Distilling Loneliness – A Pantoum

I find it interesting and even a bit disconcerting, in a way (for I fancy myself a bit of a rebel spirit), that I often enjoy the exercise and discipline of following a structured form in writing poetry. I began writing poems by composing haiku – where brevity meets beauty. Now I challenge myself more by writing pantoums and villanelles.

Structure. The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle in that there are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next.

It’s fun to try to follow the structure outlined and still express the spirit of the words.

Distilling Loneliness

Following the loving
In the long of day
The distance of blue
Beyond the sweep of sky.

In the long of day
My fingers roam on their own
Beyond the sweep of sky
And your eyes hunger for more.

My fingers roam on their own
While touching releases a sigh
And your eyes hunger for more
Summer squalls rumble by.

While touching releases a sigh
Following the loving
Summer squalls rumble by
In the distance of blue.


Ode To Summer ~ revisited

Some oldie but goody haiku and tanka for summer heat. Most have appeared previously on one or another of my blog posts.

for what ?





a cicada’s
raucous call for a mate
makes me wonder…
should I wear
my low cut
dress tonight


of shooting stars
a naked beach
and foaming waves
oh to be so seductive

Published: Take Five
Best Contemporary Tanka 2008


blue again
no summer sky
blue… that blue
deep into the wail
of a saxophone blue


Published: Modern English Tanka
Summer 2007

The Seduction of Romance



June and the Strawberry Moon (revisited)

Lightning bugs are out and about! This is a reblog in honor of the  solstice, full moon and lightning bugs/fireflies that keep the sun’s light pulsing throughout the short but dark nights.



thunder drums
the earth
returns the call
red roses issue
bullfrogs echo
rivers storm
however brief
that passion
eddies back
a plea from
the full strawberry moon
and her wild
goddess energy
pay attention
to these gifts

ag ~ 2014




Sun and Stone

Solstice View

As I watch the sun set
this late day dusk
over my kitchen sink
I am reminded of all the hard labor
that went into the sacred sighting
of poetic stonework
calibrated so exact as to
capture this very same alignment
of sun and earth ether and rock
perfectly punctuated
through my farmhouse window
as my hands wash dirty dishes
I am joyously reminded once again
of all that hands touch
and all that they cannot.



Fireflies and Fiddleheads

Rain and Rust


Between all the self-talk —
and yearning for a potato chip.

If only I could paint this time
between rain and rust
how would that look?

Once I was a river wild,
whiskey notes, and
summer squalls bending light.

The day you asked
I could not explain
in search of some moment.

Despite all the doubts
it was worth the while
it takes to see fireflies

In the words you whispered,
wearing my wounds,
and the distance of blue.

AG ~ May 2016

A Sunday Stoll In The Rain


He Walked His words

RIP Father Daniel J. Berrigan

I just read about his passing on the front page of The New York Times Sunday paper. It brings back a lot of old rather painful yet poetic times of protesting the Vietnam war and injustice altogether.

He was one of the leaders in the movement for change back in the day. That he and his brother Philip were clergymen did not matter, except to keep alive the hope that there were still some souls in the Catholic church hierarchy who responded to their core values.

He was jailed, dismissed by peers and loved by many. He was his own man to the end.

an icon of the 60’s protests
a priest with a poet’s soul
a visionary with integrity
fallible with feet of clay
he walked his words





Wee Flowers

the tiniest
flowers in the
teeniest of vases
catch our breath and
give the cheeriest hello
in a split second of delight
on a day that would otherwise
pass as a drama too complex
and sophisticated for the
delicate loveliness of
wood sprites unless
we unleash our
true selves to
play with