Tibetans robe dreamt awake*


Last night I dreamt of a brass door.
It keeps playing on the edge of my memory.
Teasing me
Asking me to open it.
But when I look at it it goes away.
All I can do is stare at it
In my mind.
I am powerless.
The orange robe of the
Tibetan monk sits firmly
In my mind.
Standing there in the ancient field
Naked except for the robe.
He stands there by himself

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How to become a poet


I have been remiss this month! It is National Poetry Month and I haven’t even mentioned it. I am going to remedy that right now. Here is wonderful poem that my colleague and I are performing tomorrow night at a poetry reading. It’s called “Reply To The Question: ‘How Can You  Become A Poet.'” Written by Eve Merriam. You can read it in its entirety here.

A poem inspired by an episode of Mad Men


Today I am going to be brave and post a poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It, seriously, was inspired by an episode of Mad Men. Go figure.


I wish I’d known that was the last time.
I would have worn my red dress
And painted my nails
And worn lipstick.
Instead I was wearing my flannel nightshirt
And my hair wasn’t just right.
Our death
Was hidden in the
Tea leaves left behind.
Signs of the future
Camouflaged in the past.
Twisted around in the present.
Around me everywhere.
I was just too blind to see.
I wish I’d know that was the last time.