Posted in Poetry

Opening Shot: A Poem


Quiet on the set

Laughter transitions to tears

Silence breaks through the chatter

Cinema junkies brace for banality

Places, everyone

Deep breath from the director

Egos run rampant behind the camera

The actors duck down like animal prey

Roll sound

A ladder falls, three lights explode

A whispering wind soothes and calms

Against the backdrop of a fiery Hell

Roll camera

The actors blink and blot their lips

Dust in the frame, viewfinder villainy

Mise-en-scene equals cotton candy bullshit


Cue the dolly’s descent

Dialogue like soap opera rewrites

Death never more serenely transcendent

And cut

Posted in Poetry

6AM: A Poem


Chiming of the bells find rhythm

Catastrophic termite menaces

Chattering teeth nibble aluminum

Cumbersome popcorn ensnares the senses

Crying babies loom overhead

Clicking pens kill the classroom

Cracking glass falls through the door

Continuing havoc bites through the roof

Cat fights down in the gutter

Chatting on cell phones with a friend

Claustrophic elevators crash to the ground

Calamity finally comes to an end

Conclusion of the alarm

Chelsea awakes

Posted in Poetry

Public Speaking: A Poem


The black curtain rises

Sweat drips

Like heavy beads falling from the sky

The hot air balloon inside inflates

Thoughts find dark evaporation

I rise, I move, I stumble

Feet feel like Christmas sludge

I recover

Paper cut on the forehead

Eyes quiver but don’t shut

The podium sits all alone

Like a little boy on his first day of school

A turn to my right

I hope the land is barren

The dream hits a rough curve

Hi and hello

I continue with the decibel of a whisper

Looking on the vast crowd of crocodiles

Ready to chomp on ideas of inanity

The clock ticks

Mrs. Bucktooth looks down with a frown

Any minute now

Whisper to a scream

I die

Posted in Poetry

Sarah Shotwell: A Poem


Blue skies melt into green meadows

In your shimmering eyes

Morning sun finds rows of lilies

In your sweet scented hair

Sarah Shotwell, I dreamed of you


Flesh-toned velvet flows in clear rivers

In your soft skin

Rich mountain peaks call to Heaven

In your cherry red fingernails

Sarah Shotwell, I dreamed of you


Volcanoes, for years non-active, erupted

In my brain

When you finally looked at me

Buildings collapsed and rivers evaporated

In my heart

When you turned away from me

Sarah Shotwell, I dreamed of you

I dreamed of you

Posted in Poetry

Memo to My Actors: A Poem




























Posted in Poetry

Hands: A Poem


Age spots, freckles, and veins disappear

In the tropical wonderland.

Flipping them from side to side

Makes stallions blink to admire

Ten long pointy toothpicks.

Bracelet marks open the gate to

An island of longevity.

I need to know if there is any way

To find a state of peace

In the waves slowly seeping onto the beach.

Don’t feel obligated, you say,

There’s always fishing in the Pacific.

Posted in Poetry

Sally: A Poem

sally field oscars 2013-11.jpg

Everyone’s favorite George dances onto the stage

His suit classy and black, his hair hinting old age

The microphone wobbles when he touches its spine

The title card zooms straight out of the screen

A hush sweeps over a room filled with envy

The Best Supporting Actress remains to be seen


“Good evening,” he says, his face drenched in white light

“It’s time to hand out the first award of the night.”

I clench my fists and bite down on my tongue

I flaunt a peppy look that’s not bitter with defeat

Even though I’ve lost to the critics and actors

Even though my rear end stays forever in this seat


Fifty years and a fortnight my career has gone strong

I’ve played a flying nun, and I’ve burst into song

Since the sixties they’ve flocked to this luminous Field

They’ve watched my films in theaters, on cable, ABC

They said yes to Norma, to Mamma Gump and Aunt May

They’ve said they like me, that they really, really like me


But today’s a new world, obsession over youth

No one cares my husband was shot by John Wilkes Booth

They all turn to the starlet, with the lame pixie haircut,

With the bright eggshell eyes, with the grin of a whore

So she sang and she starved and she died all dramatic

I could sweep up her talent with a mop on the floor


The clips fly by, I see Amy Adams, Helen Hunt

I wouldn’t mind a surprise there, none of them is a runt

Steven gives me a wink, Daniel takes my sweaty hand

And I glare at the skinny bitch who hasn’t eaten for a day

George opens the envelope, tries his best to look surprised

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Oscar goes to Anne Hathaway!”


The camera zooms in, I let out a fake cheer

I try not to sprint to the bar and chug a cold beer

Anne ascends the stairs, and I pray that she trips

She takes hold of the statue, and I hope that it breaks

When she thanks her doofy husband, Ryan Gosling-lite

I dream I make that award mine, whatever it takes


I’d leap up to the stage, pop her three times in the face

I’d stand with my Oscar, proud to have won my third race

But then: “Who I have to thank most is my hero, Sally.”

I sit up in my seat, as Anne turns to me, and says,

“You’re stunning, sublime, you’re the cream of the crop

It’s icons like you who make me strive for my best.”


As the applause overwhelms me, as the people give thanks

From Sandra to Brad, to Cher and Tom Hanks

I nod to Anne, to all the stars and the rest

I take in my surroundings and I try to finally see

Just how privileged I am, and how so very lucky

Because the world still likes me, they really, really like me

This poem was written right before the 2013 Academy Awards ceremony, and later published in Strong Verse Magazine.