A tale like this, scrolled and cranked by hand across the screen,

requires attention

— not to mention what must go on behind the scenes —

it's always moving forward, slowly, boldly, bringing us the story in shadowed circular motion

—inspired by “Francis Whitmore's Wife” – a Crankie Shadow Puppet Show by Katherine Fahey

as part of #writeacrossamerica

Time's layered hours often begin where water kisses land

The ancient people understand

Sunlight's shadow places stories buried in sediment and sand

The ancient people understand

for #WriteAcrossAmerica Central Arizona Writing Project

That Dog Might

That dog just might be everything you never know and who but her of us is not afraid to ask them how’re they’re faring how’s the dog doing anyway all curled up like a broken question mark in the back seat Skylark Buick asleep but barely for to be fair a home like this with dented doors and a catalytic converter means choices every day decisions made but that dog that dog that dog is love pure personified with the unexpected sly slobber the kind of kiss that brings a bit of smile to the face most needing it

for #writeacrossamerica

inspired by The Damm Family In Their Car by photographer Mary Ellen Mark,schools%2C%20motels%2C%20and%20shelters

On Hobbomock (The Sleeping Giant)

The stone giant sleeps in different time, a way in which hourglasses tick with shooting stars

We scale the farthest side of his neck, grabbing stone with fingers, thick, imagining Hobbomock’s toes

We catch our breath here, in quiet, linger on his nose, the stone castle obscured by tree stubble

These rubbled ridges of trap rock formed more than a millennia before, in origins infused with myth

of a ferocious force of heart and fist whose anger stamped this land, then paid the price

for Keiton the mighty arrived, alone, sending Hobbomock into slumber, on this volcanic mattress of stone

for #writeacrossamerica

Shhh! Listening? Ghost whisperings in the cold dead ear of death, her last breath taken in the arms of her lover - one never recovers a reckoning of history and so, left, as we are, with myth and mystery to the stone-etched fate of a Female Stranger of Alexandria

for NWP Write Across America in Northern Virginia (ghost stories) #writeacrossamerica

Shout – them folk – shout!

Raise your voice up to sing ancestors in a wooden house

Shout – them folk – shout!

Sing us the story of where the world tilts, and what it's all about

Shout – them folk – shout!

We are all threaded lines, all of us tangled together in this history

Shout – them folk – shout!

Let's listen – Let's hear - Let's remember the dance of Jubilee

for #writeacrossamerica inspired by “Jubilee” by the McIntosh County Shouters

The Things I Don't Know About Nebraska

The things I don't know about the state of Nebraska are deep enough to fill a box with pages of discarded poems, meandering and more winding than the Platte River running through the Plains

but when wandering the maps, running fingers over the flat lands of corn country, what I wonder most: who carved out the corner and gave the empty container to Colorado, and why?

In my mind, I imagine scenes of resistance, the fight of it, the proud Nebraskans waving pitchforks and rifles at these greedy neighbors, the grabby ones who carved up the land in spite of it

or I see incompetent bureaucrats, unable to discern lines through wind and water, and calling it a day before the day could even begin, checkmarks in the box, filed away with right, angles, wrong

and it's been said, so I've read, how some of those who live in the northern panhandle today like to dip toes on the border lines one way, to call it the West, and others, the other way, to call it Midwest,

while the most Nebraskans of all just carry on, finding strength in the solitude and in silence of their beloved land, bordered only by its beauty, calling it ... home

for #writeacrossamerica


we don't listen we barely hear we forget noticing we lose ourselves

we the stories of the world embedded in this place remain undiscovered

we wander this terrain of rock and soil and river

we need to linger longer in the quiet, listening for


we should listen we can hear we are noticing we find ourselves


for #writeacrossamerica

All Ends Are Merely Beginnings

What at first might seem like merely pins on the map become stories of a place when you dig deeper in – wrapping fingers into dirt, resting ear against wood, scratching words into stone; so sit with it for awhile and let the land tell you its tale of where it's been and where we're going

Pause point for #nwp #writeacrossamerica

Allee Gathering

Knees scraping against the bark and bite of ancient things, this tree's rings speak of something larger than us, seated as we are, here, with feet in the shade of solitude, the ghosts of Maple Allee hover just beyond us, singing as they always will with hope for roots and soil

for the #NWP #writeacrossamerica project (New York)

Inspired by and