Your words sting my ears

I don’t believe you,

I never loved you.

Cover my ears with your hands

So that I can feel your rough fingers,

Instead of hearing your harsh criticism.

Our words get muddled,

Like unclean waters.

Hold me up

Above the swamp,

That we have created together.


(c) 2019


She waited for his tentacles

To grab her waist.

He snatched her body,

With all eight arms.

He held her head

Just below the water.

Her jellyfish hair undulated

As she struggled to steal air.

He pulled her down,

Into his salty Mausoleum.

She hardened like coral

As he lugged her lifeless body.

She fell to the ocean floor.

Starfish attached to her face.

(c) 2019

Heritage Haiku #2


On the solstices,

We cleanse our homes with salt water

White sage and loud bells.


Four generations

Of witches with psychic gifts

On my mother’s side.


On the equinox,

I balance broken chakras,

Naked in my tree.


Tarot cards, tea leaves

And soft whispers to the moon.

Four High Priestesses.


On Beltane we dance

Around the maypole, daisies

Surround my red hair.


I am so cliché;

A charmed black cat, pointy hat,

Obsession with bats.


On Yule we make health

Stew. I always sit cross-legged,

Too close to the fire.


(c) 2019

Heritage Haiku

Dad wrote over one

Hundred songs when I was young.

I still quote the words.


If you think that your

Paradise is a place then

You’ll never find it.”


His basement band shook

My bedroom floor, creating

Huge waterbed waves.


Lessons learned from Sting,

David Bowie, and Pink Floyd.

“We could be heroes.”


He ran sound for rock

Bands on Friday nights. I slept

Under his sound board.


For years he worked at

A music store. Customers

Were my fathers too.


Microphones, ADATs,

His baby grand piano.

Guitars not Barbies.


(c) 2007