Archive for the ‘house of weather’ Category


Posted: 09/14/2014 in house of weather, house of women

she came and stayed too long,

talked too much,

and was too touchy-feely,

coming around corners when i was half dressed

and short on sleep.

this morning it turned chilly and she was subdued,

sitting at the kitchen table with her hands around her coffee mug

and her suitcase open but empty on the bed in her room.

she will head south,

and i will have my house to myself again.

everybody likes her and she will light it up some other place,

while i feel a little guilty, but

mostly glad to see her gone.


for real toads mini challenge.

crazy emmie bought teacher’s chalk at the five and dime,

went out in the six inch snow and wrote love letters to biker anne

on the sidewalk.


they all said, “anne honey,

i saw a blue star out the back window last night

and i know it means that this year will be different.


do you remember the barn owls and how they looked like taloned angels

those nights we made love and the scents were

straw, saddle soap, horse feed, and us?


baby, i’m not always crazy,

sometimes winter only stays the month–

if march is kind, i could still be your girl,

before time circles the night and i never see you again.

i love you now as i always have.




every year she swears she won’t steal money for the chalk,

go out barefoot in january

and have to spend two weeks up at reed city,

but some resolutions fall like flakes, pretty and helpless

under their own fragile weight.


for Real Toads.

i’m doin’ the beach walk

cos i woke up crampy and dissatisfied.

ain’t this the stuff of blurry-ass old paintings and such?

do you like my wide brimmed hat and my shawl?

ain’t i just as poetic as hell?

i’m thinkin’ that the wet sand looks the color of paved dog shit.

there are no mermaids here,

and if there were, they’d be propped on their elbows

blowing their bangs out of their faces

and wondering why nobody brings them coffee.

i’m doin’ the beach walk–

if you don’t like beaches,

just leave me alone.


got an old dog,

not much bother her none…

but my old dog

know the storm come she better run.

run, baby

find a safe place when the lightning flash…

thunder roll

run on in, mama waitin’.

got an old love,

not much bother her none…

but my old love

know the way to my door

run, baby

find a safe place when the lightning flash…

thunder roll

run on in, mama waitin.


photo by Laura Hegfield for Real Toads

snow globe

Posted: 01/08/2012 in house of crazy, house of weather

snow globe…

is there somethin wrong,

somethin wrong

with kitsch?

and i keep thinkin

you just got to warm up…

is there somethin wrong,

somethin wrong

with this?

snow globe,

it’s snowing on the inside

snowing on the inside.

i got time to stand around

til somebody shake me

wake me

out of this coma.

and i keep thinkin

with my little plastic brains,

that you just got to get

got to get

a whole lot warmer.

(don’t you?)

snow globe

is there somethin wrong with kitsch?

it’s snowing on the inside

snowing on the inside…

is there somethin wrong

somethin i don’t see, that’s wrong

with this?

ring twelve bells for the year that’s gone…

ring ’em now, ring ’em loud;

ring for the ones with their best clothes on,

laid fresh underground.

ring ’em the same for the sinner or the saint

all across the land;

a bell rings like for the tremblin’ quake

as for a delicate hand.


where you been, baby?

it’s gettin’ awful cold.

there’s pretty lights

all up n down our road.

don’t get distracted

by nothin new and shiny bold.

where you been baby?

don’t let the pretty lights

keep you from comin home.



Posted: 11/16/2011 in house of change, house of weather

i found a letter

on the ripped brown seat of a yellow taxi

in the rainy hour before dawn.

i told the driver i was sick,

said i’d walk,

found the curb a mile high.

there was no one around,

i’d lost my keys,

fuck this, I said, oh

fuck this, fuck it,

the night is so long.

i looked at the letter

addressed to someone else,

and opened the folded pink pages

as if i were better than me.

it said “if you’re reading this”

and went on lingeringly…

but it was written faint, so faint,

and i could hardly stand to see.

it’s a rainy old mornin…

can’t lift my head

or get out of bed;

it’s too nice here…

think i’ll call in dead.

rain on the window starts me thinkin…

about butter on bread.

how sweet would that be?

call me crazy,

but i’m callin in lazy.

rain on leaves makes ’em sure enough shine…

they sure enough like it

like your lips on mine.

hand me that phone,

and listen to me lie.




me and cindi,  linda and nance

got caught on the road

got caught in the rain

got caught out walkin

when we shouldn’t oughta been…

with a stolen bottle

of mama’s gin

we started for home

in trouble again

me and cindi and linda and nance

sang with the wind

and the trees all danced.


a 55 for the G Man