Plum Island sojourn

we loved a lot,
fought a little
made up

walked tons
looked at birds
so much my eyes hurt

sat on a boardwalk
at the beach
in front of the weather channel

we ate noodles, fish, rice
we even ate turkey
birds inside & out
washed down with coffee, tea and wine


we talked
birds
birds
birds

I was so excited
had to walk away
take a break
draw a picture
look at my cuticles

we're home and lonesome
town's traffic replaced ocean waves
up at the crack-of-dawn
searching for passerines

Shimmer

I love him
I love him
let us spin together
we circle round
I see your rough edges
cutting my feelings raw
I love you
I love you
now that I've found love
I am told to set it free
why must you be so beautiful
at the threshold of death

Dante, the divine comedy spent

"Hey, I look pretty good"
he turned away
and in his wake I asked
she whispered, "he has cancer"
I rounded the corner
there he stood perusing the olive oils
"She told me," I said.
He cocked his head.
the story rolled off his tongue
rare cancer...
we are in a pocket of rare cancers
"I've got death perched on my shoulder...
I used to do yoga, now I live it!"
I know grief roiled over my face
he lost a moment to great sadness
we stood there, two souls, pondering our
transitory passage on this planet
I snuck into the office and cried
my tears hurt my eyes

how sweet is the beaver

trudged through knee deep snow, opened my portable chair on the edge of a partially ice covered Connecticut river. Binoculars pressed to my eyes I saw what looked like a dog swimming at the river bank. Not a dog, but a big healthy beaver passed and was chewing on a downed tree. He's a shy guy so as soon as I gasped he ducked under the water leaving a bubble trail to watch. Each breath broke the surface with a tiny ripple. I watched the blue sky in a smokey reflection punctuated by beaver's exhale.
the air was crisp, the mood upbeat but somber, the snow giving and deep, the silence broken by bubbles bursting and all of this made me feel so happy.

Rain on me...

Rain and brother consequence



how many words do we have for rain?
I am wordless in the midst of fat drops
that splat onto asphalt and as if-
I have opened a book and slapped it shut-
the drops grow hands and clap.

oh fuck what does it matter-
life comes and goes
we have no control
The void of one exquisite human being-
an essence of life, vitality, personality.
I miss you
miss you.
are we in the Bardo?
way too raw to be heaven-
a heaven of excruciating pain, maybe
my hands clap and thunder rolls

how many words for tears-

Ode to Steve
Robyn

~ Hand~

fingers

index is kind of a leader
saturn is pondering index
ring is in-love permanently
baby, well, will always be baby

thumb can be self centered

index and thumb connect
forming a grid of energy
ego & Jupiter
OMmmmmmmm

Valentines Day

Valentines Day

my daddy adored
mama, his heart died the day
she rejected him
_________________

her hair a red blaze
he was in a daze, listen!
then she said, "I do"
_________________

mama's favorite was
herself, daddy never did
measure up-what's love?
_________________

cut out a photo
of home-pasted on doily
baby loves mama
_________________

Lock her up, lock her
heart shaped red jello, kiss a
fellow: she chain-smoked
_________________

red smoke hung over
my pastel, rubbed the paper
didn't skip a beat

Robyn @ River Gallery School

This was published in the Weekend Reformer of September 23-25, 2006 on the front page above the fold.
Sweet!

Dire Series Poetry Reading in Cambridge,Ma

you see they are my tears

you see they are my tears

on this surface
I see small circles of salt water
on this table
is clutter
scribbles of names
my eyeglass prescription
on this table is a note
about a poetry date
I must keep
hotel reservation in Cambridge
in December
I can't fuck this up
on this table are my broken pills
I grasp them with my swollen fingers
one falls under the bed
christ, four dollar pills
I go after them on bended knee
there is a world under my bed
large gray Kansas dust balls
and books I have promised myself to read
I am on my knees praying I can find the pill
while back on the table a rustling sound commences
my fan catches all grocery receipts
spins them into the dusty air
I am on my knees crying out to christ
while on the table the salty pools crystalize

art work

paintings

Red & Gray #1 Detail

2006 drawing Connecticut River

Detail of nest with lemons

A mark on the page

blank screen inspires
nothingness and everything
filling need- to void