holes eleven, twelve, and the start of thirteen

A frosty Arizona morning

sitting in a chair

coffee in hand

facing hole number eleven

the old women and men march down the fairway

the birds chat and watch as

the sun rises slowly over the

burnt red tile roofs

an oddity to a northerner like me

where shingles are King


and the leaves are still now

with no breeze to make them

dance and sway like they did yesterday

reminding me of a flamenco dancer’s dress

at an evening ball

or a sundress running on the beach


and from where I am I can see at least ten different

types of trees each with their own

unique forms and leaves,

bark and story

perpetually hanging out with each other

on holes eleven, twelve, and the

start of thirteen


Gladys missed a thirty footer

and sent it another ten feet away

and as she cursed and stomped toward

her ball I wonder if she ever

notices her tall friends surrounding her

on holes eleven, twelve, and the

start of thirteen


cheering her on and inviting

her to be at peace and

remember many things including

growth is slow

and slow change, trees, and stillness

are beautiful

holes eleven, twelve, and the start of thirteen

757 Down Over ABQ

I have no idea how to be a modern poet.  When I first decided I wanted to put my poetry “out there” (read: into the nebulous sea of the internet), I thought, “I’ll start a blog!”.  And after a few months, I realized, “No one really reads blogs anymore.  (Maybe it’s just poetry blogs… or poetry in general).”


So, I happened to stumble upon a vast poetry community on Instagram (read: accidentally clicked a button that showed me someone who just had poetry as their IG posts… #crushedit #fatfingers).  I then found a vast community of people… who write poetry.  Who read poetry.  A community of people like me who just want to share their art with the world, with whoever else wants to read it.


All that said… I still have no idea what I’m doing.  Hashtags?  Followers?  Pretty pictures + poetry?  Just poetry?  Consistency of posts?  Mixing my personal life + poetry?  *sigh and shrug*


So, here’s one I put in IG that I didn’t put here.  The perfectionist in me is having a panic attack at their not being parity between my social media outlets.  Shove it perfectionist.  Art is happening.


757 Down Over ABQ

snow pond

As I stood by the pond

while the light snow drifted down

around me I leaned my body and

my face against a tree and gazed

and sighed at the

quiet beauty of the trees and

still water and cat tails all

being given a snow-bath of sorts

covered with their winter robes

and I

being the only one in the world

at that moment

to see it

and admire it

snow pond

be swept away today

Be swept away today

in the ever expansive and inclusive love

that is here and now

in the trees

in the wind and

in the grumpy neighbor across the street

Be swept away into love


Be swept away today

into strong and chaotic wildness

that loves in all places and


risks and

wanders with bare feet and a dirty face

Be swept away into wildness


Be swept away today into the wildness of love

be swept away today