Lady Selene

"We were both looking at the same moon,
I think," she replied.
I'd overheard her in passing
On the Upper West Side.

Where players and poets,
Tune cellos and turn words round,
Where sidewalk cracks snag you,
And dogs, well, enough said.

Maybe that's it.
There are twin moons!
Shining down upon us
their celestial lights.

Might account for…
Conspiracy theories,
And political unreason.

Moreover, might explain…
The Color Wheel,
Hues of hierarchy forever depicting,
the Favored and shading the Forsaken.

Twin Moons!
Silly idea, really.

Of course, merging two moons,
	That's a job for the fair Selene,
		Backing  up the chariot,
			To seamlessly unite the pair.

But, I'm not sure she's prepared,
	Learned the shift pattern,
		Uses the rearview mirror,
			Turns her head around,
Or is interested much,
 In, reversing her course.

dVerse Open Link Night


I am certain Covid broke us.
Slid right in and commandeered
The anterior insular cortex,
Rendering it feckless.

The insidious vapors of virus,
Crept through grey pattern,
like fissures in Britain's fine china, 
weakening vessels.

It challenged stoic cake-baking, 
cheek-pinching Grandmothers 
now weary, brittle like breath,
Mugged and stole delinquent affection.

Their confections and convictions
Dried up, gone to seed.
Their ovens long  gone cold
Like their parting, parched mouths.

It rankled outliers rowdy with
drink, now shooting before sighting,
Shooting mouths,
Shooting hearts, shooting voices.

Explosive, shrapnel-laden fury envelops,
The hand that shoves the traveler,
The hand that slaps the lover.
The hand that pulls the trigger.

What do we lack, for nothing?
Our coffers depleted,
Our mouth's drier still
Without the stale Body of Christ.

Our god. 
Our selves.
Our salvation.

dVerse Open Link Night


evening lavender


If history could teach us anything,
would anyone listen?
it would not, could not possibly,
squelch that itchy, curious impulsivity

To loosen a rusted, crusty lid
releasing Sorrow, Sickness, and War.
assured, the Gifts await
a clever mind’s temptation

As tin soldiers eat cake
and foul-mouthed warriors
breathe and bellow life
into deadened coals

Could History un-travel the paths
leading hordes to Fate’s end?
with promises of Beauty and

They couldn’t hear either

Words, pale and weak, floating,
hovering like gnats around reddened ears,
clotted with grey, overgrown hair,
Righteous, ripe in Ignorance

Would History unravel, uncoil,
unspoil vines wound about
berries sweetly fragrant
alive for this moment?

What cynic believes a peek
into the clairvoyant vortex wouldn’t,
couldn’t prevent unimaginable

Even with the tender release of
Hope, wafting sweetly, swaying
in a lavender mist,
did History fail its reward?

For you and I
curious, alive,
unrelenting in our passions,
became our past

After all.

Birds of a Feather

They returned today
Slinking in their new skins,
Dancing a mating ritual.

Confident, proud
Batting an alluring eye,
Gushing and puffing
Adventures near and far

As if tales and tokens
Could mask their uncertainty,
As if cool could hide hopes
of higher ranking

A pecking order of
Verbal highbrow banter,
Rainbowed lip gloss,
And slouched shoulders

A collection of humanity
Babes to golden agers,
Vying for prominence
Or to remain shadowed

Quick to dismiss deviation
As an unspoken definition of

The collective unique.

The Weight of Water

This was in response to the boys who watched a man drown, while ridiculing him


“Your deeds are your monuments” – inscription on Egyptian tomb

In a flicker,
Across the boundaries of time,
I read in granite
“Your deeds are your monuments.”

Throughout this life and the next,
Carry your monument
Of inaction and ridicule,
Feel its density.

Feel its weight,
Like the weight of water,

Pulling a man below
The surface of your conscience.


Sugar, Salt & Dead Fish

Steamy, hot, and thickly humid,
The ocean dispatched its savory scent
To lure us forward.
Uncertainly, we followed.

Setting out an unfamiliar quartet,
Of mismatched notes and bellows,
As unharmonious as
Rusted steel against glass.

Lugging beach chairs,
Umbrellas, and discontent
That he who binds us
Chose not to accompany us.

we trudged against the burning sand,
As well as each other,
Selecting a “spot.”

With pinching, sandy shorts, salted lips,
And exclamations of misery,
Suddenly, it came to me
In the form of a dried, crusty crab.

“I’m building a castle,” I announced.
My three charges looked apprehensively,
One to the other,
Before searching, excitedly for adornments.

Each scrambled,
Scouring the beach near and far,
To contribute to the Masterpiece
Symbolizing a truce, a unity.

Ours was never meant to be calm,
Too much sugar, salt, and dead fish
To create a smoothie, yet
Stormy- we settled for a stormy union.

Made of gale winds,
Fluctuating temperatures,
Carping and fluking,
Tart as lemons.

Its beginning a crusty ole crab,
Encased in sand,
Decisively placed atop the magnificent,
King Crab Castle.

Sugar Ants

Resisting the parting adieu,
My fingertips drift
Tracing the slightest impulses
Of your skin
Warm, alive, and crackling.

I breathe in your scent,
Rich, earthy, and clean
Willing it imprints to
Memory upon my DNA,
To call up again and again.

Your nearness never fails
To tenderly soothe,
Your breath ghosts my neck
Heals and arouses,
The far reaches of my soul.

You reach, brush against,
My neck squinches in,
Resists, allows, resists,
An exquisite rush like
Dancing sugar ants to a prize.

My entire being, knows,
Silently shouting,
Heart hesitating,
Its’ rhythm disturbed,
Beating half pulses,

You must swim up
From the fragrant sweetness,
Before surrendering to
The careless pre-dawn slivers
through the blinds.


Worn leather soles grip
Balanced on a tightrope,
Like famished talons stronghold,
Between Intuition and Trust.

Visceral pangs and twinges
Echo in a canyon,
Reverberating, ignored,

Concede a hope in humanity,
Relegating trust
To the carnivorous,
Masked, charming menace.

Yet, can it be
Decried betrayal when,
Willingly one ragged foot
Assuredly steps forward,

Well beyond certainty.

A Farewell

Farewell, my Faina
Your delicate presence,
Brief, slight appearance,
Dissipates as dandelion puffs.

Farewell to my
Chantilly lace bride,
Joyous twinkling eyes,
A hope born of Faith.

Farewell to Russian spyskies,
And the shake-shake-shake,
Potato peelers and holidays,
Alight from warmth within.

Farewell to men of gingerbread,
Where will they live now?
Or will they lie,
Unshapen, lifeless in the bowl.

Farewell to an adventure,
A girl’s junket,
Stringing beads,
Rolling pins and pies.

Farewell sweet nesting,
Downton Abbey marathons,
Reading, bundled,
Into unconsciousness.

Farewell my unborn babe,
Tendrils of you and mine,
A countenance divine,
Held for another hour.

Farewell to a hummingbird’s
Whisper of laughter and lightness,
No uncertainty and hesitation,
Now decisive with direction.

Farewell book well read,
Book well worn,
Book well loved.
Last page, The End.

Farewell my Snow Princess,
In search of Forsythia,
Who must,
Crack a new binding,