Let us sit down soon to eat

foodLet us sit down soon to eat

with all those who haven’t eaten;
let us spread great tablecloths,
put salt in the lakes of the world,
set up planetary bakeries,
tables with strawberries in snow,
and a plate like the moon itself from which we can all eat.
For now I ask no more than the justice of eating.

~Pablo Neruda


Some old poetry

These  are some of my older poems:
We are….
Two notes
Harmonious Duet
in Spirit and in flesh
Adagio & capriccio at once.
Restful at ease…but spirited
Composing our own chromatic scale
We are enharmonic intervals
Two notes…
Differing in name only
Homophony, meant to play
in unison
Intimate in character,
…yet impromptu
Timeless and classical
Yet newly composed
Playing each measure
lovingly and in tempo
A Romantic prelude
to our climatic symphony.


A Heart Struck Moon

Our flesh entwined

on the altar bed.
gently bathes
Cimmerian shade
with lustrous alms.
of light.
and love.
A heart struck moon
Paints lace of light,
Across our mortal souls,
We kiss goodnight.
 blue angel

Pseudologia Fantastica

With mirrors

summoned from

A childhood priest,

Fata Morgana

sweeps a rusty Midas

high and away

in the cold-hearted

dry autumn air.

Calcine flames


over Incubus’ air castles

Ere tornados blast their

cinders to the cheerless heavens.

Algonquin’s frosty smile.

Dreaming of her king’s

resplendent touch

Her inexorably

treasured taste

of gold.

I am the charred remains.


The Luminescence of Foxfire

The luminescence of foxfire

bathes decaying wood.

Suffused, languished light

yearning for the magic

that lives in old books

and fond familiar thoughts.

Meridian shadows can

gull a blind blue eye

into higher thoughts

that quickly drop beneath

dark forest canopies,

and eternal nights of

faintly obscuring leaves.



Leafless branches reach
to the cloudy darkness of the
December Portland rain.


Art waits inside my brain.

Forming sinewy
limbs to create words

twisting forth and bursting

beating with the same heart
as my own

Waiting to emerge.

Stacy Alexander

 drop of blood

Poem for a poem

A poem surged
through my brain
blood though vein
dense and viscous
deep. red. irreverent.
Now it rests
on my bones
and on desert
dry , brittle. soft. gray. white.
Stacy Alexander