Poems

Here are a few samples of my published work.

Two poems in the Summer 2017 issue of Illya’s Honey. “Siren Hours” was also selected for publication in the anthology of the 2017 Houston Poetry Fest.

Two poems in the May 2017 issue of Red River Review. “Pendulum” was nominated for a “Best of the Net” award.

Three poems in the Summer 2016 issue of Illya’s Honey.

“Delta Aurigae” was published in the May 2022 issue of Voices de la Luna. 

Delta Aurigae

The moon slow-lifts its sickle
scowl      or smile        above a skiff
of clouds         this tumbling

world. Mass trapped in gravity’s
tandem grasp, this tide pull-pusher.
Maker of blades that glint

across bodies of water. Soon
new moon    no moon.
Your pulse     the chill of darkness.

Stars in their nightclub glory—
glitter    sequin    diamond    rhinestone
moth holes in midnight’s garment

every worn metaphor that fails
the brightest of burnings. You and I,
astrometric binaries orbiting

our absent companions.
Star that grief gave your name,
for how many light years

have your photons flown?
Our universe infinitely
expanding, bodies

moving always away.
The light of Proxima Centauri—
our nearest neighbor—

has wandered more than four years
to find us, longer even
than you’ve been gone.  But tonight,

between Capella    and the tip
of Lynx      I feel you near me,
close as a pinprick.

---

The title poem from  Burning Number Five: Power Plant Poems first appeared in San Pedro River Review (Volume 6 No. 1, Spring 2014).

Burning Number Five

At seventeen degrees, the oil will spill
as slow as cold molasses. Both back tanks
gauge out at eighteen feet. We climb to fill
the donkey boiler, boots on wobbling planks,
then trudge out to the pump house. Down its stairs
stinks thick, black oil, trapped in symmetric sumps.
We bang valves into place, and back upstairs
purge steam lines free of water. Start the pumps.

Inside the furnace, one by one, we slide
each slender metal gun and latch its port.
Two turns of steam, then oil; ignitor’s flare.
We peer through cobalt at the brilliant light.
We’ll need asbestos gloves to take them out.
My breath blows white into the brittle air.

---

The Evening His Master Died first appeared in Di-Verse-City 2014, the anthology of the Austin International Poetry Festival, where it took 2nd Place in the Christina Sergeyevna Awards.

The Evening His Master Died

An erasure on Edward P. Jones’ “The Known World”

Moses, finally freed,
ancient, brittle, closed his eyes,
bent down and took a pinch of soil
and ate it, leaned back,
the strip of sun dark blue
then nothing. He ate it
for some incomprehensible need,
ate it to discover the only thing
that meant almost as much as his own life.

Moses smelled the coming of rain.
He was alone, he stood
and turned away.
He could see the smoke rising
from the world, he could hear
the last bird.
He went to the farthest edge
of the cornfields, he undressed
down to his nakedness and lay down.

He was an old man.
Rheumatism chained up his body.
He lost himself completely and fell asleep
and didn’t come to until morning.
All about his body was mud and leaves
and debris. He had been seized
by a dance, a hard story.
He had been someone’s slave.

---

Punishment Fit For a Queen first appeared in The Fairest Of Them All: An Anthology of Very Short Stories, Essays, and Poems Inspired by Snow White (Daniel & Daniel, 2003). Each of the pieces in this anthology is exactly 99 words long.

Punishment Fit for a Queen

What punishment befits a vain and
wicked queen, cunning and cruel?

She sent her huntsman to bring
Snow White’s lungs and liver.

“It is done, My Queen,” he said,
and she supped, grinning.

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall,
who’s the fairest of them all?

‘Twas still Snow White. The irate queen,
disguised, then poisoned her.

Inside her glass casket, she didn’t rot;
was by happenstance revived

To marry a prince,
who asked the queen to their wedding.

The prince’s workmen fashioned iron shoes,
and heated them cherry red,

Made the queen wear them,
and dance ‘til she was dead