, it wanders through places my mother warned me about – with fancy names and neon.

Everything here is shiny and bright. My tired eyes blink, trying to make out shapes and faces. I see you, waving to me. I try to be nonchalant.

I remember it was a drag the day I realized I was the girl mothers warned their sons about. I couldn’t argue with the facts.

There is nothing left now to do but keep it as a memory, and sand down the edges for posterity. Once I am gone, I will not be able to explain.

Now that I have passed the fulcrum of this night, I will stay awake and watch the sun come up. I hate to think this stardust will be wasted.