By 52.  (Poem)

Nothing haunts me more than the things I never had the courage to say. Partnered with longing to take back spears thrown in the heat of battle, or the enmeshment of insecurities weaving a relationship fabric so warped, it serves as a battle flag to avoid that same slope and ditch in the future. Destiny. …

GhostWalk. (Poem)

​Among the stones today, I realized so much of my life remains virginal.  Pure, unexplored, blank canvas clean opportunities – awaiting my hand, mouth, heart to travel their invitations and enlightenments.  Above the crust. Among the stones, gray soldiers a’row silent senators convened by various ends, bid solemn tiding:  ideas brought here do not flourish;…

Cover Art.

It’s been hush-hush, but now I can tell: Stillhouse Press selected one of my photographs for the cover of the newest works of Carmen Gillespie.  The Ghosts of Monticello should be available mid-October.  I am thrilled and honored to be part of this book!! http://www.stillhousepress.org/carmen-gillespie/ for your copy. Cover photo:  Dar Dawson #poetry #recitation #slavery…

Greenroom. (Poem)

A slow-glowing firefly rests where the cottage red garage door meets the pebbled tan foundation.   It lights, labored, out of breath from a long summer winging warm night air.   Across the gravel, honeysuckle continues a thin late bloom.  One must come so near for barely a hint of perfume that filled the entire…

September 20. 

’tis a gift, this life. How the heck did I get so lucky to -be here (one smart mother). -know what I know (open, curious, insatiable mind). -shepherd my child (excellent karma). -be loved by a handful of stellar souls (and I mean honestly Loved — in that 4 AM, unconditional, whatever-you-need, take-you-as-you-are way we…

Unapologetic Season. [Poem]

August, the Sunday of the summer months. Suspending the start of autumn, an air of distracted denial in these late summer days. Our activities hum similarly round in their tune. Bring in the fruits for winter’s cellar and holiday cheer. Relearn tying shoes and making lunch. End earlier to rise earlier Summer’s growth spurt in…

Humble Hush. June 12, 2015.

Before bed I ask – your pain ease, your breath normal, your rest restorative. – my child find peace in her heart while away. – tomorrow’s weather be kind. – more thunder charge the dog back over the fence. – peaceful moments for friends grieving missing loved ones. (A hard week for many.) – abundant…

June 1, 2013.

When I wrote this piece, I had returned to New York from my first visit to Virginia, less than one week home.  Torn in two, yet mending in ways I could not then label nor identify. Today, four years on, we are a “we”; not distanced by separation nor divorce, space nor inconvenience, fear nor…

Moth. [NaPoWriMo 2017] 24 April 2014, journal.

Midnight sweeps a quiet exhale adieu the gentle vale drops mist across the moon kissing shoulders they turn away seamless pivot and undulation  peace, deep under the stars. The pause and kick reset of the old refrigerator familiar mechanism, hum a sentry centered in the dark downstair snoring lightly, pointing ground birds to flight the…

On Over-Thinking. (Prosery.) NaPoWriMo 2017.

If overthinking is a combination of being intelligent but not having a hobby, or being over-caffeinated and not getting enough sleep, or being a little bit stressed and wearing your coping mechanisms so thin you can see through them like a bad alibi, or not socializing with your friends who distract and lift you positively,…

Astral Astray. (NaPoWriMo. 2017) 

Listen close for the stars above have such good things to tell you. Listen honestly, into the twilight let your eardrum lean hard into the sky to hear the song being written just for you. High above the embrace of hearth, of more import than daily distraction, high-hanging only for you lofty strung lightnotes of …

NaPoWriMo. On This Day. (Prosery. 8 April, 2014)

This life? This blustery calm circus of vibrant color and deepest freewheeling emotion? This wild Bossa Nova in 3-6-5 tempos of random kindness and distempered change punctuated by groaner punchlines whose menus never serve the same fare twice? This life where invisible wisdoms and sweeping awkward gestures of sweetest affection hold our hearts in most…