I. Via Casino

Sitting beneath the palms
eyes closed on a Sunday
legs stretched into sun
from my cotton skirt
like I wore the summer we met.

The languages walk past
The stone seat is cool
against my back.

I remember the warmth
of your shoulders
in the evening
your gentle fingers
saying Catarina, Catarina.

II. Avalon

Yesterday morning
I passed through the Old Town
without meaning to
on my way to the fish market.

I stopped below the building
where we had been together.

The plaster is crumbling
in the salt air, like us.

I dared to look at the shaded balcony
that hung out over the harbor,
saw again our drowsing at noon
the sun shimmering on the sea
behind us.

Oh, Pedro, Pedro,
let us throw our bones back
into the sea.

@Copyright Kay Winter



How far have you come since you landed with a splat on the delivery room floor?

Your mom took one look and confirmed her earlier decision.

She had a bag packed and almost knocked over the nurse on her way out.

You started screaming and haven’t stopped since.


I am the person who writes the nonsense into life.

The flower petals crumbling into sand.
Laugh if you will.

I am the person who writes the nonsense into life.
The corners waiting to be turned
Emptying to floods.

As much as life builds itself up and lays a path,
It wants these trippings.

It is not death, this nonsense.

These places where I fall down, fall into the flood, the flower fades from blue to purple bruised and crumbles into sand.
Where it all falls out beneath my feet.

You are longing for a story, Terrence.

But I am the person writes the nonsense into life.

The hard work of not falling asleep when you want to, when the moon falls through the window and glides down the wall.

Do you know, Terrence, the way to fall asleep then,
During the long night?

Do you still want a story, Terrence?

There is no heart of the matter.
No long, fated path.
No distant mountain we move toward.
No white peak to conquer.
No story that is anything but nonsense.

I am the person who writes the nonsense into life.

Does death even finish it?

Tell me, Terrence,
Do you know anyone who is dead who has seen the puzzle put together?

Try this, Terrence.
Try writing the nonsense into your own life.

You may find that you already have.

Tell me about the clouds that you watched
From the roof as it rained.
Your wet shirt.
The squelching of your shoes coming back
Down the stairs.

How you knew the ending.
How you knew the empty apartment you came down to.
How you sat in your wet clothes
And wrote the nonsense
Into the empty room.

– Copyright Kay Winter


A story on a blank page
one page as blank as the last.
A few words only,
“last night the lights”
and a sketch of a bridge.

Skip the usual turn
and travel into the darkness
one darkness as dark as the last.
A few stars only
above the treeline.

Keep to the the right of the cemetery
until you find the bridge
where the sun will rise
in May over the lilacs
and the pale new leaves
of the willow
are green and bending.

Copyright Kay Winter

We Weep in the Darkness

We weep in the darkness
Believing in our aloneness
We feel the pull
The call
To the dark
Not knowing
The light is just underneath
Beaconing to us
Waiting to embrace us
To brush away our tears
To let us know
We aren’t alone
Asking us
To open our eyes
And see
See the beauty that lies in our heart
Even if it seems so broken
So unfixable
There is beauty still
There is love
There is joy
No matter how torn
No matter how shattered it may seem
The light
The love
Are always there

Copyright Don MacLeod

Over and Over

I write the same two poems


over and over.


One is called


“I’m in Love.”


The other is called


“I Hate Myself.”


They take turns,




in my head and heart,


by the season,


or the weekend,


or from one moment


to the next.






I’m sick of myself




I love you.


It eats me up from the inside out.

It burns a hole in my stomach and


leaks poison into my bloodstream.

It boils and distills in my brain,


becomes a potent and powerful wave.

It absorbs the good energy and


burns it black,

a big bang in my heart.


Do you have one of these?

Doesn’t everyone?