Morpheme Mutiny

mangled metaphors

left me


with doubt as they forsook

picket fences

for split rails

they stumbled far afield

where they wander, limping

out from under my skirts

around the outskirts

of my forlorn village

striking poses

of vaunted dignity.

they leapt with alacrity

unbefitting of their ancient

weary souls

firing afterburners

as they shot the moon.

they worked diligently

those valiant metonymies

labored and strained

as they strove to build a future

that could not be contained

in a house of brick and mortar

big bad wolf notwithstanding.

they stumbled on debris

littered from existence

discovered the prophesied prosperity

 a preposterous prevarication.

now they dodder

as drunks or toddlers

on those picket lines

signs of the times

dragging bedraggled signs

indisputably protesting

catachrestically catatonic

marching to the beat

of a tone deaf drummer

of adumbration bereft

Welcome Home

he dashes

to greet me

slender frame


in trembling excitement


into my embrace

he squirms

wriggling frenetically


enthusiastic kisses

exuberant welcome


predicted trepidation

though years parted

vigorous reception

wags his tail

tells his tale

devotion undiminished

umpteen days

I longed to receive you

with ecstatic wriggling

maybe my kisses

were too slobbery

my nails scratched you

in my leaping

or my tail bruised

in pandemonious wagging

I wonder if you wished

he me disremembered

did you convince yourself

he drank from your well

of stagnant unforgiveness

can you feel

my lingering caresses


enduring on his body

as once they did

on yours?


Mine to Tell


your most shameful moments

those chapters of your life

you don’t re-read

even under the covers

late at night

with the flashlight

you were admonished

to extinguish

hours ago

before your eyelids

dredged the shore for sand

those grainy scenes

captured by a drunken


tripping backward through the mist

overlaid discordant

dissonant minor chords

if you chance upon

a split-second replay

your skin crawls

bowels churn

hair stands on end


now imagine

the sensationalized trailer

clipped disjointed


picture the tabloid cover

lurid misrepresentation

where you dined

cannibalistic taloned

simultaneously vicious


stereotypically weak female


I eschew


of my autobiography



of portraits

for which I never posed


I have swallowed the bile

cleansed grit from my eyes

with the flow of copious tears

flattened hairs

under vigorous

warm my own arms


I claim the rights

file the copyright

to my own tales


I am a warrior, yes

I have been wounded yet

I shed no blood

I courageously wield

my tremulous words











Response poem to today’s Go Dog Go question of What is Poetry 


is a volcano

lain dormant

beneath centuries

sparked to life

when the earth

cracked asunder

tectonic splicing

it sends smoke signals

puffed aboriginal messages

rumbling urgency

it flows




singeing any who dare

inhibiting stance

paving a sea-bound path

it erupts

spuming ash

of incinerated hopes

it cools

igneous burying

poppied despair

it forges

tropical islands

font of

hibisci’d paradise


Warrior Women Anthem

Collaboration with my amazingly fierce Warrior Sister Kindra M. Austin


Yes, I know my place—

And it’s not in the shadows of darkened corners,

Slumped over and bleeding, weeping.

It’s not in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant or otherwise.

It’s not in the hospital having bones reset, or split lips stitched.

Yes, I know my place—

Push me down, drag me out,

And I will get up on my two feet

Because my place is to stand among my Warrior Sisters


I have been out of place

cowering, confused by calamities

conforming, if only for moments

to lessened expectations

I have been out of place

biting my lip

silencing caustic retorts

eviscerating commentary

on the lot I was caste

I have been out of place

head shamefully bowed

hiding my brilliant plumage

muffling scintillating wit

lest I overstep, overshadow

narrowly defined confines


Shed used skin—toss it away

And open eyes, newborn light.

Hold on heart, the time is now—

Cast aside those ropes,

Take up your banner.

Riot for your life.


it has been said

I am out of line

dare I speak too loudly

of my truths

my place is colored riotous rainbows

outside your compliant lines

it has been said

I am out of line

dare I dance with abandon

in the face of obsolescence

my place is scented midnight jasmine

in the garden where my good

overgrows obsequious evils







River, Stoned

pebbles fall

from life’s passersby

in words or a look

fractal interactions


drop into the stream

of her life


at times, there is


swamping of the



others, a gentle


quivering in minimal



in every instance

her stream


if imperceptibly