Meeting the Bar: the Word is not enough

i mostly find them lying somewhere,
could be on a city sidewalk
smutted with a hard day’s dirt,
spray-washed by smooth summer rain
or bleached in the september sun

no one seems to see them

on the way back home from work
i pass them with my bike &
sometimes hate it when they call,
yet i stop, pick them up and then–
don’t know what to do

some feel heavy in my hands,
others sweet or ugly and they mingle
with my heartbeat

i put them in my pockets,
feel their pulse against my thighs &
then forget how much they move me

in the night i hear their breath
swaying tenderly towards my sheets,

with tousled hair, i rise,
pour them on the floor,
light a candle, spread them on the carpet,

for a long time we just sit and talk
moving them around, i
try to understand,
press them soft against my lips,
weighing how they feel–

some never seem to fit &
those i like the most

when the morning dawns i’m naked,
wounded & enraptured on the floor,
never make it back to bed,
never make it anywhere–

But i already knew that
when i saw them first

this is my entry for today’s Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft at dVerse Poets Pub, hosted by a wonderful Emmett Wheatfall. Gates will swing open at 3 pm EST


tales, thieves, ropes & nightmares

tonight, we gonna rob
the bank of england, there’s
no need to be afraid,
done this a thousand times

we’ll take machine guns,
black gloves & pack
the seven meter rope, i found
hidden in the cellar

in case there is resistance
we will tie them up–
safely and aesthetically just before
we shoot ‘em

i’ve been living
in this trailer on the junkyard
for too long,
thousand cases solved and
lifes de-riddled,
table brimming with their fingerprints

they after me

barely remember faces,
considering we’re too young
for driving cars of that caliber,
bikes worn down like
rusted childhood memories,

your ego is too fat? you’ll never
make it through the door and
if your world is painful, who cares

when the lights go down
we gonna meet on shaky chairs,
faces masked and careful
not to leave our fingerprints

no need to kiss me, this is business,
i don’t really wanna know your name,
the lawless don’t talk much
about bad conscience
do they?

so tonight–
we gonna rob
the bank of england,
wrapped in black as we’re just shades
in jagged lands,
swallow guilt like aspirin &

countless whiskeys later, spread on
million pound notes,
put away your gun, un-tie me
from your mind and falling deep,

i coarsely whisper

“Long Life– to the Queen”


this is my entry for Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub…and it’s my pleasure to tend the bar tonight…so grab the mic and join us with your poetry..

by the river

she moves
while i sit motionless

wishing for nothing but
the sun’s soft breath upon my face

i fall into her without falling,
lose myself & don’t get lost,

pouring words without a single
movement on my lips

the day shrinks out of sight–

gets invisible & then–

she tells me nothing of her secrets
but shares abundantly

and twinkles as i leave

just a moment on my way back home from work today…went by bike and stopped by the river, sitting in the grass, enjoying the sun, just breathing..

cause i still trust

pour me–

some wine,
undress me slowly,

no candles, music, it’s all
in my head, no light, i

see you anyway as much
as you can feel me wrapped,
wrapped wide in darkness, we

sailed out there many times, i blow &

blow you with soft lips until
the waves swallow your moans,

so find your rhythm, then
sink slowly into me until we scratch that range
between the chasm and the sun, it’s like i

always lose– myself but

you’ve prepared a space for me to be
& mad with longing you still

hold & keep me safe, so

Pour me—

pour me some wine,
un– dress me slowly

cause i still, i

still trust

this is my poem for the Poetics prompt at dVerse Poets Pub, hosted today by the wonderful hedgewitch…come and join us with your poetry…you will love what hedge has written up for us…gates open 3 pm EST

i’ve also been interviewed for Deanna Piowaty’s Combustus Magazine together with a 78-year-old nia black belt & dance instructor, a Greek painter, an American painter, a Norway photographer, an Italian pianist…and…and…i’m humbled to be in one article with such great can read the interview here: the many faces of eve 

it’s just like that..

seems i’m damned to drink cold coffee,
as soon as it is in that cup,
HOT.. promising &

it is—forgotten
OLN &  i’m abroad…

…daughter joins for breakfast

“how’s your first week back in school again..?”
“well it’s my second… ”
“oh” (there was this business trip..)

i’m leaving in a hurry..blurrrrred
office world–
“you should wear your glasses..”
“hmm”…and during coffee break
we’re talking know,

we’re Europe but–
Switzerland is not – they’re democratic
and the french drink red wine..we go

Blocher, Sarkozy and Berlusconi,
coffee’s getting cold  & curly Matt
remarks that  – after all,
i don’t speak the local dialect..

back home, i follow
the adventure cake crumb trail,
& find my son, watching the Simpsons,
heavily denying his involvement
in anything related to that cake

i sigh – walk to the bathroom…think i should
relax but there’s this poem in my head–

so soakin’ wet & naked as a jaybird
i crawl to my computer–

and this is
where my husband finds me hours later..


that was yesterday…just a very average day in my life…ha..
over at dVerse, Gay is looking at Sestinas tonight…if you’re up for a form challenge, you should really check it out.. gates open 3 pm EST

nice day for a white wedding


vows made
we’re sitting on the steps
under a fervent sun

haven’t met for years,
still there’s this old connection

and you’re smoking

I listen to your words,
hanging like beads
on every cloud puff that
silently escapes your lips,

i understand &

take them, put them on a line
between the washing and
compare them with my own

you sound blue like ink
between relentless concrete & the start
of something new

across the yard the wedding gown
shines silver in the sun,
there’s children’s laughter,
silent knowledge and deep cuts
that never heal

we sit on borrowed stairs,
drinking red wine while the
smoke gets dense

until the borders are invisible

and they call us in for dinner


as soon as we have the place in order after Pretzels & Bullfights, it’s time for OpenLinkNight again at dVerse Poets Pub…Gates will open at 3 pm EST.. Brian Miller will tend the bar & hand you the hope you gonna join us with your poetry..


the future’s sitting at my table–

i don’t realize cause i’m
on the other end, commenting poems

“you should wear your glasses mom..”

they cooked vegetables for their dinner,
i’m not even sure how long she stays

laughing the distance silent, asking questions i
can’t answer cause i’m riding thousand trains,

she studies chemistry in Lausanne
& she’s got a winning smile, it balances
between the broccoli and laptop screen
and somehow makes it to my heart

i’m looking up and
for the first time see them–
walking into life and

i forget to get my glasses


Franzi is a friend of my daughter Miriam and she visited us over the weekend