Gentleness is a fertilizer, a

Swaying wheat,
Balanced corn,

In a field,
Caressed by rain, it is

To yourself,

Ploughing, when the harrow is ready,
And sweating,


Glistening off chests, is
The masculine scent of forgiveness,

The feminine of,
Breaking ground,

Gentleman or Boer, order

In the house,

Give in.

*Photo – personal*

-short evocative poetry-



And I’ll be dust to dust bound to,

Shifting black wicker furniture just so,
Patrons aren’t disturbed,

By the rain between,
The hair-do and the pedicure, separated

At least,

By three floors if the lifts are working, me I’m just
Splashing mops against mauve tile, they

Flashing manicured smiles, we

Electing marvelous politicians in fashionable leather,

Leather of the season, bound

To let us down in Range-Rovers, bound
To coffee machines spitting frappuccinos, just

Hoping for a tip to pay my damn school fees.

Photo: ♦Psychology Today ♦

-short evocative poetry-

Dumpster diving at midnight


Builders will continue to build, and
White folk dumpster dive

In the winter anyway,

In red,
And blue overalls, scavenge –

Some for profit, others fun, and I

Cannot be a predator, I
Cannot carry luggage, I

Am dying, and

Perhaps giving things away, a
book or something will relive the pain, lord

Knows I just need some pain relief and, I
Just cannot afford to hoard now, how

I wish I had done this earlier like,
Forgiven my lover, myself –

I’ll do it in dungarees, I am dying and I

Do not need to carry baggage, cannot take it with me, I’ll
Give out yellow popsicles instead.

photo – Holy Week, Guatemala♦



Outward Course

_Your mouth is so black inside.


We’re looking hand-to-hand;

So much closer now.


Like the darkness before this decompression,




Your mouth curving a smile,

Puckering and parting,


Conceiving color from particle momentum,






Your teeth, showing full-color spectrum white, against the blackness inside our outward direction.


Expansion is not one sided,


It’s an opening of the Never Closed.











Life – as it is

I yelled and kicked and fought with all my might.Yet morning screamed through the heavy drapes as I had no say about the progression of time.

Except for the dawn that claws at the eastern horizon, today feels no different than yesterday. It’s a sad state, really. I’ve been told that a world of promise sits on my doorstep yet when I look, the doorstep is scattered with leaves. What is life without false promises? I suppose that might be called contentment.

I would wager that you expected a different answer. I believe that happiness can be (and usually is) both fabricated and overblown. Contentment is my goal. I don’t think that is beyond hope.

Hello, Beth. How’s life? Well, this year really sucks, thank you. Two of my sisters died this year. As an odd twist of fate, I am now the oldest female in my family at age 38. Is it right that I wake each morning and thank the stars that I breathed through another night? The mega-Christians would say Hallelujah. I am only at the wtf stage.

My pets are doing well. My parrot, Sunny, is going through a peek-a-boo phase. Even in the middle of the night, when I get up to pee as most humans do, he huddles in his cage and mutters peek-a-boo. Dear Rosco, my dog, is slowing down. He sleeps most of the day and snuggles close whenever he can

Tell me about your autumn. I kind of missed mine since I couldn’t go back to Ohio a third time. The first two were for my sisters’ funeral. I think it would have been fun to attend the festival and laugh. My accountant vetoed the idea.

There isn’t anything poetic here. I’m just trying to write and reach out. 

What scares me the most is that a dear friend once wrote about the nightmarish blank page. I think I’m living it.

Even if you don’t make a habit of praying, I ask you to take a moment and offer strength to my father. He has buried two daughters within 3 months of each other. He is precious to me.

Love you, Daddy

These Similarities 

Like a Simile Chain Gang

These similarities, between fetus and familiar, between hatch and peck, as if polypeptidic, like coils of invisible thread, are likely the truest road map between me and you. Follow your bonds, and I’ll follow mine. We’re going forward together, prisoners of momentum, as spun as wool.


K. Shawn Edgar 

Library Tower


University Place Library Tower

There’s a foul tang. I felt it on my lips. Tasted it fully. Drove it along my tongue, towards gulf of throat, and then spat. It was summer.