when I touched you
the resonance returned
A hammerless chime
thrumming in my ears
The stamping of great beasts
rumbling up through my bones
An impending wave crash
building without release

I forgot my breath
I lost my mind
and only existed
as sound in my heart

Deepest in me
is your resonance
a connection
a grace

I felt you as more
than soft words can voice


I Wish

In the beginning, there was the word,
the word was wholly inadequate.
It’s as if the word is only
the impetus for creation
a spark
without its own combustables

So then
Actions must be the consequent
to the antecedent
of the word.
In love, the word heard
can be compelling
but the action of feeling…
There is something transformative
in the physical touch
and movement
the connection

the connection
is the pinnacle of existence
transcending creation
action complete
it lay suspended
in its own space

I wish
in that fertile space
the barriers of skin
would disappear
leaving emotion exposed
connection complete
shared truly
for the first time
as one

So maybe there’s hope

I’m not talking about Trump so don’t get excited. Or depressed. I’ve been really struggling with work, home projects, my sexuality, money, all that big shit that can be triggers on their own. Here’s a quick summary for those not close to me or those out of the loop. 

I’ve renewed my teaching credential and am seriously considering going back to that field. It’s a solid choice because I know I can do it, I know what the challenges are, and that I’m good at it. It’s a difficult choice because there is a 99% chance that I’ll have to move. I LOVE my home, I’ve an adopted daughter here, and friends, and it’s the most beautiful place I’ve lived. It also requires that I face the music again, which I haven’t done since my voice teacher killed himself and I said fuckitImdone to my opera career. So there’s that. 

I’ve been trying to tackle a huge home improvement project all by my lonesome. Floors, paint, appliances, trim. Many of these things I’ve never done before. I’ve made solid progress over the last 7 months (7 fucking months…), but I still have many full days of work ahead. I don’t feel like I can put energy into possibly teaching until I have my home done. I’m trying to see the light at the end of the tunnel but then there is:

Work… yeahhhhhhhhhh. Too many hours and too many stresses that bleed into the rest of my life. Original, no? 

As for my sexuality, I’ve finally met a guy that is kind and fun. He seems pretty in to me. Perfect timing if I’m going to leave the area. Good grief. So now that I’ve had a tiny bit of experience with that, it’s awoken a side of me that I find, frankly, frightening. I’ve been talking about acknowledging the gay/bi/whateverthefuck side of me for a while now and the reality is so much more vivid than the mental exercise. I’m now crossing bridges I had only imagined before, and can see new ones in the distance. Ones like, “Hey Mom, meet my boyfriend.”  Holy fucking shit. Others are sexual and I’m just not going there here, yet. But I will say that there is a power and a longing for the male sexuality that is so compelling. Again, frightening. So much processing to do with that. 

I’m actually hoping I didn’t fuck it up with him because of the shit mood I was in this weekend. I can totally see myself doing that. 

Which brings me back to why I’m writing tonight. There might actually be hope for me. I’ve been looking for many years for a good resource to help me as an empath with absolutely no luck. I’ve gone to my spiritual teachers, the internet (the internet doesn’t have all the answers?!?!), books, etc, and I’ve had minimal luck. A tidbit here and a morsel there. It’s so disheartening. Some things that work have side affects that I loathe. It’s basically like anti depressants that are also anti boner. Fuck. That. Shit. So tonight on a whim I renewed my search for empath resources and found a book that actually excites me. The bits I’ve read so far are honest and resonate with me. The author gets it. So maybe there IS hope for me and I can live a life that isn’t so goddamned lonely. Trees are lovely beings and all,  but I so want a community and family and to not feel like I have to be a recluse all of the time so I CAN spend time with others. I don’t think for a second that this book will be a miracle book and fix all my shit and teach me to be super empath. I’ve been around long enough to not believe that. But I feel hopeful. And that feeling is refreshing. It’s been so long since I have felt it.

And a quick shout out to my dear friend, Cindy, who doesn’t really like poetry but reads my poems anyways. That’s some serious love. This one’s for you. #notapoem

Kissing the Plane

for Jesse:

Kissing the plane
are corvids and cetaceans
of this barrier between worlds

In violence
clouds spin apart into an unkindness
Beating wings drive wind whipped waves
And an uprising
tearing the surface apart
falls back through
sinking without fear
to the darkest depths below
with a limitless grace
and unfettered

From this place
this absolute stillness
breathes the first moments of song
full of longing
stretching out to reach you

Beyond the plane
it becomes a call
unsettling in its directness
cutting to the core
driving one to seek

Kiss the plane
do not be afraid
to submerge
and to float above
in your journey
you’ll cross it countless times

Kiss the plane
wrap your arms around it
take a deep breath
and listen

Take a deep breath, Black Feather


When first I moved into my home
the land was inhabited
by Angels and cougar
Last winter the cougar died
I found her not 50 yards from my door
Now the Angels only come when I ask

It has changed
the way the land feels
Even the wind
is less blessed by pines

Left in absence
are all of my demons
Making themselves comfortable
in my living room

they do listen to me
They comiserate
Offer advice
It’s like the self help section of hell
Thankfully I have an ottoman

The truth is
I have changed
and now
I invite my demons in
to share tea
with me
my loves
and my Angels
all in circle

What rhymes with shit?

What rhymes with shit?

I’m a bit bit
perplexed and hit
with a dit dot
correcting all of my wit
showing my words
not fit to print
printing them anyway
because fuckit.

A misfit outfit
I’m a part of
crushin all free thought
hour and hour and hour
and here I sit
in this
brick red chair
having to care about nots
and nitwits
and dim fuckers
obsessed with tits
but not heart
or love
or compassion.

make some money
the comfort is worth the pain.
or is it?

me to flirt with
an idea
a charge
a passion
an imit-ation
of artist struggles
to posit this:

Comfort breeds contentment
Contentment stifles growth

Might as well just let go.
End it.
Do the honorable thing.

And cease to edit
allow the flow
to free fall
in and out
and in and out
and in and out
of solvency
scaling the summit
of what’s possible
without a mortgage
or a safety net

So I ask you again:
What rhymes with shit?
Because I need a sound
that sounds like this.

Once again

I feel stuck
possibly for good reasons

But I miss the fire
that fueled my poems
angst ridden or tumultuous emotions
allowed fevered composing
and words volunteered themselves
excitedly expressing
that make me proud to say
I wrote that

I want to write more
I’ve many poems started
but there is no flow
no driving concept
no story to tell
and they languish

So for now I write this
my longing to find
to create written moments
that inspire pride
once again

I Promise

It’s okay
Everything will be okay
I promise

The most comforting words
of compassion
and kindness
the most important words
and the biggest lie
I have ever proffered

It’s okay
Everything will be okay
I promise

I promise

believe me

Turn it up

Trying to write depressing poems
I should probably turn off
the inspirational music
playing in the background
Filling my body with hope
the corners of my mouth
twitch upwards
Dedication be fucked
as fucked as me
I’ll turn it up