“If you want the present to be different from the past, study the past.”  Spinoza

Christians went to the Holy Land

to claim it back.  Crusades.

Moslems fought Moslems

Sunni against Shia

Sufis outcast or revered

Hafiz, Rumi

No middle ground

No compromise

Centuries gone

New technology

the only change.

No one learned

listened to the past

to the humane

voices in the wind.


She remembers nothing.

Head vibrates,

fingers tremble

heart thumps.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

She cannot cry,

looks at pestules on

dry, blotchy skin.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

She tries to remember.

Feet walk on

broken shards

eyes crimson,

silently cries.

Her brain hangs on

one big thorn on a

mesquite tree.

Listening to a Band

Yesterday my second daughter arrived from Thailand.  Biologically she is not my daughter, but rather my first exchange student six years ago.  We have kept in touch over the years and she is now here with me for a month.  Her best friend from high school here is also with us.  Tonight we went to the Palace Coffee in Canyon, Texas, to listen to a trio because the band leader is a friend of the friend.  This poem attempts to describe the music.

Long hair flying

except the drummer

Wild strumming

No picking

Guitar and bass

percussion not strings

Three percussion instruments

vibrating sound



guitar becomes synthesizer

haunting, electronic

other dimensional.


back to

three percussion instruments

vibrating sound

voices lost

The Tupelo Press 30/30 Project

Today, one day late, I discovered this project for National Poetry Month and decided to commit to it by experimenting.  It requires writing a poem daily either on your own or following “instructions”.  Today’s directions included finding a nearby book, going to page 29, picking twenty words, and using them to write a poem:

crazy think

goofy people

worried together

leave bear

smudges on the glass

bloody floor

huge knives

packed sorrow on

a plastic table