blank page

white screen,
blinking cursor.

white dotted line,
hovering pen.

one letter after the other,
one syllable follows another,
rhyming isn’t my rhythm
I tend to clap on the off-beat
I prefer the feat of clever rhyming,
clapping in-between the beat.

it’s unexpected,
tripping up the stairs,
like tripping over your own words,
but you reorganize your sentences,
you put your pen to paper,
your fingers to the keyboard,
you pick yourself back up again

one letter after the other.


shushing snow

shushing snow flutters through the aspens,
tiny as pinpricks,
light as feathers of blue jays,
thick as a cloud of mist
heavy as a boulder on the mountaintop

white as the ivory keys on the klavier
white as the incisor in the dirt,
covering the earth like a wooly blanket,
stark against the darkness coming on,
the darkness rolling through the blue-black sky
like a horse-drawn chariot


german to english translation
klavier: piano

Leben Blut (Life Blood)

Little stream,
so small,
so swollen with Gatorade-blue liquid
full to the brim of the bank
with fresh life blood.

you give us life
in clear cold droplets
of your blood

Little stream,
you are life blood for the scrawny brown doe,
life blood for the woman
and her tiny child only knee-high
with a ribbon of blue in her dark hair.

you are
life blood for the thirsty pine and birch trees
for the tawny birds, fluttering their wings in your cool bath

you are
richer than gold’s coveted glint,
more precious than any blood diamond
more coveted than the green dollar bills in my wallet.

Wasser fur alle:
this is my hope
flickering like a candle
in a gusting autumnal wind.


photo credit: shutterstock images


leben blut: life blood
wasser: water
wasser fur alle: water for all

Note: I’m trying my hand at using what German I’m learning from songs in poems. Let me know if my German words are incorrect! (I used the power of Google to write out my German phrases.)

Writer’s Blood

No ink on my body
but ink’s in my blood
the smudge on my left hand
is a badge
a tat of ink creased into my skin
a sign of the writer’s blood within me.


tiny trees flutter in the wind

tiny trees flutter in the wind
bending with the blow of the wind
stretching their creaky limbs
with the older trees

tiny trees look up to the large pines
tiny trees admire their strong branches
“you’ll get there,” sing the pines on the wind’s song
“grow, my children,”
chirp the robins, the orioles, and the grosbeaks
“we’ll roost in you one day soon.”