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The inspiration oozes from where it chooses
no matter the shoeses I wear on my feet.
No matter the floozies that smile and schmoozie
while walking their phones down the street.

Now, I could go
with a straight or homo
and both may inspire the same.
Or write a book in a nook of a shop that mistook
my verbal flatulence for fame.

Oh the stories I hear
about rump, butt or rear,
the sagas that inevitably unfurl.
From happy to crappy, I'm always a sappy
for stories that make my toes curl.

Although their tales seem to ooze

like juice from a fruit
that loosely drips down to the floor.
Poetry, paint-splats,
talking about place mats
and the inspiration oozes once more.


written in April of 2010





Scoobidy Doobidy Doo

That's one of my favorite things to do!

Scoobidy Doobidy Hey!

We play all day, day day.


Walking with swagger 

on beaches soft as flour

Chest open out and I wave

Like sets that roll in, 

again and again....


Under and over climbing and jumping

Falling and laughing, booty is bumping

But every now and then, just to be witty

I say outloud and proud, scoobidy doobidy ditty.


written September of 2014in 




Oh Beautiful Wave,
wavy and soft,
waving under me,
my body rocks.

The sun lowers,
oh so gently.
On top a mountain,
fog sits quietly....

Nighttime creeps
her shadow.
The light will go,
another day shows.

The slapping boats
sound of glee...
somber ocean
a top a dream.

Above all this
I am the rest.
Like the wave
pulsing in my chest.

Quiet outside,
inside its loud,
with thoughts
that seem to shout!

Oh gentle wave,
I blow a kiss.
Wave to the sunset
and remember just this.


written in March of 2008





When you took your last breath, 

I felt the earth quake.

In the South Hemisphere my heart cried and seemed to break.


Then suddenly without warning...

the breeze exhaled your breath

and quietly smiling, 

there were no more tears left.


My hero, my soul, you are

dearer to me than ever before. 

Somehow my life changed 

with every beat, and all I know.


I will forever remember your scent, 

your touch, and your smile.

A woman with grace, warmth...

and love lasting for miles!


written in 2003, published by the International Library of Poetry, 2004 - as a Featured Poet in The International Who's Who in Poetry




Midnight Moon

you make me swoon

with a wave of heat,

and it’s not even June!


I delicately cut into you;

let you crumble a bit.

Tasty and pleasant,

slowly I nip


Two ounces a day,

devoured gracefully

until you melt away

oh, so, so buttery.


The moon IS made of cheese,

and it’s made just like this .

Mysterious Midnight Moon

my proof of lunar bliss!


written in November of 2012



Mornings could consist of:

a large blue medicine ball, thrusting,

while performing squats and lunges through the living room

simultaneously reciting Cantonese and sipping coffee.


Fly flies in upper-hippie society between

birds chirping in trees and the ground - ‘where sits the morning dew…’

Briskly, enjoying walking while holding

leash, cup and morning poo.


Shirt disheveled, Netflix between lips,

rushing out the door, two bags on shoulder.

Suddenly laughing at the recollection of running to the bus stop,

no yellow buses when you’re older.


Fly sits on bustier.

Working an eight hour day,

at the 2nd most taboo shop in a small Cali-mountain-town

as the pregnant "panty professionál.”


Slow days consist of:

Calls from heavy breathing perverts

rudely interrupting the book being written for Fatty’s

and trying on chemises from France, way too small.


Waiting for the night to begin:

vacuum, spray perfume,

pridefully apply mascara without the need for

open-mouth-process, (fly could get in).


Count the sales, never a zero day,

swipe fly from neck.

Gather three books, two bags, mug,

tupperware, CD’s, coat,

scarf, umbrella, keys…check!


Dog snaps at fly.

Home making jokes,

“…feel like a wet noodle after workouts with oomph!”

Patiently the avocado doesn’t brown,

while turkey loaf does,

and fly dies.


written in March of 2010




He Knows how I like to wrap my toes around kelp until it pops. 


He understands why I furnish our home with different rocks.


He smiles when I go out of my way to crunch a leaf,

or when Cheyenne and I run and jump to cross the street.


I like watching him lick his fingers after eating my home cooked meals,

and when he lays in bed before rushing to work... just to get a feel.


I'm in love with the way he cuts me off to keep me safe from the street.

How he crawls into bed and then brushes the sand off his feet.


He loves my hair messy and long, so I haven't cut it yet.

He's the best man there is, I am willing to make a bet.


He will even cut my onions so I don't have to cry.

He loves me in my crooked glasses, how they frame my dark brown eyes.


Let's make each other happy for a lifetime and some more.

Let's hike and jump rocks together and continue to explore.


written in February of 2010




For more poetry please CLICK HERE.



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