Summer 1978 (a poem)

Listening to Steely Dan’s Aja… The LP drops onto the turntable from atop the spindle the other five discs stay neatly in place The first few notes flow forth from the speakers it’s summer, and in my mind I’m in California on a beach somewhere watching beautiful people play in the surf from the shade [...]

Poetry Marathon 2016, Hour Two: Georgia

Second poem of the day. Nostalgia can be such a beautiful waste of time when you think back on the small, unimportant things Past glories fade into nothingness Past defeats still sting though perhaps not as much The ritual of buying a can of coffee from the vending machine on the walk to the train [...]

The third day of rain (a poem)

Giving in to the autumnal cast of the last few days… 1 It's the third day of rain today… Summer is returning us gently back to the cradle of autumn with its crackling bed of bronzed leaves and its promises of warm fireplaces and soft blankets a hint of melancholy in the air vaguely reminiscent [...]

Overcoming Nostalgia (for lack of a better title)

I’m in the middle of a phase. Not quite spring cleaning, not quite a purge, but something in between. One of those periods in which I feel compelled to rid myself of the untouched, the unused, the excess. Over the last few weeks, I have been regularly going through my books, videos, and CDs to [...]

NaPoWriMo 2015, Day 25: The false comfort of five thousand miles (a poem)

Today’s Writer’s Digest April PAD Challenge prompt is to write an ‘across the sea poem’. One thing I will say for their prompts: They’re not very exciting, but they do give you a lot of latitude… Across the sea I wonder if she thinks of me the way I think of her from time to time If [...]

Sunday mornings at Grandma’s house (a poem)

Today’s prompt in The Daily Poet by Kelli Russell Agodon and Martha Silano is to write a poem that uses I remember to begin each line. I wrote such a poem a few weeks ago, but decided to give this challenge a try nonetheless. This time, I thought back to Sunday morning breakfasts at my grandparents’ house [...]

Bow Hill Road (a poem)

A familiar sight driving north on I-5 towards Bellingham and the Canadian border is the exit sign for Bow Hill Road… It’s been years since I last saw you Bow Hill Road every day another mile between us I remember an old photograph the blurry freeway sign as we drove on by in the rain [...]