- nonstop . . .
- leaning on his cane . . .
- southbound . . .
- old friends . . .
- tanka time . . .
- stars, planet, moons, et. al. . . .
- exquisite corpse update . . .
- exquisite corpse, anyone? . . .
- virtual friends . . .
- perhaps . . .
- cobwebs . . .
- After the Funeral . . .
- anthology fever . . .
- Throwback . . .
- new moon rising . . .
Tag Archives: Love
leaning on his cane he looks like a character out of Bashō . . . weighed down at end of day by the weight of his shadow –for Larry red lights 11:1, January 2015 Some of you might know that my husband, … Continue reading
After the Funeral On the night flight back to Manhattan, I replay our last phone conversation. Hear the slurred speech from his deathbed as he asks if I’ll be coming home soon. The pain in his voice when I try, … Continue reading
coyotes– I lie awake listening for the sound of your footsteps, your breath . . . the heavy stillness of life Fire Pearls 2: Short Masterpieces of Love and Passion
long night moon he traces figure eights on my shoulders the sorrows of yesterday . . . light as a swan’s feather Skylark 1:1, Spring 2013
It’s been such a privilege for me to share in the remembrances of all those who’ve contributed poems to honor their loved ones here during the past two weeks. I am humbled, not only by the response to my call … Continue reading
Chrissi Villa is one of the sweetest, gentlest spirits I have come across in a very long time. A recent widow, she’s begun writing a series of tanka prose about the loss of her husband as a way of dealing … Continue reading
this time of day when clouds drift down from sky I think of you . . . next to me, embracing a sudden stream of light red lights, vol. 9, no. 2, June 2013 I just received the current issue of … Continue reading
alphabet soup I practice cradling love in a stainless spoon 2nd Place, Robert Spiess Memorial 2013 Haiku Award I am humbled and honored to have received recognition in Modern Haiku‘s annual Robert Spiess Memorial Haiku Competition. Named for the journal’s beloved … Continue reading
a moth’s wings curled around the shamrock . . . what is this desire that causes me to cradle beside you while you sleep kernels, April 2013
mother’s trunk— among her old love letters a trace of wild rose dusting my fingertips . . . her long-buried secret red lights, vol. 8, no. 2, June 2012