Sunday, November 13, 2022

Pearled Thoughts

I've always adored pearls, those shiny gossamer sea moons that bedew one with an ineffable shimmer! I never feel prettier than bedecked in pearl strands and pearl-embroidered chiffon and tulle. I imagine Primrose wears fairy shifts much like these for her everyday use:

*(pictures taken at YDBN, Kirkwood Mall, Bismarck)! 

I have no practical use for a pearl-gown, but pearls are never practical...

They are no more and no less than ethereal orbs holding the wishes of countless humans. 

Emily Dickinson knew full well that "gem tactics" may be learned from the making of our own pearls, just as sands may one day become semiprecious jewels.

Wednesday, September 28, 2022

The Sharp Cut

I am thrilled that my poem "The Sharp Cut" was chosen by Northern Narratives for publication in Issue 6! It touches on a feeling that has only pierced deeper with the passing of the years. 


 The Sharp Cut


 “The children who swallow the star are the poets—

like Yeats or Tolkien—who become wanderers 

between two worlds.”–Colin Wilson


 I throw these words out

like ground-down diamond dust

for all the children who once

gleefully gulped star beams,

and yet now find their shadows

time-bound, stretching far and away

into grown-up bones and days

where worn skin barely holds heart

inside anymore—

Just don’t forget

the sharp cut of clean rays

across the glad blue of you, or the slide

of starlight through dark and dreams

thick with possibility and the rich

twinkle of questions


You dared to ask the universe.

*If you can still wonder,

you may wander

yet again.


Sunday, August 7, 2022

Lessons from the Iris

I hope I may bloom like the Iris one day. They grow straight and sleek as blades cutting towards the sky. My favorite flower only blossoms for a few stray weeks in the summer, but oh, what showy diadems they bare under blue airs! Fragile and fleeting and utterly worth every hour it takes to grow and mature into something that defies gravity with beauty. 

Many years ago, I hoped to burst into unyielding incandescence. But now, I bide my time and grow in the soft dark of my dreams, ever so slowly constructing a transient tiara of ink and pages. 

One day, perhaps I will have a coronet of petals to share in the light, too.