The best thunderstorm of the year!

This morning, I was up at 3am with heavy rain which simultaneously stimulated my need to zombie through the house, closing all of the north-facing windows AND relieve my bladder. Running water will do that to me. Then, once the thunder and lightening hit, the toughest cat of the three begged for snuggles and spent the next hours huddled in my body heat, purring and drooling. I know. It’s not pretty. But it was the best thunderstorm we’ve had in a while (in our parched 7 year drought side of the state) with ear-shattering explosions and laser light shows I mostly dozed at though heavy lids and under feather comforters. Decadent and invigorating.

Now, to be honest, we all know that if I wrote about any of this, about anything, really, solely for the fame and glory I would be catastrophically disappointed by now. Truly, all my neurotic striving serves as my own weird release and attempts at playful wonder especially on those days when I’m taking myself a little too seriously. I share my writing because it wants a home outside of my head. However, when a little bit of recognition comes my way, I can’t help but pass it along, too…and like this morning, when it rained this week, it poured.

My photography and poetry feature in a beautiful anthology which supports an amazing cause: “Cry of the Nightbird: Writers Against Domestic Violence” is a sweet and salty collection that benefits the Sonoma County YWCA’s domestic violence programs. It just came out and you can purchase the book at

I met one of the co-editors, Michelle Wing, at the AROHO conference just over a year ago and she is doing amazing things – including her first book of poetry, “Body on the Wall” which is a bittersweet, victorious, compelling witness of her experiences. Check out her book at and her webpage at

Speaking of AROHO, what an amazing space for women writers! They are accepting applications for next years’ summer retreat, it would be amazing to meet some of you there!

BUT WAIT, that’s not all!

I also learned this weekend that my photography and poetry were going to be featured in an emerging online journal, ty(poe:tic)us, and they JUST CAME OUT!!! Won’t you please take a minute to browse through and let me know what you think of these mostly non-haiku works? You can find the journal in total at   I’m delighted to be published at all, but feel proud to have had so many of my babies end up in one spot, if you like them at all, PLEASE share with others…maybe their homes will be found inside the heads of you or your friends…

Thanks again for all of your support, you quiet but faithful readers, followers, lurkers, and/or incidental visitors. Tune back in again, won’t you?




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Haiku for the week 09/06/14 – 09/19/14

The quiet presence of mind needed to haiku has been elusive lately…my poetry, like my mind, is mostly scattered, drawn to shiny bits in the moment instead of focused and piercing into the new meanings I am hungry for. so, here are these tidbits…souvenirs, if you will, of these lean weeks.

what if we’d stayed here
without all this we expect
and learned to accept

they’re really dead skin
cells, sneeze particulates, dust:
let’s call it glitter

(in this charming morning sun)
and pretend I’m pretty, too

09/08/14 evening’s golden hours

sun’s fall from zenith:
a mildewy ritual
endeepening air

09/10/14 as with most political sagas…

…the frying pan
becomes a dirty dish
feral cats clean

09/11/14 how I saw the destruction on TV thirteen years ago

shattered windows glint
arcing storms through acerbic,
thrashing emptiness

yellowstoned tourists
footstep on the boardwalks
like hallowed heart beats

ticking, tracking, our
typewriter clacked confessions’
pressured geysering

this choice snores, dormant.
how long till ambivalence
lifts, burnt off like fog?

she kept saying things
like how our puppy was a
tangerine, rolled on

tables to loosen
the skin, ready to be peeled,
starting at his neck

ragged wings outstretched
trusting thermal breaths; I catch/
orbit fractal selves

Rashomon’s theorem:
when we protagonize, the
antagonists shift

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Haiku for the week: 08/29/14 – 09-/05/14

Once we walked into September, its sudden portal gave us autumnal mildness we couldn’t quite trust. We wander as if we’d always worn layers, furtively comparing our ruse with our neighbors’ purposeful strides down enleafed sidewalks. The heat bugs (whose sirens drown the crowded cricket chorus) will  give their two weeks’ notice once these freshly polished saturated colors fade with dust and wear.

08/29/14 for a freind who asked if illness was her way to avoid joy:
to cautious, to keep,
to duck joy’s roughhousing ways
to trust ones’ guts’ truths

Snug as wombs we coiled
lapping at each other’s fires,
nestled deep within

this cove of tramped-down
wheat stalks-helixed crop circles
of our own heelings.

You taught me to pluck
fat kernels, kneading warm grains
to bread in our mouths.

crisp apple air spans
aqua-tinted metal skies,
glinting cricket trills

summer’s scatterings
sift gravel road dust over
straw scented leaf drifts

spider silk stitches
your greenery together,
plucked of ripe peaches

as I dug in dirt
for miracles with a stick;
eagle-winged sun rose

dreamt of AROHO;
playful ritual and joy -
my heart brought me home

hunger sucks inward
belly-button to backside
head-clearing focus


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Haiku of the weeks 08/16/14 – 08/28/14

These past two weeks (and their resulting poems) have been full of promise and fear; sort of like a caffeine overdose – jittery exciting and wearisome all at once. Instantaneous furious flurries of anticipation  flushed with hope are hummingbirds that swoop in,lively thrumming, feed and speed away. I’ve been pendulummed between that glitter-eyed giddiness and it’s flip side, the anxious exhaustion of analytic dream-squashing pessimistic realism. I will be doing so until some of these unknowns begin to manifest themselves.

The good news is no knee surgery is required; the bad news is, there’s no fixing it until it’s so bad it needs replaced, and insurance is done with PT for this year so we’ll just have see how much activity I can tolerate. The good news is the offer was accepted on a new house; the bad news is, ours hasn’t yet sold; the good news is we can fix it up; the bad news is we’re tired of staying up late working on it; the good news is the guy can come refinish our hardwood floors this week; the bad news is it’s taking twice as long and we’re homeless in the meanwhile…

Oh, I suppose stability would become irritatingly boring after a while…but I think I’d be willing to give it a try at this point!

caterpillars must
become defensive to first
raise their cocoon walls;

to squeeze rubbered lungs
into tight, glossy segments,
stretch growing-pained limbs;

to shift from plodding
chewing to nectar-licking;
from plant death to sex.

what if I treated my soul like my house plant?

wilted, thirsty leaves
wait patiently for me to
save my captives’ lives

empty window creaks,
plucks my soul, syncopating
my inner clamor

smooth haiku chortles
as it’s smoked thru hookah pipes
shared amongst us all

eyes enfleshed, focus;
we’ll exhale through our pupils,
soften our gazes

our lungs are redwoods;
rootings gnarled towards vast skies
large enough to live

“now” finds us enoughed;
if we could only stay here -
soft, strong, and enlarged

wan skies seep towards earth:
the scent of destiny wafts
like cottonwood fluff

floats upward/away
just how glitter disperses
when we shake the globe

country yard work

snapped twigs twang loam-some
sorted/sordid pasts become
trailering piles

second verse

dumped in a shiny
pickup as skittering sticks
lift like strands of hair

perhaps we were birds
cooing and preening on lines
in between our flights

08/25/14 reprise
what if, like cheetahs,
we had only enough sprints
to eat for today?

husked, heavy-eyed,
hurtled hurried urgency
recedes – fatigued

drippy clouds plastered
to blurred distances came loose;
(unfastening time)

cast their barbed hooks on
boulders we’d hoarded; stacks of
dark, crawdad regrets -

pebbles once skipped
across skybound reflections
from those ancient heights

now ruminated,
they plunk like lost tooth anchors
swallowed, rippleless

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Haiku for the week 08/09/14 – 08/14/14

I have rolled my eyes at myself a lot this week, annoyed with my surliness and irritated with my reluctance to write…to do physical therapy on my much maligned knee…how my internal warfare parallels that in the world, so much unnecessary harm in Isreal-Gaza, in LA and Ferguson, Robin Williams…excuse my funk, but I think it’s warranted…

swaying peaches hum,
radiantly enfleshing
febrile sunsets

gnats in ointment, pea
among mattresses – pathways
to resilience

08/12/14 Upon seeing his long lost daughters
gap mouthed, glassy-eyed:
enamored by his ideas
of us, us as his

jet’s scissoring lines
feather chemtrail delusions,
streaks of certainty

08/14/14 apparently
zithering insects
slash unarmed black youth, either
so easy to kill

It’s been a long week, let’s hope things ease up a bit!

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Haiku for the week 08/01/14 – 08/08/14

Those thick-tongued days of deep summer make silvery strands of insight tough to snag, even on my calloused fingertips. These haiku attempt meditation through immersion in setting:

yellowed cottonwood:
Septemberings reddening
August’s early fall

weedy fur scruff wears
thin on sandy bluffs, wind burnt
whiskers shimmer heat

white yucca buds now
spear black stalks of swollen pods;
these thin nights linger

twitterings thresh the sky,
gristing haiku mills

Other images this week were hauntings from old wounds of mine and old wars among others:

A damaged child’s
chimeraed soul: pain and play
in equal extremes

uneasy; raw with
shallow anticipated
held-breathed awkwardness

who else will if we
won’t tilt that small chin to ours
smiling with wet eyes?

and then here, finally, a reflection them both, nature and pain, and on how the world itself provides some measure of comfort:

dawn’s mystic fingers
skim our murky, chlorophylled
souls, ripening hope

for 08/07/14 (written 08/08/14)
moon’s primal soaring
lights gleaming worry stones in
dark backyard pockets


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Haiku for the week: 07/26/14 – 07/31/14

And a part of me wants to explain that I love living in the prairie, how the sky feels taller there and how the weeds have familiar, childhood names like foxtail and clover. And although it is tedious to drive for hours through it, the horizontal landscape is safe and snug, I tug it up over my shoulder and take a nap.

this hilly land tilts,
dottering down encropped grounds-
layered planes of grains

I also have a need to announce that this family reunion I drove through the Midwest for was so very welcoming and nostalgic and filling and other things that are unnameable though immeasurably pleasant and belongingful…yet it also shifted things within that I had long thought were stacked neatly away. That damn growth…it’s harbingers are discomfort and danger.

for 07/28/14 (written on 07/29/14)
liquid silence bleeds
lungward, surges statickly
into word bubbles

A squinch of perfume,
hairspray, jingling keychains…
you’d leave – ceilings shrank.

how scents swoop in like
bats from the past, flashbacking
inner eyelids dark.

you still haunt me, leave
red nails pincering earflesh…
I waken, wincing

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