Bee Mine

Caught meeting six dates
in one night in the same bar –
now banned from Bumble.

Bee in her bonnet – she called
him a hornet in the hive.

sexy bee



A Poem for Tracy K. Smith

  What does the storm set free?
        Spirits stripped of flesh on their slow walk.
— “The Speed of Belief,” from Life on Mars, by Tracy K. Smith

So we both lost our fathers,
your Floyd William Smith, 1935-2008
and my Richard Alan Sharp, 1936-2007,
both engineers, yours worked on the Hubble
and mine on the fuel cell for Gemini in the 60s.
You think of the soul wandering, a man
without country, spinning,  perhaps to touch
down on Earth again, through you,
while I imagine the soul, or something
like one, fueling a distant star cluster
with a power that could only be love.
And so I am left to look at you, wide-eyed
with hair exploding like a supernova,
and believe I see him there, too,
in your smile, seeing through your eyes,
your father who looked to the stars,
toward my father, burning in the night.

Phantom Pain

“The loss of my left arm,” quipped Cervantes, “is for the greater glory of my right.”

Between bottles of wine
we agreed it was the right ear

Van Gogh lopped, by our memories
of that self-portrait with his head wrapped,

But of course it was really his left side
seen in mirror image as an artist naturally would.

My image, naked in the mirror,
the scars, I touch them where you touched me

With your thin and honest lips that sting me now
with the cold searing of their absence.

A January Poem

Written Jan. 2, 2012, this poem appeared in my e-chapbook titled Wind Fierce as Love published a few years ago by Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.


Six sandhill cranes
land in a field
ringed by cottonwoods.

Dry grass,
wind-combed cornstalks,
thin snow rind in fence shade.

Chain clanging
on a metal flagpole,
Oglala drumbeat.

Weak sun setting,
half moon rising
like me without you

on New Year’s Day
in a wind
fierce as love.