Category Archives: Poetry

Kicking and Screaming

That’s the scariest part

the start

not knowing where you’re going

not knowing where you’ve been

only knowing you are into something bigger than you’ve ever seen

babies come into this world crying

but who knows how you’ll go out

I hope giggling

and isn’t that the advantage of death over life-

we can always choose death

but, does a newborn choose life?

Aren’t we just due to be born one day?

And when you die-

at least you can draw from some memories-

you had to know it was coming eventually

even if death caught you by surprise

imagine the surprise a baby feels opening her eyes to this world for the first time

dying is easy

comedy is hard.

How a Two Year Old Sees Death (Why Some People Don’t Wear Masks)

I lost 45 pounds this year

attacking myself

beating myself up

running till the verge of heart attack

I throw myself at dangerous situations like a two year old

throws himself at death

leaping from the banister trusting someone will be there to catch me

I get death is out there


not yet

not for me

death is someone else’s problem when you’re two

I haven’t lost that optimism

I’ve just lost that innocence

I should know better

after gaining 45 years

and 45 pounds

now I know where gravity goes

so momentum is ultimately against me

but still in this still science

I resign myself

to gravity

knowing enough not to fight it

but go with it-

we don’t intentionally hitch hike in the wrong direction

do we?

That Split Second Before We Open Our Eyes

And then again when the membrane between us and them

is as thin as skin when you and me become we

that split second before we choose to be

or choose not to be waking to reality

where we are free to dream

till we see the gleam

and we open our eyes

is simply training for when we are free not to be

and eventually the light at the end of this tunnel will be a train

taking us to this afterlife’s refrain


when we cash in that capital gain

we’ll stop referring to this domain as our “afterlife”

just life

What To Do When Your Left Hand Betrays You

Music lets us travel
I’m listening to a song that was on the radio when I was eight
and I’m eight again
with all the innocence and ignorance
reading the Bible before bed
and reading if your left hand betrays you you should cut it off
and I sat up all night shivering knowing
my left hand had dropped an easy fly ball to right
and lying there deep in the night
knowing I was disappointing God
I got up and walked down to the kitchen to get a knife
big enough to hack off my left hand
and I pressed it to my wrist
but the bone got in the way
and I thought how painful it would be
to cut my hand off
and tears came to my eyes realizing
I was not a child of God
till thirty-six years later I see
I was
I just didn’t get metaphor

I Blinded Me With Science

When I’m stuck staring at a screen with an impatient cursor waiting to be moved
the first word to flash through my mood is always:
Is this because I see so many metaphors, conspiracies, victories and tragedies
in the chemistries within its creed?
How many elegies could be written in what killed Marie Curie?
Is my mind so finite
that ‘science’ has become my brain’s homepage?
Is this because
I suck at science?

Is this how nuclear meltdowns occur?
We build a zoo to view the monster
and we sell tickets till the walls don’t fool the monster any more

If You Suffer Nilophobia You Suffer Nothing

No one gets to nothing without something
we don’t come from nothing we come from something
don’t you get that?
How can nothing create something?
Sure, nothing can create more fear in the minds of parents who haven’t heard from their two year old in two minutes, two hours, two days
but the kid came from the parents just like the fear came from the disappearance of the kid
no kid
no fear
you can’t create a phobia without at least naming it
which can be the fear of nothing
but even nothing when named is something
so why fear
Nothing is never nothing.

February 23,1999: The Day Time Forgot

We forget more than we ever remember
born in February only to die in December
memories I mean.
Is it for our benefit so many memories trip and tumble down the tunnel to the pit
of the black hole
to hit a land of quicksand so dark not even the blind can find their way.
Why can’t I remember my birth, my first birthday, my first tooth, my first piece of cake? My first tooth decay?
Are all these things too traumatic for me to take?
I can imagine them, why can’t I enshrine them to memory?
Is it like how twenty years ago today didn’t come to be
at least not for me
February 23,1999 never happened to me
I flew from Toronto to Bangkok, Thailand February 22,1999
landing twenty-seven hours later to discover
it was February 24,1999
so this is the twentieth anniversary of a day that was never mine
I’m sure if I could crawl into the fold of that wrinkle of time I would find everything I have ever seen
I am sure if I could have photos of that day they would all
be of everything I have ever forgotten I have ever been

Thursday’s Child Has Far to Go

Thursday’s girl will only unfurl in future tense

she will only see and say tomorrow never today

she will only think and speak

her words especially her verbs after

‘I will’ and ‘I’m going to’

she will never talk about today’s weather

or yesterday’s rain

turning today’s torrential downpours into tomorrow’s gain

and even if thousands have died

and only God should be tried

she believes tomorrow

will be free of sorrow

some see her as a prophet

and others call her an idiot

we will only know who she is in the time we’ve yet to borrow


Why We’re Afraid to Pray

My favorite part of the writing process is the first draft.
Like traveling for me- hitchhiking is more exciting than the destination.
Even dead end signs are new beginnings when you hop the sign.
But I just googled: Big Bang Theory
and the first thing up was the sitcom.
We are more interested in what to watch than why we are here.
We are all limited by infinity when we calculate there are as many prime numbers as there are stars in a human body.
The stars are all abstract till you see the constellations
then they become pointillist.
Do you look up at the stars or do they look up at you?