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Angels Wrestled in the Night

This poem was written about how the things that we wrestle with in the darkness of night, mark us; change us; shape us; give form to us even when we do not know their name. And so it borrows as metaphor from the story of Jacob, being marked in the night by the angel he wrestled with unaware of its angelic nature.


The shifting of seasons and the early season variability of weather.  I survive winter. Spring begins my dance back to life...


Putting this in context of time, this was written when I was thirty.  Not so young, but still not yet realized.

Impossible Things

“There's no use trying,” she said: “one can't believe impossible things.”

“I daresay you haven't had much practice,” said the Queen. “When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

Lewis Carroll, The Red Queen and Alice from Alice in Wonderland

Returning Home

Life does not always happen on schedule.  Life rarely happens on schedule.  It is an ongoing improvisational dance.   Not always to music we have danced to before.  Sometimes to music we don't even like.  But it is always a dance of possibilities and of moments; of fears and longings, hopes and dreams. And of people.

Whisper of the Wind

It is a poem about tone policing as a mechanism used to shut down dissenting voices and to tune out justifiable anger that must be redressed whether that is environmental, #IdleNoMore, the #MeToo movement, or the urgency of #BlackLivesMatter.

Wisdom and the Sorceress

Undergraduate drinking and poetry sometimes combine for a weird, weird mix.  Make of it what you will.


This poem is circa the 1990s. It is one of my more, shall we say, critical reflections on organized religion.

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