forgotton fusuma

memories grow tall
painted windowframes peeling
weeds almost reach them

jolly hotei’s face
laughing from the statues foot
unsmothered by leaves

much has happened here
in this old house by the creek
traces disappear


a haiku sequence for the prompt at d’Verse Join us and write one yourself!


Four Walls, Montclair State

collegiate lit rag
Four Walls
tiny office, inside
the newspapers office.
you’re not finding this by accident.

in the belly of the student center.
below ground, of course.
that seventies architecture
you were told was ‘style’
made possible by innovative new materials
which happen to be cheaper

its hard to imagine that architect
was ever inside a building.
not for any length of time at least.
cold, hard uniform square blocks
shaped into uniform square rooms
industrial wall-to-wall
or uniform square tiles

but oh the words that we assembled!
in those four walls
such a delicious contrast to the building
where we were housed



churning through Global Poetry Writing Month

and looking back to my college years for the Poem-A-Day challenge

and let me take you there for the D’Verse Poets prompt today.

House and luggage

i am from a walled-off womb
a heart unplugged
his childless unvisited grave

(but you are a father, i am here!)

i am staked, a wavering unsure claim
knowing there’s naught but sand beneath
clinging to the fear in the air

they didn’t hit me with any old thing
but had a paddle just for that
she shattered it against my bookshelf

(terrified, but finally free. should i get her another?)

mind, denied remembering
heart, denied feeling
body, denied exercise
spirit, denied.

(what even is that?)

beneath that sand is stone
sure and solid
that house in Springfield is still there
still has my mom in it.

(one of them at least. no dad no more)

he is in my heart now
taking down the christmas lights
he strung up there
(finally, here in april)
his unknowing attempt to mitigate the dark

(while you’re at it, here is your procrastination)

and you, here is your guilt.
i kept it for you, in this velvet box
(this did not help you, nor me)
for you i have no blame

that house in Springfield is still there
the place is mostly the same
its a different me that sees it.


The same house

Is there anything more precious than your own baby?
Remember the first time you stepped Into your house
With that baby?  You had painted, pink or blue, to prepare
This is not the same house, it was even that morning.


Make, believe!

I will make
I will believe
I’ll cut down bubble gum trees
And blow rooms from them
And live there with my hen
And here we’ll need no roof
When the sky lets loose it’s mirth


Poets House

God and love and family 
are laid into the earth
From this strong foundation made
I’ll build my house with words
and in these written walls
I’ll stash my Sacred things

In metaphor and homily
Are made my home and hearth
Carved in stone they will not fade
Some words are fit for doorwards
some for bearing walls
Some are clear, light they bring

Some are set like shingles
Whose meanings overlap
Now I’ll curl up in my words
And safely take my nap

Poetics: DIY Building

Six room mansion

     Laundry, dressing room
These spaces combine
     wine cellar, workshop
     Storage cellar, kitchen
And redefine
     Living room, dining room
Based on use and purpose
     Home theater, her home office
     His home office, library
So our little six room house
     Guest room, master bedroom
     Craft room, sewing room
Grows to a mansion sublime


Aunts House

Here am I
In this house, again
I know it to be 
My aunts house
Yet it isn’t the same
These stairs are there
Not here, and the
Upper chamber 
I never found waking
Precious little is the same
And yet I Know this
My aunts house