2013 John Franklin Award: Runner Up!

My post "Prolonged Germination and Instant Revelation" for The Space Between arts blog -- which features my poem "Operation Umbrella" -- was just named a runner up for the 2013 John Franklin Award!

Everyday Holiday

My latest piece for The Space Between arts blog, "Everyday Holiday," was recently posted, featuring my haiku "(cardinal bathing)."  Take a look!

(Outside my window)

Outside my window
a bluebird convention in
full swing, wing to wing

Teatime on a rainy day:

a steeping black brew
my favorite morning mug
nectar of the leaves

Happy National Coffee Day!

Taste of Adulthood

"Why do I like coffee
so much?" I wonder, from
time to time. Perhaps
it's because Mom and
Dad drank it routinely
while I was growing
up. It seemed like
such an "adult" drink --
a special, yet necessary
treat -- with milk and
sugar each morning.
Or maybe because it
reminds me of my
college years --
discovering mochas,
hazelnut lattes, the smell
of espresso and the cool
coffeehouse culture.
I was finally a grown-up
enjoying the taste of
adulthood for myself.

(First day of autumn)

First day of autumn:
Reading on the porch with a
roast in the Crock-Pot.

Turning

There is nothing left
but bone --
no more skin,
no more muscle,
no more ligaments.
Just bone.

I've sat here
for nearly 40 years
bleeding
love,
joy,
peace,
patience,
kindness,
goodness,
faithfulness,
gentleness
and self-control
while you --
slap by slap,
blow by blow,
year by year --
stripped away
my flesh,
my heart,
my soul.

Today, I realized
that the pain
will never stop
as long as I
stay here.
Gripping the back
of the pew in front of me,
I manage to
stand to my feet
and slowly
find the exit
as you shout
in shock and outrage,
"But I love you!"
as the sound waves
bounce around
in the empty cavity

of my second cheek. 

Some Things

Some things
silence the
professional speaker.
Some things
stump the
international intellectual.
Some things
paralyze the
confident wordsmith.
Some things...

Detail Orientation

My mind is like
a vacuum cleaner,
sucking up
a million, minute details,
like particles of
dust, dirt and fiber.
The bits of material
spin around, colliding
into each other
in a volume
so dense and
at a rate so rapid
that they cause
my brain to buzz
like a tornado --
claiming, collecting and
wildly whirling
pieces and parcels
in a violent, possessive fury.
While my non-detail-
oriented neighbor
may have a peaceful, half-
empty vacuum cleaner bag --
with room for more matter --
mine is filled to capacity
and humming with heat.

A work haiku in honor of Labor Day:

startled by twin burps --
the secret belcher hidden
in his cubicle

(“Gee, thanks,” I thought,)

"Gee, thanks," I thought,
as she escaped her own stench
and left me in the john, barely breathing.

Summer Simplicity

As summer begins to
close her eyes in
exchange for fall's
awakening, I want
to remember these
days; what it feels
like to slip into
sandals, and hop into
the car without a
jacket and drive to
meet some friends
with Tennessee's green
hills in front of me and
the sun on my back.

A Letter to the Predator

Dear straight Christian friend,

When you post a picture of
a burning gay pride flag online,
I am not merely encountering
an expression of an opinion.
I don't simply see a person
making a statement
about an issue.
I don't view it as
an individual "deeply devoted
to a faith based on mercy and grace"
taking a stand amidst a culture war.

I see my friend
advocating -- and perpetrating --
violence against me.
I feel threatened
and frightened
and sickened.
I see -- with my own eyes --
my friend proclaiming
to me and the world
that I am worthy of abuse.
I witness my friend
declaring me fit for
gasoline
and matches
and burning flesh
and torture
and death.

I see that my friend --
my "loving, compassionate, Christ-like" friend --
is not, in fact, my friend at all.

-- Your gay neighbor

Letting Go

My latest piece for The Space Between, "Letting Go," was posted today, featuring my brand new poem "Turning." Take a look!

A rainy haiku for a rainy day like today:

The tree bark gleamed
with fresh raindrops as
the squirrel scurried home.

I Knew You Enough (Your Big, Beautiful Brilliance)

In remembrance of Celeste

I didn't know you well,
but I knew you enough.
I knew you enough
to miss your big, brown eyes --
eyes that lit up a room
almost as much
as your broad, beautiful smile.
I knew you enough
to miss the fresh perspective
and lighthearted laughter
that you brought
to every corporate meeting
and every friendly conversation.
I knew you enough
to miss the strength and brilliance
you brought to the world
as a woman; as a minority,
and the sense of pride
and courage I felt
as you enlightened
and inspired us all.
I knew you enough
to feel the weight
of the loss
of you
and your big, beautiful brilliance.
I knew you enough
to miss you now.

(Why poetry?)

Why poetry?
Because
moments matter.

(cat dusty)

The last of this week's series I ran in memory of Angel:

cat dusty
from her romp
in the windowsill

(cat in a frenzy)

In remembrance of Angel:

cat in a frenzy:
from the window --
watching falling leaves

My on-Again, off-Again Bedside Companion

In honor of Angel:

She doesn't like to cuddle
or be held.
She likes to be in control,
to call the shots.
She comes
when she's ready.
She comes
to get what she wants
and leave.
And she practices the most
peculiar positions.
She often prefers to rest her head
near my hips
and press herself against me,
begging to be stroked.
When I pet her in just
the right places,
she purrs with pleasure
and lets me know,
in no uncertain terms,
that she's glad to be
my pussycat.