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Monday, October 19, 2015


Ariel Cannot Find you
Image from Archaeology and History of Medieval Sherwood Forest

I cannot find you
Cannot unearth you from the press of past days
I looked for your color, your unfamiliarity –
For truth be told, you slipped past me without seeing
And slid sown that slide of sand;
I fear you buried, hidden as photos are
without light and hands.

April 14, 2015

Sunday, October 11, 2015

Why: an early poem


When my world falls apart,
          and the world’s full of lies;
          why are you at my door?
When I don’t know who I am
          or if I’m fit to live;
          why do I find you here?
When I held a razor to your throat,
          and cried to the dark of the moon;
          why did you stay?

August 1991

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Bldg 3 Rm 116

This is this year's Valentine's Day poem. And a Waiting Room poem.
Arrin & I met while cast of "Annie Get Your Gun" - he was Wild Bill. I was an Indian Snake Dancer, Joshua played one of Annie's brothers, Tavis made his debut as one of the "indian" children. At that time Chemeketa did not have a theater per se; we used "found areas", in this case ...

Bldg 3, Rm 116
*denotes lyrics to “No Business Like Show Business”,
Annie Get You Gun

As I stand here
where our story began
Can you be with me?
Here in this room
where our story began?
Even the carpet looks the same.
I like to think you are here right now,
I like to think that I can feel you here.

It was a good beginning

*“There’s no business like show business
No business I know;
Everything about it is appealing
Everything the traffic will allow
No where will you get that happy feeling
Then when you’re stealing
That extra bow”

Here was where written lines where given life
where music was given voice.
Here was where wood was hammered
& painted to become a stage.
Here is where we hung lights
and rehearsed
and choreographed
and took places in the spotlight.
Here was where there was an Annie
and a Wild Bill & a Buffalo
and a snake dancer.
Here there was you
and I
and our children.
Here there was flirtation in the beginning
& a family at the close.

It was a good beginning.

*There’s no people like show people
They smile when they are down
Even with that turkey
That you know will fold …
You may be stranded
Out in the cold.
Still you wouldn’t change it
For a sack of gold …

Let’s go on with the show …”

And now it is 22 years later And I
no longer know my lines, my role changed.
It’s is late and I’m visiting the room that started us

This carpet looks the same, blue with hints of orange –
(did they not even change the pattern?);
the deep blue seats with fold down writing trays,
no outward sign of aging.
The low steps we danced on,
the ceiling with the framework.
Curtains now hang down
framing a movie screen.
The walls are no longer temporary;
they have become permanent.

It was a good beginning.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and you
still remain my valentine – I am alone.
Though I like to think you are here,
here in this room with me right now.
I could be deceiving myself. But I like to think
I can feel right now, here with me.
I don’t know what to do about our son –
your son. He doesn’t want me. …
Our sons and their alienation –
things are de-evolving on me;
I can’t script us back together again,
can’t choreograph the steps to take.

But here?
Here was a good beginning.

Let’s go
on with the show.

Feb 13, 2013

Drive Home

Drive Home

Today, I was driving home to you.
Today, evening commute on the highway,
winter’s sun already darkening a sunset
a deepening rose over our town
I was driving home to you
as I did two years ago,
I was already anticipating our conversation,
how I would tell you of my day,
of the morning staff meeting and Deb’s leaving
and the afternoon’ doctor appointment
and how I hate change
And of how my car needs a brake job
& your car needs its winter tires.
I knew the words you would say
as you finished the last preparations of dinner.
You said them two years ago
or something similar.
I could smell you in the new van.
My hand felt how yours would curve
around it, your thumb a brush across the palm.
And then, two miles out of Keizer, I remembered.

Two years ago, I came home to you.
But not since.

Nov 26, 2012



Put flesh on these bones;
Give me back my tongue, my voice.
Stop demanding silence and the end to tears.
I used to think there could be no pain as sharp
As losing a child,
Not having a child,
Letting go a child -
‘tis true.

Letting go of one and holding the other
So both are not lost.
How can I not blame myself,
Cannot blame naivety ?
I knew what broken was.
I thought of how wolves take in young,
Give them the warmth of fur and milk -
What did I know?

I thought you flesh of my flesh.
I treated you as flesh of my flesh.
I thought of you as flesh of my flesh
‘Tis true
And now I must save flesh of my flesh from you
I blame myself
There was something as a young mother I missed
Some golden key you thought silver or bronze.
You were only nine; I thought still mutable,
Still able to learn, to be given the deficit;
Your mother was wrong, I thought I knew better.
I thought I could save you – I knew how it felt -
a shadow of a boy wanting to be a Pan.
Perhaps someone better could have;
Perhaps someone not living as a shadow themself.

I never had the right thread.

I used to think there could be no pain as sharp
As losing a child,
Not having a child,
Letting go a child.
‘Tis true.
Even alive, I still lost you.
“Flesh of my flesh”,
You’ve cut me deep to the bone.

Nov 25, 2012


I’ve never been one to believe in fairy tales,
to be honest. More the SciFi nerd.
You see, I’m more the kind to kill ants
in the kitchen, if they can be spotted.
Reaching out with a fingertip
And crushing.
Not wait until they find the food;
Once you let one in, the whole lot move in.
And then where would you be.
Where's the ants,
when you need a distraction?
Nov 19, 2012


and yet another poem for Arrin's son ...


I don’t keep a candle
            in the window for you anymore.
I snuffed them & in fact
            keep the window dark 

So I can see out it
            scan the perimeter
in case you start a sortie
            an incursion.

I won’t be caught unprepared
            this time;
you have taken the mask off
            too many times for me to forget;
Your smile is a mask you wear
            misleading, disarming. Dangerous
as holding a hand
            right above a flame;
flesh gets burnt, gets scarred
            at any close proximity. 

What was harder was snuffing out
            my heart and bias for you,
reminding myself true family is
            a way people treat each other;
Love is an active verb
            and burns truer than any words.

So for you – my heart is covered.
            you have taught that to me –
your proxy mother that scattered
            candles throughout our home,
the one who kept a room for you
            no matter how far or long you roamed -
but then, I did not realize
            you’ll bring the violence home.
I didn’t realize you burned with it,
            that it lived beneath the mask. 


Nov 5, 2012