Sunday, October 31, 2010

Sonoma County Summer Reading

Last summer, Patti Trimble, Nancy Dougherty and I did a poetry reading in our barn...

Here's Nancy's segment of the reading:

And here's Patti's:

Saturday, October 23, 2010


An Erotic Fairytale (mid 1980’s)

Fairytale, fairytale.

Long, long ago, in a village, in a remote part of India, there lived a little green frog. She was a stunning little frog. Colored vibrant, shimmering chartreuse, much like the green peepers found in the West.

This frog was very frog. She hopped, climbed trees, ate bugs, dove under water. You know Basso: Old Pond. Frog jumped. Splash.

But then one day she started to do different things: She watched the bees; she watched the trees; she watched…the flowers grow.

Anyway this frog became obsessed by watching. She watched and watched and watched. She got so she could see the wing of a hummingbird in flight; she could see a rock becoming smaller; she could see herself as frog. And at that point, she began to change.

Soon after, she began to spend her days differently than before. She played hide and seek with the bees. she danced with the trees. She became…a flower…opening. At the same time she became both more silly and more silent.

Her nights were different. There was darkness. She would sit small, black frog next to tall, black Banyan tree and wait. She would wait and wait. After many nights of waiting, a darkness began to well up in her…Discontent… Discontent swirled into sadness. Sadness… turned to grief… Desire emerged… Rushed headlong into unutterable longing. Longing. Longing. And the rain poured down into her heart.

One night as the moonlight glanced off the swaying, swishing branches of the Banyan Tree and the warm, sultry breeze kissed her body a thousand times, she thought she saw something. Maybe it was the edge of a flute. Maybe a tall dark shadow, dancing….

And the next day she danced. She danced and danced. She felt a funny sensation in her toes.

The next night she thought she heard a haunting, lilting, echoing sound…calling her.

And the next day she cried. She cried and cried. She began…to melt…inside.

The following night… the Dark One came, and touched her. He caressed her smooth, wet skin, now shining of love. He blew flute notes, sent them sliding down her throat, gliding slowly, softly, into her pool of joy. Her body ached…. His dark, blue body arched into frog shapes. Shape upon shape. Small dark frog mingling with tall, Dark, Dancing Lord. Dark to dark. Limb spiraling with limb…. Who could tell …whose was whose?

(NOTE: I'm posting this older piece because I love it and some day I will dance it.)

Wednesday, October 20, 2010


‘gainst my
like the
lid of
not piercing
like the dive
of swallow
twining in my flesh
like a woven paper

I hear death
strand by strand
is a great unraveling
and I wonder
has this note
kept me
and I wonder
will this be
the last sense
of me
and will it go
back to the wood
where it