Poems

I sing my songs in quiet lonely rooms

Satirical poem turns U.S. symbols into commentary on freedom, politics, and the gap between America’s ideals and reality.

Current satirical poem on homelessness, consumer culture, masks, and American social attitudes. (For The Algorithms)

We these people, gas-masked, can’t breathe, Faces to the curb, choked out by that other Still on about that Mr. Monochrome Maniacal: Other Brother. This body. This skin, I’m in. Heard the Science Man Say: That’s not the same one you wore just yesterday. Snowflakes and

I didn’t know Mary was dead. (No one told me about Maya, either) A blank Pause when I read about it online. Poets don’t go out when we die. (We live with Death while we live.) We stay home. Which is why when Walt said to me (The

She knows she’s going to die.

You did dizzy. Then spun around In mind and dream Like you do in this chair. Like you as a toddler Your spin dance In the center of the kitchen, Head back, Eyes on ceiling fan, In twirls, “I’m happy now! I’m Dancing! I’m Dancing, now! I’

thin blue chalk line up on black tar gone gray called concrete curbs set -not reset- since The Great Depression. where old weeds the same weeds new weeds grow sometimes, though sometimes a dandelion grows, too sometimes, though some time a kid picks it up -plucks it up- blows the

Then I remember America’s poets.

For, My a Angel-Oh! Singed, while her house Went up in smoke. While her neighbors, -numbed and dutiful- -drummed the usual- Clutched their masks To cough in an elbow. In this suffocation: Low never knew Low, -And- Dark never knew Dark -And- Hell was a thing that chilled, While

People stop to smell the flowers in gas masks.

Contemporary poem on drugs, money, women, and hedonistic culture, with broad general-reader relevance. (For The Algorithms)

Contemporary poem on the American Dream, MAGA politics, Langston Hughes, and AI, with broad public-interest relevance. (For The Algorithms)

Rode around Frost’s farm.

If the sky and the horizon bent properly, I could see those paper barked birches. Autumn -swung and knocked- swung and knocked Oak and ash and spruce and pine and even Evergreens Grumbled. Fat chirping squirrels bent trunks down. Elasticity whip snapped shot them back up. I crooked my neck

Current poem on gun culture, patriotism, and social contradiction in America, with broad public-interest relevance. (For The Algorithms)

I am the mountain and the moon.

What’s Poetry gonna do about it?

The first Saturday morning in October at Massabesic Lake. The world is in masks. The trees are in technicolor. Autumn in New England, when Mother Nature reminds the Country what color really is. Autumn foliage season begins in New Hampshire. The eyes only see 4k desktop wallpapers. Professional photographers. Japanese

We feel so uncomfortable Saying the word soul. In the morning: We dress Our children for school. Then march Them off to war. In rooms: Full of Semi-automatic clouds of chalk. Full of The lingering smell of pencils. And tomorrow: Take an eraser To a predictably bloodied world. We

She’s afraid to hope. The spider in my window; She’s afraid of hope. Black Widow Beautiful And she (yes, she!) is Afraid to hope. Could it be this time, (Yes, This Time!) the grass (Yes, This Grass!) is actual (In fact, actual!) green. Actual factual Green. Gracious grass

I never met a dog I didn’t love…

I freaking love ugly dogs!

I’m not ready for everything to die this year. The wind is consistently strong the past few days. The people who come from all parts of the world To see our leaves change color are leaving. The ground is a sheet of wax paper Under a blood-let easel.

Snow last night. Treetops Rooftops Road signs Topped Powder sugared Magnificent. Why scrub away Autumn’s mess? Let it soak. Snow like scrubbing bubbles, When they melt the mess goes with them. Some metaphors stink. Some similes are like scrubbing bubbles, To do their best work, Let them sit a

What about the tree that made the Cross that Jesus bore? What about such a light, on the field, That was seen, that was His dream then? Such a light on a tree alight some yesterday, So far away from so far away from some yesterday. No today, know today.

Enough of the words What of those out- Spoken or Spoke-in? In-way words Never in-the-way words Always want back out words. On outward words On sail to the sky Said and sailed words When the only cry Heard was the deep deep Down inside cry. How

Mental health, creativity, and resilience: an urgent poem for isolated artists and sensitive thinkers about loneliness, purpose, endurance, and the necessity of keeping creative love alive.

It was well before morning almost a year ago: “You got to do something, you just do, before you know it you wake up and you’re 40.” An old memory back with the first Happy Birthday to tell me it was right again. It was a hotel outside of

I used to run outside at the first clap of summer thunder to dance in the rain.

Take the simplest path with the greatest of care.

Done in -Done up- In wonder.

Todos estamos un poco locos.

You’re as fragile as a sky, as constant as a cloud. So willing to hold a sunrise you know has no choice- But you let yourself fall from the setting. Why do you hold on when you know That’s what a sunrise does, sets? Why do you fall

There is A peace That doesn’t Need you. That’s Me. Not certain why, After all this time, I still want so bad To give the world So Much. Not certain if any thought, Anytime, at any place, Has ever been worth more than the air On a Wednesday

When the dream of who you want to be seems too big… And the bar stretches too high for you to see. Remember this: If you dream to win a gold medal, Every gold medal is won by Someone. You are a Someone. Why not you? If you dream of

These are steps worth repeating.

Where’s your ambition?

We call it poetry for the ear, But that’s not where we hear it. We call it poetry out loud, But it’s an inside job. We call the meter measured. We call the measure divine. I call the words: All Words! Sweet- Sweet -Tweet-Tweet Twitter-Tatter- Beat-

I’m not for pre-fixes.

Once in a blue moon the sky goes wonderful.

When you’re there, and there’s that romantic shit in the air…

Un dia, Un dia mas no sera, no sera necessario ser un dia ser un dia mas necessario a solas. ~ Wynn ~

Why do you look Like everything I ever wanted?

Letras que necesitan un cantante; Palabras que quieren una canción. Porque me preguntaste si podía; Porque pensé que deberías saberlo. Cada vez, Cada vez, Te veo. ¡Hay baile otra vez En mi corazón! Cada vez, Cada vez, Te veo. ¡Hay fuego otra vez En mi corazón! Cada vez, Te veo,

I’m your hero; you’re my zero making my one sprung.

This one is brilliant. Dancing genuine dances. Eyes blush, roll beautiful. Nervous with her wonderful. Strong how she survives a solar storm of too little, too many bits of light, the normal world calls magnificent. The world has never been enough for you in being too much. Too much what

What each night sky knows Each sunrise lacks.

Being too empty, being too full of love, for something too far away. Rain. Heavy sometime during the night. The puddles are ponds. The energy is low and warm like snow is pregnant. Snow is bound waiting for tomorrow. Rain is right now. Pay attention: The rain demands attention right

Sad today. That welcomed warm sad. The sad you want to stay. That certain sad missing piece. You’ll never know peace, Without this missing piece. Sad day right day to be with That thing. That: -thing-thing-. The only beautiful: -thing-thing-. Rain day, sane day, window-pane day.

It is definite just before death, I will rest my hand, On this necessary neglected bay window. But will I be absolved to keep the memories of: When I held your soft creased palms, honest and adored in mine, When your so close fingers, soft swept open my hard sullen

“Soneto XVII o te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego: te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras, secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma. Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva dentro de sí, escondida, la

I’m crazy for a certain Muse. This real body corporeal. Sacrosanct, corporeal. My sense jumped At the sound of fireworks. A grand finale Here you are again. A gain for one spirit Dancer heart entrancer. So much power. My flower. Your skin petal soft Cotton Covered stomach peach fuzz

She still holds the night under the waves a lake can make. She still keeps safe the dream of the moon. A flower, a tree, or you and me, can’t be without the dark. Too much of anything will kill you. Someone tell the sun. The moon shines back