Home and Away

Home and Away is a chapbook collection of poems published by Finishing Line Press (Sept. 2019) in Georgetown, KY.   Home and Away can be ordered by clicking the following link:


where you can search for the book using my name or the book title to navigate to the information for ordering and purchase. 

Of Home and Away, the poet and publisher, Christopher Howell, has noted, "The plain, direct language of the poems that voice delivers reminds us what it is like to be awake minute by minute in the world of our being. More importantly, and profoundly, their humor and unaffected humility suggest that we may have available to us a steadier, more capacious happiness than we know."

The following poems are a sample of the work presented in Home and Away. Please enjoy!  If you like what you see here, please order the book from Finishing Line Press, or from any local bookseller, including Amazon. 


Someone had a good idea. I saw the two of them

at the far end of a grassy runway with their urn

waving it in the wind above their heads. That could be

me in a few years, disappearing into wild grasses

and distant pines as an ashy little dust storm. Maybe it

was the family dog, the “only child” of an aging couple.

Here, because this is where he ran freely when they

walked him. The space an invitation to emptying

walks with animals. Deer and black bear occasionally

cross the distant end of the runway, then disappear

through invisible doors in scrub oak bordering

the outstretched arm of black tarmac. Big sky

everywhere, as big as I remember Dakota, riding

cycle past miles of wheat. The peaceful quiet

enormous, and welcoming as a family threshold.

Tall stalks of nodding grasses wait for someone

to say: I love how I feel in this place. Wide open.

Free as dust.


(first published in Common Ground Review, Fall/Winter Issue, 2019)




Wading through a puddle of crows

amok with the grammar of love,


she throws crusts to the bluest ones

who speak to her with eyes.


Suspicious. The way deer are

beguiled with the taste of carrots


and apples, set out as offerings

or bait. Their deaths imagined for them


by a woman, up early in darkness,

sitting quietly behind a blind.


Later, there will be blood and

hot coffee spilled in snow.


A mixed toast to a morning full

of gunshots and squawking crows.


(first published in Blueline, literary journal of SUNY Pottsdam, Spring, 2017)




With my neck bent,

head bowed,

chin resting

on the thumbprint of my heart,


I am listening

to their breath

and my heart's drum,

summoning the stars to dance.


On a midnight beach

with the peach scent

of blossoms wafting,

our feet begin


a Cha-cha. Gone the worry

over Christmas eviction,

the shadowy noose of father's

addiction. Gone the fear


and wild confusion

during kindergarten drills

for an active shooter.

Our footsteps swing


to a polka, laughing stars

whirl on the dance floor

above. Outstretched hands

stirring the air around us,


we are a cartoon

of happy movement.



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