Blossoms on a June Hillside

open
like the lips of God.

we cannot stop
this sermon of hope.

the need
to be unburied.

In the Meadow

These first petals,
pink,
wet like a child's hand
opening to air,
when all it remembered
was dark, warm water.

The Mystery of Free Will

When a tree sees
the earth plowed up
and festering in
upturned stones,
it cannot fall
on he who plows,
nor may the stones jump
and silence the woodpecker
who chips away at shade.

Where No Boats Go

There's an island
off Slea Head once called,
the Sleeping Giant.

Since he hasn't awakened,
and tourists by nature
are so impatient,
they call him, the Dead Man.

Like an Abandoned Home

Pieces of himself
boarded up
with public notices-
Absolutely No Trespassing
yet his eyes beg,
break the window
free my mouth.

Untitled

the big way
small things happen

sometimes
the dimple says
more than the smile.

The Last Few Words

Give me my bed back,
and fill my pillow
with the dreams
you have stolen.

^

Biography

I live in Amherst, Massachusetts. I have had poetry
appear in The Haight Ashbury Review, Social Anarchism,
Lilliput Review, the Saint Anthony Messenger,
Onionhead, Changing Men, Zuzu's Petals, Ariga,
NEBO and Anything that Moves.