Starmoth Press

a diary of words, paper and other ephemeral things

Tag: poems

  • left behind: a poem

    not just debris

    from the storm

    fallen twigs and

    forgotten string

    small dwelling

    for growing

    found the ground

    from its

    sky-kissed perch

    oh, to scoop it up

    to hold this proof

    to dampen the structure

    with saltwater tears

    We are luckily safe after Fridays’ storms but there is damage throughout town.

    Buy my book

  • Two collages and a haiku

    opportunistic

    robin plays bath splashing in

    puddles of fresh rain

  • water me

    threads of being 

    curl through every cell

    of this body

    arms   chest    heart

    opening like a flower

    crying nectar at the 

         sunrise

    penetration of light

    both

         pleasure and

              pain

  • will you accept this payment

    tended the garden of this mind

    brains weren’t  extraordinary

    I cling to the title:

    gifted

    press the label onto my shirt

    hand lingers above my breast

    delusion

    the tag tied round my toe in the morgue

    it’s all I ever was…until, you know

    I wasn‘t

    plummeting grades, marks don’t matter

    blackout nights, herded by strangers

    bra stuffed with money

    and tear-stained fights

    this body became

    the sacrifice;

    payment on the altar of

    expectation

    color me surprised

    you roll your eyes

    not impressed

    tell me this

    is it enough yet?

  • where do you see reflections of yourself?

    Feet pull me out the door

    And wind runs fingers

    through my hair

    It’s familiar:

    this soft, electric air

    between the storms

    Damp earth sinks beneath me

    I fall into lush moss

    and vibrant greens

    alive with rain

    I see myself here

    reflected back

    by tree roots

    and budding leaves

    There is family here

    in heavy water drops

    and curious bird eyes

  • is that word alive

    AI trained on human souls

    yet their words taste like

    pink plastic left

    in the sun too long

    I’d like to think I can tell

    when words don’t have a body

    like scraping the knee

    on the playground asphalt

    or bumping the funny bone

    or drinking water underneath

    scorching sun

  • loving gaze

    Where it began: stilt houses

    Skeletal remains emerging

    from algae-green pools

    Awe blooming at heart level

    for faded places, forgotten

    I whisper “thank you for open eyes”

    now I lovingly see

    crooked barns

    crumbling factories

    boarded-up businesses

    debris piles left behind

    wild-torn houses

    places hold people, hold stories…

    and now no one is left

    to tend to these places,

    they were once a flurry of

    motion, aliveness, everyday mundanity

    now no one bothered

    to even tear them down

    burn remains

    memorialize their time here

    honor what was

  • early afternoon

    12:34 

    while my daughter screams

    “I’M SO LUCKY”

    she found a quarter on the porch

    I think about 

    rollerblading because

    I don’t remember ever

    deciding to stop

    my son wants to eat a whole

    pizza for lunch

    the porch door is open

    I lay on the couch

    as that’s what I usually do

    I’ve bought so many 

    books and courses

    hoping to learn how to do things

    placing my trust

    in anyone’s hands but

    my own