Most people associate me with the two novels I have written, but I don't have another story in me that would take 80,000 words or more to tell. As a lifelong lover of words, I am fascinated by the limitless potential of sound, rhythm, and meaning in the English language. Writing a poem allows me to play with words until I have what I believe is the right combination to capture a stunning sight, moment, or thought. Sometimes I try a new format. Sometimes I write something silly. Meanwhile, as I slowly morph into a poet, I am using the discipline I have learned writing poems to improve my prose.
Although new to the genre, over a dozen of my poems have been published in online journals, e-mags and print anthologies. Below is one that recently appeared last fall in Tiny Spoon, issue 5: “Ecology."
Dead Beetle in the Path
Blue-eyed river shimmers.
A path carved by shoes and boots
shadows its course.
Sun
warms, air hums with insect chatter.
One lies dead in the middle of the path.
Shiny
black beetle on its back,
legs curled as if shielding a heart.
Does a beetle have a heart?
Do we who sliced this earthbound trail?
Let
Artemis rule this wild green savanna.
Beetles will thrive here,
native grasses spring from the soil.
Let feral feet etch the only paths.
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