Publications

This past couple of weeks I have had two poems come out in periodicals:
Sacred Poetry An invitation to writ href="http://abbyofthearts.com">

Raven Chronicles, where I was first published 20 years ago"a href="http://ravenchronicles.org">

My book Poltice for Belief is in its final stages so I am waiting to see the first copy come off press late summer or fall. href="http://marchstreet press.com">

New Mexico notes

New Mexico Notes

Where Gwen had focused her camera over and over I was striking with my flash of words.


I am under the station of
Jesus falls for the first time.
His body is roped off
In the Tabernacle.
Beat into falling
Weight
Of sins morphed into a cross.
His stained
Glass eyes look at me. I am
Lower in the pew- cameras flash.
People put their hands
On the feet of Christ-
Rubbing Buddha rubbing Christ.

Lorretto Chapel Santa Fe


What is the sky
Doing under- hanging over
The ground without strings?
No jet would fly into that thin air.
A bi-plane would make it interesting
As long as “Lady Lindy” were in pursuit.


Santa Fe Plaza

His bike was sprouting flowers
As he crossed the plaza-
End of the Santa Fe Trail
The Ghost of Comanche’s
Always show colors first
Not putting the beauty
Under a bushel.
“We are beyond
The oldest dust
In your tires.”

He rode on
Singing reggae into a white cup.

Iris Murdoch said

"Iris Murdoch said, 'Writing is like getting married. One should never commit oneself until one is amazed at one's luck.'"

"E.B. White quote

"E.B. White said, 'I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.'"

Poem: The Story By Tom A. Delmore

The Story
Praying in old temples and missions
Is more conversion and red knees
Than looking for forgiveness
Among holy dirt, rituals
And adorned Madonna’s.

Sometimes I wake
And Mohammed is more
A boxer than prophet.
Miracles come out of
Families of dysfunction
And rings of the pugilist more often
Than a rider ascending to heaven
On a flaming chariot.

There is a belief among boulevard trees
Who worship oversized vehicles; that God
Is in the topiary. And there are those
Trees who believe it is the devil
In the edgings.

Why is there a book of Lamentations
And no book of Oz- a book of Psalms
And no Howl in the canon
Of sacred texts.

When one finds a new
Lost scroll, dead or otherwise,
Do we keep them under a bushel
And whittle out what makes good
Kindling? All stories spark fire
Saints and prophets are full of this refuse
There mouths spitting orange embers.

Jean Cocteau

Jean Cocteau said: "The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood."