Meet Sam


I am lost when you flow into me,
Gently moving my soul to one side,
So my voice can speak your words,
And my eyes can watch you dance us
Through one eternal moment.
Lost, I am here, but not here,
More than a shadow, and yet
When you step into me, my life falls away.
Lost, I float nearby, nearly gone,
Almost forgotten, then always found,
As you gently kiss me good-bye
Until next time.

I had a long conversation with my daughter the other night about writing and the creative process and how sometimes it really does feel like you’re channelling. There are times when words just flow through you, without any effort on your part to capture them, or mold them, or work them. Those times, I often look back on what I’ve written with surprise at what came through me. Usually, those pieces end up my favorites. Other times, I enjoy wrestling with words and crafting a piece (especially if I can make it feel less crafted than it actually is…I don’t always succeed.)

Since I started writing again, I feel as though I’m working with a different energy than I had with me when I was younger. Even if this energy isn’t separate from me (a muse), it makes sense that at this point in my life, my own energy would feel different. Still, I like to think I have a muse working with me when I get into a good writing flow. After writing LOST, the name Sam popped into my head. I don’t have any friends or relatives named Sam, so I thought for a moment about making that the title of the poem. Nope. That didn’t feel quite right, so instead, I’ve decided that’s what I’ll call my alter-ego-poetry-slinging-muse. That appeals to my Dr. Seuss-loving inner child (and outer adult), as well as my woogy mystical-loving spiritual seeker Believer, while still appeasing the ever-present Skeptic. I am Sam. Sam I am.  Maybe.


Next Time, My Yard


Stop apologizing
For the weeds
In your garden.
I have them too.
Walk with me
And celebrate
The new growth,
The bright colors.
Weeds will wait.
Let’s call them
Wildflowers today
And laugh at
Ourselves for caring.

She Was Our Heart


I went looking for a poem,
Before garbage trucks and
School buses and tired
Commuters started their
Arguments with the day.

I found a red car speeding
Away from drive-thru coffee,
And an empty lot waiting
For readers on wheels.
But no poem.

I listened for new noises
In an old car,
And old birds singing
To new flowers.
But still no poem.

The sun glared at me
And shook her head
Saying, you are so blind.
So I parked in the shade
Under our kind maple,
Gathered my things,
And found you—

Tucked tight against my
Sunglass case, out of
Sight in the side pocket
Of my bursting bag.
How had I forgotten
You were with me
The whole time?

One moment of you,
My poem,
Caught on Kodak paper
Standing in your green pantry,
Brushing milk onto two
Loaves of bread before baking.

The best bread ever made,
Mixed by hand each morning
Before garbage trucks or
School buses or tired
Grandkids started arguing
With the day.

You taught us how to bake
Bread and poems and lives:
Mix everything together
Until the dough feels right,
Bake in a hot oven until done.
You left the details up to us.

Use what you have on hand.
Each day’s bread will be different.
There’s no recipe, just practice,
And a sturdy trash can for
The loaves that fail.

Will I Ever Learn


wit and wile
ageless style
first seduce
and then beguile
enchantment spun
a dazzling show
with silken chains
tie fast the bow

binding bruising
almost losing
budding trust
so self abusing
fading faith
surrenders power
trades the soul
for happy hour

drink and dance
pursue romance
with pheromones
and sultry glance
lure the willing
close the gap
ensnare another
spring the trap

wake and wonder
same old blunder
frantic pairings
mimicked thunder
echoed noises
drowning pain
a hollow storm
all sweat no rain

parched and dying
lost soul crying
plumb the darkness
test the trying
the pieces torn
gladly greet
forgiving morn



Gods of river, rock, and tree
Goddesses of hunt and grain
Spirits of the land and sky
Dwell with us in harmony

Gods of our village true
Goddesses of our clan
Spirits of the warrior
Protect us from our enemies

Gods of our people vast
Goddesses of our realm
Spirits of this nation pure
Win for us these mighty wars

God, Creator, Father mine
Goddess, Mother, by His side
Spirit dwelling in me full
Forgive again my daily sins

God of all that was and is
Goddess of all life to be
Spirit breathing through us all
Wake us from our godly dream

Still Stuck Around That Fire


Such a beautiful cloak!
Woven from threads of
Distant memories and
Ancient tales,
Wrapped close around
Your trembling shoulders
As you watch us dance.
Your stories weather well,
Never shrinking in the rain.
So proud you are!
Spreading them to
Dry in the sun.
Bring them to the fire,
Drop them in the flame.
Dance with us!
The naked, the unashamed,
We too owned cloaks and mail.