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Author Synopsis

This book reflects a kindling of poetry passion that emerged in middle age. I always loved poems that rhymed or at least were accessible to non-poets, to ordinary people. At that time, a new movement called Neo-Formalism was afoot, bringing back forms for modern topics. I fell in love with villanelles and sonnets and started chugging them out, along with free verse. One of my favorite genres was ekphrastic poetry, inspired by photos and paintings.

These poems encompass a myriad of subjects and moods, including ominous beginnings, tragic endings, war, hurricanes, aging, and death. The topics then whirl to matters of humor and wit, at times a bit naughty, to monkeys and the thrill of horses. The book concludes with a tapestry of paintings and science, a night train to Mexico, and a sinking into calming sleep.

My poems were put aside for 20+ years while I was raising my adopted daughters. Now that they’re off at college, I decided, “It’s time to publish a book!” It’s also time for me to start writing again!

Sample Poems

Bones

(Blank Verse)

One day soon when moon opposes sun
and shadow hand lifts creature from the nest
though others put to rest, you’ll hear it then…

Perhaps you’ll be in the kitchen at the sink
or in the shower reaching for the soap
or curled up on the couch, a book in hand.
You’ll hear it then—the shifting of the bones.

You know, the bones. The ones you buried deep
so long ago (you thought that not a soul
could see: they’re ten feet down). But there they are
emerging, dotting soil, ancient, white,
accusing, cutting flesh. Don’t turn away.

Go. Go out to meet them—bone on bone—
count the bones and gather bones. Seek flesh
and femur, phalanx, tooth, and jaw. Collect
the vertebrae, the scattered shards and shins.
Compile, caress them, weeping. Bring them home.

One day soon when moon opposes sun
and shadow hand lifts creature from the nest
you’ll hear it… shift… and you will know the sound.

~~

Monkey on a Chain

(Shakespearean Sonnet)

In thickest jungle, deep in Asia’s jaw
I hiked with tourists from the Chiang Mai train.
We stopped at a hut to rest, and there we saw
a solitary monkey on a chain.

I watched the monkey watching us, and knew
that I knew nothing of her missing home:
not species, nor how many or how few
of tender young this mother could have known,

nor ancient rhythms, early primal land
where, in extended family, she was fed.
She begged a bit of bread from a tourist’s hand
and then climbed up his arm to groom his head.

But when the tourist tried to resume his trek,
she wrapped her spider arms around his neck.

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