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Sweetums! I was worried I wouldn't be able to make him recognizable, but I think this painted rock for our Muppet-themed party captured his giant personality! 😁

Miss Piggy! Another painted rock for this September's Muppet-themed party.

Kermit! The first of many painted rocks in preparation for our Muppet-themed party this fall.

Poet Mother Narratives leak from pencils. (The speaker is not always the poet.) Remember, you can hide Many truths behind Just one lie.

Sink Lured forward for years, thorax Exposed, neck displayed. Take what you want. Let My blood. Leeches crawl Across my chest. It is Always this way in the still Part of the river. Calm breeds. Then the storm comes, all Will disrupt and swim, Caught in currents beyond Imagine. Where you are Is not as safe as you feel. Danger always lurks - the Naked man with the butcher Knife, hidden in the bushes. He sees Your breasts with no armor Beyond a shelled bikini Top and your neck

Semaphore June 1, 2025 Every parade this month A scream, a dance, a pyre. Rainbows and leather. Queens And quotations. Short shorts And oppression. Do not Saunter backward. No Matter how the effect Chills us. Keep Waving our arms. Keep Signaling to our neighbors. The flags of our Queer Alphabet; Poles colorful and black. Disco dirge and laws On our bodies; in our beds. Pink triangles. Red pills. Rainbow oceans of roads.

Tuning Dorks

DOGE + Art = Loss “The poets brace themselves for imminent, over educated poverty.” ~ Mona Awad There is no more porridge, and He has yanked medicare Right out from under Your gifted Tiffany flutes, And Wedgewood china plates. A cloth whisked from A cardboard table Held aloft with milk crates, And MFA fantasies. Silly girl. No one      really cares about                verses. Lined up and enjambing      Themselves right Off of tall cliffs       And shattered faces. A bouquet

Errors Tour Long before Taylor Swift, we Poets have written about bad Break-ups. Claws dig In to hearts, and refugees Run into empty night. Wine, A Stag’s Leap, like blood Stains our teeth and drips From somber lips, but our Fingers are laced with poison Ink. Glides across Pages. Heals us, Psyche. Shares our tunes in tomes.

May is supposed to be kind. Flowers, A bouquet you hand to me; Smile and the rain’s behind. But, no. The gloom has Followed us, and no relief Is on the digital horizon. Spoil me around a poll, add Ribbons - shiny, silk - to dangle And dance in the breeze. This will never happen. Winter Is resentment, and it bubbles Up in the mud under tires. Stuck here and the trenches Pull. No way to go that Way. Lillies, where are you? Where?

F.t.P. A Golden Shovel after Margaret Atwood You are not better than I. Who are you to judge?        I can & will take you Down as We lock horns, teeth. The World through the trees, And all you will do Means nothing by The end when we are all dying. From MA