A Tradition of a Self-Involved Age

Routine minutiae
recounted for the World's eyes.
Such desperation.

Middle Age

The lush garden of
youth, with its brilliant self-hate
now fades, bit by bit.

Some of You May Have Seen This Already...

Resignation, or Why I Don’t Like Talking about Being Agnostic


I realize once
more that America is
full of proselytes.

Not Sure When I Wrote These

Cormorant perched on
twisted metal preens its black
feathers in the sun.

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Morning fog obscures
outlines of trees until sun’s
bright light penetrates.

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Blue waters rise and
fall with white foam as cranes fly
across graying skies.


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The sound of blue waves,
the sight of free cranes in the
sky – these soothe my heart.

All Written in May

Behind my eyes, hot
tears readily prick, then run,
trailing lines of salt.

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Summer’s confusion:
Rosemary bushes reach for sun,
finding only sky.

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Especially for Ash

Awake or asleep,
cats express disdain too well—
or is it ennui?

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Peace eludes me.
My heart is too heavy for this
wintery summer.

Brown Greens

Brown greens: branches sway
in wind’s gusts, stretching up to
meet Fall’s first hard rain.

Pyracanthus

Birds land onto twigs
dotted with crimson berries
to nest, feast, and fly.

Written about Carving Pumpkins

The seeds of the gourd
run in rows, held in place by
fibrous strands and slime.

Perfect

My feet in warm sand,
wind at the side of my face;
crane drying its wings.

Reading Buson

Badger in the dark--
hearing, did he come to check
on me, I wonder?

9/26/09

These lives we call weeds
carve their flowers and leaves from
rock, from stone landscape.

September

Birds still sing in this,
Summer's brief tether drawn out
in warm, rainy days.

Longford

Faith unobscured by
betrayal or violence--
eyeing only God.

Anodyne

There are no tinctures,
no curatives, for the hurt
heart but Giving Love.

Summer Winter

Though the leaves are green
and birds sing again, the fog's
cold damp seeps in me.

Written Last Month

The setting sun, the
ebbing tide, the newly-cold
wind: Red, white, and blue.

Your Face

So sharp, angular,
reflecting your real insides.
Not your organs: You.

In June

Birds scatter across
the water -- white, grey landing
onto green and blue.

For Segue

Letting go of you...
it is like the skin is ripped
from my empty hands.

The Joys of Depersonalization (AKA “Brain Fog”)

Half a Vault and a
Red Bull later, and I still
can’t think properly.

The Twinkling Glass...

The twinkling glass
invites me until the smell
hits my nose: Danger.

One-Mindfully Baking Yesterday

Old hurts ache. I find
reassurance in the feel
of the sugared dough.

While Walking down the Bridge at Berkeley Aquatic Park

Duck, from up here, I
can still see your grey-green bill
against the water.

Christmastime Baking

I dig my hands deep
into the bowl and feel it:
the dough becoming.

Inspired by Lee's Fight with O'Hara

He descends howling,
landing in perfect revenge,
with his heart still broken.

Yesterday at Shorebird Park

For the first time in
weeks, the sun shows his fiery
face, chasing away clouds.

Shelling Dried Fava Beans in February

Briny smell on my
hands, I am transported to
summer's hot, blue skies.

Part II

Foolish, soft-hearted
one! Love, even in your heart,
is unlimited.

Part I

I fear the love in
my heart is finite. After
all, I'm not a saint.

Outside it's all grey
except the green of the trees
reaching for more rain.

In the winter night's
cold, I lie awake, troubled,
watching the rain drop.

Looking across the Bay

Calm waters reflect
that the tranquility I
seek is deep within.

Sigh.

No matter how much
chocolate I eat today,
I still feel bitter.

Sometimes I Remind Myself of Harry Potter When He First Encountered the Dementors. (PS--This is not a title!)

Memories blare, loud
in their violent sadness,
drowning out all else.

Go Ahead!

Feel responsible
for all of it. Feel frozen
by guilt. Go nowhere.