raise your vibe, find your tribe
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We are made of sound vibrations, stay tuned.
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Poems for the multiverse
Experiments in Form
Ditty
Meter, meter, syntax eater,
Had a phrase and couldn’t keep her,
Put her in a neat rondel,
And there he kept her very well
La La La
This is a poem waiting to be written
It is impatient
It feels me struggling to find a thought
The feelings in that thought
The words for those feelings
The meaning of those words
It taps its foot in iambic pentameter
I am not taking the hint
It sings a lullaby
No, not writing about mother love
It sways from side to side
This has promise
I think I’ll write a song
Why I removed the comma
It made me pause
When I was in a rush to change the subject back to
ME
And didn’t look right
I like things to be Perfectly
Symmetrical
And shouldn’t it really have been a semi-colon;
Or rather should there be any p.u.n.c.t.u.a.t.i.o.n
In a poem
Which is really all Images
And
Pauses
And
All those Neptunian half-connections
That crawl out of the amygdala into
The rational mind
Where they hang looking like lost tourists
That all the bored locals are just
Dying to talk to
But too afraid they won’t quite understand
And besides
Aren’t really interested in taking the trouble
But then again I thought, a comma does have its place, doesn’t it
Especially in the case of people like me who aren’t quite sure
What they think or what to say and have to qualify everything
Every step of the way, you know what I mean, don’t you,
Like those
Lovely Southern women
Who always stop to help anyone
Who looks lost
Especially
Tourists
And will take them by the hand
If they do not understand
And escort them to their destination
And then of course invite them home for tea
Which is the beginning of a great new friendship
And all because
They paused
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Famous
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Simultaneously
Simultaneously
Simultaneously
So that no matter where or when you are
You hear my words
my words
my words
Then am I famous?
YES OR NO
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Do We Add Up?
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Miscellaneous poems
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July 4, 2025
I lost every watch my mother gave me until the very last one which I treasure beyond compare because then I lost her.
I lost a few friends along the way, this happens when you move a lot.
I lost my mind for a year when I was eighteen, but fortunately got it back, nothing like a good psychiatrist.
I lost my sense of self-esteem when I offered someone an heirloom and they promptly decided to give it away.
I lost my country yesterday. How do you lose a country?
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Le Menu
Amuse-bouche
French air kisses - a delicacy, a light brush of each cheek to be shared with friends of equal sophistication and perhaps pretentiousness that went out of fashion during the Covid epidemic.
Pair with an Hermes handbag and tickets to the Met Gala.
Entrée
Kiss of life - otherwise known as CPR, a forceful exhalation of breath into your expiring victim who will be eternally grateful to be able to move on to the next course as these reservations took 6 months to get.
Pair with mouthwash.
Plat principal
Romantic kiss - preferred by women, let us call it the fish course. Gentle, passionate, cannot be faked. À volonté.
Pair with caresses.
Sexy kiss aka French kiss - preferred by men, let us call it the meat course. Relevé. Deep-throated, devouring, a prelude to a very interesting night indeed.
Pair with silk handcuffs.
For anyone who orders both, this is the person on whose funeral pyre on the Ganges you would throw yourself. Marry them.
Plat du jour
Kust de hand - an antique and courtly gesture of kissing the hand of a woman to whom you are devoted or from whom you wish to obtain a favor.
Pair with breeches that will not split when you bend down so obsequiously.
Fromage
Hickey - this course is often skipped, the mark it leaves is as offensive as the smell of Limburger.
Pair with, oh how would I know?
Dessert
Good-bye kiss - this comes in infinite flavors depending on the occasion, the mood, and whether you care to see them again.
Pair with a handkerchief.
Digestif
Kiss of death - this is the result of overindulgence in the above.
Pair with an ambulance.
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Feelings
I don’t know where to put my feelings
In the heart shaped crystal in my purse?
In the space between me and my best friend?
In a song somebody else wrote?
Can I send them back where they came from?
The unanswered phone call
The shocking turn to fascism
The job that blew itself to smithereens
They flounce in like a diva
Demand attention, sympathy, consolation
Dismiss anyone who does not look them in the eye
Weep inconsolably if anyone actually does
What about Buddhist detachment?
Yes, what about it?
Who wants to be unmoved, unloved
Un anything worth breaking your heart for?
Will I be remembered as the girl
Who floated through life with quiet grace
A pretty picture that does not hold your attention
But looks nice in the family album?
Or the one who stirred up so much passion
Love, ambivalence, confusion, scorn
Who shot through the night sky like a comet
On a day everyone remembers where they were?
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Dear Nathalie - A Serial novella - #1 (to be continued in the starseed blog)
May 2012
Nathalie, I cannot thank you enough for laying into me for not proposing to Suzanne in all these years, with two kids. When you told me you had an heirloom ring to pass on and I said I would keep it for my daughter, I meant it. But as soon as I saw it was clearly an engagement ring, it hit me that I had never thought to propose to her. I was shocked at your response. You said you know what ‘maybe’ means and 16 years is ‘a hell of a test drive.” I have never heard you talk like that before but I suppose it was important to you to make your point. But you know how much I respect you and so I went ahead and did it, I proposed, and it has made all the difference. I think I never felt marriage was necessary to cement commitment, nor did she. But I like the sense of permanence this gives us, and so do the children.
Natalie, you seem to know me better than I know myself. I hope you will always be my best and dearest friend.
June 2012
I am surprised you have not answered me, you were always the one who emailed the most, and the longest. You must be busy. What are you up to?
Suzanne has started doing things she did not used to do, traditional wifely things, it seems out of character but somehow pleasing. She frequently refers to herself as Mrs. Duchamp now, changed her name on all our accounts, and has embroidered our initials on all sorts of things. And she now prefers our married friends over the others who live as we used to. It is possible that this is just a phase. If it goes on too long or too far it could become cloying. I was never conventional and now I feel like I am following a script.
July 2012
Still no word from you. And none of our mutual acquaintances have seen you for a while. Are you out of the country, or perhaps ill?
I have news, Suzanne is pregnant, it is a girl. Our first technically legitimate child. I don’t think we would have had a third child without this marriage. It seems a sign, a blessing.
Suzanne had a hard time during pregnancy with our first daughter, Madeleine, and much as I hate to say it, I don’t think she loves her anywhere near as much as our son. But this pregnancy is going well and she cannot stop talking about her plans for the baby.