The Dead Wife Among the Fairies appeared in the winter solstice 2025 issue of Eternal Haunted Summer.

A tale from the Orkney islands.

A lighthouse keeper’s wife died, and in his grief he visited a witch who taught him to summon his wifefrom the Otherworld, snatching her back from the fairies. The trick worked, and thereafter every month on the full moon he summoned his dead wife to be with him again for that one night.

No one, of course, asked the wife if she wished to return.

When the Whales Leave was published in Issue #2 (December, 2025) of Harrow House Journal.

And I stand watching the sunset dipping
gold and purple into the ocean and think
about what it will be like
when the whales leave—

How to Survive a Tsunami appeared in the December 2025 issue of The Poetry Lighthouse. 

It was also part of a 2025 Mutual Muses exhibit at the Cotuit Center for the Arts.

The best way to survive a tsunami
is to not be where it
happens.

This can be harder than you might
think. We’re attracted
to the wild,

The Time of the Fires was published in the December 2025 issue of The Poetry Lighthouse.

Written the very long day of January 20, 2025, when Martin Luther King Jr. Day shared the calendar with the second inauguration of Donald Trump as president of the United States.

Plato insisted: no poets in the Republic. He
feared the power they could assume,
speaking of passions rather than rational
order, of beauty and despair instead
of virtuous behavior.

A Consolation Prize appeared in the December 2025 issue of The Poetry Lighthouse.

It was Rachel who said, I love Emily Post. She asked me to tell her
when the big white book filled with intricate orders of service
arrived at the bookshop. You read Emily Post? I asked her, waiting

Published in issue #7 of Beach Chair Press.

Wealthy property owners in my seaside
town all love how quaint the houses are—
then tear them down to make instead
mansions with glass walls facing the sea.
There is always construction here.

Published in Dissident Voice.

Before fascism came to America, I imagined
lives lived surreptitiously, resistance fighters
drinking harsh red wine in stone-flagged
kitchens at night by flickering firelight;

Included in the anthology Midnight Ink from Livina Press.

And now, with the darkness, the ghosts arrive. 

My mother, dead these many years,
a shadow fluttering in the moonlight:
on these endless nights it is her voice
I hear. I try not to listen. I wander instead
as disconnected as the ghosts themselves
through empty echoing rooms in my mind.

Published in the “Blown Away” anthology at Red Wolf Journal.

I live now, in my late middle age,
in a seaside town I’ve chosen
because it is a place where I
do not lock my door.

This was not always the case.

Published in the The Merganser Magazine.

I thought I saw an angel once, the air
alive with the beating of ethereal wings
whispers of a world yet to be born out
of the dustbins and doubt of our own.

Given by God, or astronomical event—
it doesn’t matter: I saw hope. I saw

Published in the The Glass Post.

I have been in too many cemeteries, read
too many headstones, wept with too many
grieving stone angels. You must understand:
I’ve often thought of killing myself.
It’s a long and honored tradition.

I live in a place they call land’s end:
I think a lot about the beyond. Beyond

Published in the Bethelem Writers Roundtable Archive.

I hear people look up their exes
on Google. I have an ex, too:
it’s the convent I once called
my home. Then, the nuns
were hundreds strong
(not including those deployed

Published in the On Gaia Literary Magazine.

Content warning: reference of SA

They keep the objects collected in plastic bags.
A museum of dead things, a compilation of objects
used to sustain life where life is no longer. Forced
to leave home, what do you decide to take?

           A comb, a jackknife, a religious medal
            A pen, a Boston Red Sox cap

Some cool statistics for one of my poems!

Ekartic poem written to reflect art from the permanent collection of the Cape Cod Museum of Art.

Published in the Looking Glass Review.

Birds dropping out of the sky: burning,
and dropping out of the sky. Stars gone,
sun gone, nothing but thick darkness and fear:
ghosts wander dangerously in the smoke.

Dread has its own clarity, its own sharp edges—
no-one is the same having felt it. Too late to leave,
roads closed, flight cut off, people huddled together
close to water. The wind is about to shift.

Poetry Sunday on WCAI.

At home in the country of my childhood, I went to the markets
and saw the numbers
tattooed on skin become old, a sleeve

falling back from a forearm, the ink of the camps faded and wrinkled.
That was when I stopped telling people
I’d survived a test, or an awkward

Published in The Avalon Review.

And on a night like any other night,
when the barkeep cut him off
when the girlfriend cut him loose
when his only option was a razor under
a flickering florescent light—

Appeared in the Adirondack Review.

And at the end of his contract
he comes back from the heat
the pulse of the land
the baobab trees, the savannah
the rhythms of the drums—
from the fever dreams of Malawi.

Published in the Blue Collar Review.

For the 19 members of the Granite Mountain Hotshots killed protecting the town of Yarnell, Arizona, when a wildfire went out of control on June 30, 2013.

Hotshot. They say you have to love it a little to hate it so much
and on a day like any other day a fire

like any other fire surrounded and took you: burnover, they
call it, when there’s no place to go but

into the flames. Watching the fire come nearer and you’re already
closer to it than anyone else would dare, hotshot,