Poetry

I was raised a preacher’s kid. I remember sitting in the front pew as a young girl, listening to my father give eulogies at funerals. His sermons told the stories of all kinds of people—their hopes, dreams and accomplishments. They filled me with a sense of completion, and even joy. I suppose my poems are mini eulogies for people who have touched me—both living and dead. For me, writing poems is cathartic. It allows me to create a work of art out of something that may have been painful or hard to understand at the time. Poetry gives meaning to the inscrutable.


Coffee Cafe Customer: The College Coed

The afternoon sunlight highlights her brunette hair cascading over her brow and falling over one shoulder She absently pulls her fingers through the tangled strands as she frowns at the physics textbook before her The figures spin and intertwine like the knots in her...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Middle Aged Mother

She sits in the back corner of the cafe Like a well-worn fifth edition Of the Betty Crocker Cookbook Greasy paged, notes scribbled in the margins Open to the recipe for tater-tot casserole And how to stretch hamburger To feed a hungry family Only now the children are...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Quilter

I wrote this poem after reconnecting with a friend over Easter vacation.  I have been struggling to write a poem about her for years...it finally flowed. Coffee Cafe Customers:  The Quilter My old friend sits at the table like a lump of dough. The discontent rises...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Jock

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Jock His athletic build bursts from the confines of his fragile cafe chair Like the bulging, cloth-bound collection Of models in twisting poses Drawn by Leonardo Swift pen marks capture The essence of movement His legs protrude From satin...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Hippie

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Hippie He stands erect with a white wizard beard and long snowy hair neatly pulled back in a band. He is wearing a crisp linen shirt and creased khaki pants and burnished cowboy boots. He looks like a leather-bound collector's edition of Rip...

read more

Bad Brayson

Herding Cats!  That's what subbing for Kindergarten is like. And today there was one boy who refused to do a single worksheet.  He just sat there and stuck all his crayons between his fingers. When I asked him to start working, he calmly ripped his worksheet in half....

read more

Columbine Nursery Rhyme

Columbine Nursery Rhyme Oh, Johnny brought a gun to school His teacher cried, “You are a fool! I also have a gun,” she said And shot dear Johnny in the head. Then little kids cried out with glee “We love a school-wide shooting spree! There's really nothing now to fear...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Barista

This poem I shared at last month's Open Mic Night at Dagney's.  If you enjoy hearing poetry from all ages, and all walks of life, I invite you to come out next First Friday at 6:00 pm at the downtown Dagney's ( Eye and 19th I believe).  The casual event lasts about an...

read more

Coffee Cafe Customers: The Four Sisters

  Four statuesque Sisters stroll in the cafe Ebony elegant In slim jeans, boots and backpacks One's t-shirt reads “Act like a lady Think like a boss” In bold white letters On a black background They order four grande frappuccinos Drape themselves around two...

read more