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You can access Workz from previous TGAP iterations here.

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

Mandala Rock Art

Seasonal Haiku Green buds against sky Cacophony of birdsong Spring's heralds arrive Song of the week: "Between The Rain" by fellow TwinGeek Jim Tyrrell

This one is a study for a watercolor painting.

One True Beauty Finally, where I hoped you would be; now Butchered much to my misery. Locks of glitter and a solid length, Shelved in a closet. My joy it has tanked. Speechless in chair, I let her chop. Feckless, left with fuzz, straggles, a terrible mop. Fopp and tears, folding laundry and such. A night of shifting terrors kept waking me up. Jo sold her tresses to climb. Apples, typewriters, war effort, equine. Her sisters rushed in to comfort her woe, While here in my parlo

Her Own Private Archive: A Found Poem Words from Daniel Mason’s North Woods She dreamed about these Ancient forests. (Glorious Beyond imagination.) She has found That the only way To understand the world As something other Than a tale of loss is To see it As a tale of change. For a moment stillness hangs Over the rubble. And then, It all begins again.

Deadhead: hand dyed 3 ply Navajo plied blend of merino wool, yak and silk

Faux Stained Glass; Wakanda Punch (cocktail inspired from MARVEL’S Black Panther, crafted by myself at Chunky’s Cinema Pub)