Hobo's Poems

I notice the steps. In every snip there is release. I see the beauty. In each strand there is natural me. I move through history. In my curly style, I am with different pieces of myself, my parents, my friends, jobs, poetry performances. I see Alamogordo, Las Cruces, Craig, Belen, Hell’s Kitchen, Jersey City, Brooklyn, Astoria, Forrest Hills. Chop the back Lift the sides Shape Shorter Shorter All around Clip clip Cut cut We can stop here. We know these are good places to be.... But if I don’t go further I can’t keep growing. Thank you, Me, for letting me go. Thank you, Judy, for helping me reach new places. Plateaus Within myself and Out in the world Discovery Hiker I Mountain climb. Feel the back Fingers Tussle my own hair Grinning, I am moved by this change. In this new dance I will partake in new Opportunities Move in and through Doors I am a warrior goddess With all of me And beside all of you Beautiful souls to be wi...

flying in my homemade sleigh navigating family memories to three-year-old me, Shirley Temple cheeks, smile and curls, red dress with pearly polka dots, winter white tights black patent leather Mary Janes full-on lighthearted glee rocking horse through time and years to high school, college, beyond, mom's stuffed twice baked potatoes with cheddar and bacon cornish hens with stuffing inside, crunchy on the edge like I like the three of us: Mom, Dad, Jenn attend church service at Grace Methodist, lighting candles,  taking communion, singing as one Mom wears the silver fox fur that is now hanging in my closet then Christmas Eve viewing the lights in Alamogordo, description of holiday designs and colors, following the luminaria trail in our red and silver Chevrolet through Tularosa after dinner Dad drives me to Jess's or Kira's to exchange gifts and hugs inside our casa at 1315 Desert Eve, there are ceramic village  houses from Aunt Ka...

I am crashing. I knew I was about to crash. I knew the accident was near yet I wasn't expecting to bleed. Usually I anticipate the flow the gush the beginning the start first drops This is a painful reminder I'm here cramps kick in Hurt, Nine Inch Nails on Spotify Hurt by Johnny Cash through Times Square Hurt you Hurt me broken thoughts make me smile

Alone sound of the wind waves ambulance Brighton Beach secluded alone on the blanket alone in my bikini trying to be in my bareness Allness Today this is what my body looks like who says what is there are many ways to look It's harder to be around friends in bathing suits they don't see you in your underwear like your husband does they don't see beneath your clothes the freckles the scars the stretch marks bathing suits are really being naked The cool breeze hot sand beneath my belly pushing my toes down warm comfort and balance layers of me sandy sticky me suntanlotioned skin full blanket me I occupy this space among people in public yet i am secluded and serene

Strip away what no longer serves. Move daily to circle hips, celebrate. Bend, fold, fall. Take what is almost gone or cracked, dispose of it now. Use what is necessary. Carry the grief in the middle pocket of the Betsey Johnson purse with the yellow bow. Tie the polka dot scarf around neck. Dab assorted colors on lips, cheeks. Contribute to this house of you. Throw away old receipts. Remove makeup. Brush teeth, floss. Do laundry. Wash dishes. Make the bed. Grocery shopping. Cook when you can. Take out trash. Clean litter box. Water plants. Pause. Decorate the tops of different surfaces. Examine contents in wooden boxes. Behold sparkle earrings in hand. Let the fire burn. Honor past paper. Ignite new poems. It takes time to care, the act of kindness, folding yourself. Put a notebook and pen in tote bag next to the pain It's not too heavy. It never was.

Noticing lips pouts on the F train to Second Avenue The Blonde: a few freckles on her face, nude lips, hair upswept rhinestone earrings blossom Over there Bettie Page with fiery pucker bull nose piercing Another light pink, shiny-full complimentary to her camel coat with coral scarf We are all searching for something or someone We seek each other out our eyes connecting Wine soaked mouth berry and black checkered jacket mousy brown hair natural she moves closer to male lips with Container Store bag corduroy coat raven locks slicked back She is wondering, What would it be like to kiss him? My friend waits for our next stop messy ponytail fuschia glasses cherry lips a mix of cotton candy with glitter gloss on top I mentally zoom n on my own face/my own pout mine are dry with remaining red color from this afternoon Does anyone else notice? I whisper, "sssshhhhhh." to kiss myself and embrace my own voice, the feel of my own lips, top and bo...

I told my friend the grief is like a flame that is always lit within me. It burns every day inside Jennifer Dawn. It's intensity rises with the anniversary - one side of the flame, a personal pool of hot lava frustration drop in to revolt. Yet it burns peacefully most of all because within me is always the flame of love, an endless supply of listen, connect and receive. I swim in the bottomless pool of peaceful water. Is it two flames? One flame changes? Is it two rooms, two pools in my heart? I told my friend the grief is like the Olympic flame, and I discover there are two flames inside the torch. The yellow one burns cooler and is prone to extinguish in the wind and rain, but there is a smaller, hotter flame which is capable of relighting the other one. I cherish this flame(s) and all it is from when I climb out of bed in the morning to when I place my head on my pillow at night. I honor the pain. It is a symbol to me of celebrating life ...