Saturday, February 4, 2012 at 7:04PM | by Otter Today when the Otter went solo canoeing
He thought it was fun since the storm-clouds were brewing.
But soaked to the skin, he was a figure of fun:
“You were caught in the rain before you were done!
You’re a dweeb! You are wet! You’re a mug! You’re a fool!
You’re a goof and a maladroit freak and a tool!
You went out in your boat and you came home all wet!”
Said the Otter, “It’s true. It’s the best day out yet.”
Monday, January 30, 2012 at 2:50PM | by Otter 
Damn the rat-bastards with words like a knife
Who demand that the widower get on with his life.
Love won’t abandon the places it haunts:
Leave her clothes in the closet, if that’s what he wants.
— The Otter
Love, Poetry in Personal Reflection, Poetry Wednesday, January 25, 2012 at 6:16AM | by Otter I have Christian friends who insist that death is not an occasion for grief because nothing is lost in God. I have atheist friends who insist the same thing but for the opposite reason, because no form is substantial in nature.
My answer to both is of two syllables, beginning and ending with fricatives.
Sunday, January 15, 2012 at 7:40AM | by Otter These are the three poems I’ve written that my mother loved best: Jesus, Hosea: A Theology of Love, and Instructions Before Leaving.
———————————————
A digression: you too will pocket your key
a last time. When the house is filled with
dreams and you come to the end,
you will pull on your best skirt and go out…
———————————————-
Book of Otter, Death, Poetry in Cancer, Personal Reflection, Poetry, Suffering Friday, October 7, 2011 at 4:14PM | by Otter Everybody should read Emily Dickinson. If we all have to die, we should all see things as she did, at least once in our life.
Cancer, Death, Emily Dickinson, Poetry in Poetry Poetry in Personal Reflection Monday, August 1, 2011 at 7:00AM | by Otter 
Christopher Smart. The anthologies tell us, "From 1757-63 he lived in various asylums. Among the symptoms of his insanity were his sudden compulsions to pray in public, at any time or place. His marriage collapsed in 1759."
What his madness was, I do not understand.
What his clarity was, that I can help you with.
Cancer, Christopher Smart, Family, Poetry in Poetry, Relationships Saturday, July 30, 2011 at 6:58PM | by Otter Blame
Remember when we had it all?
Somebody punked us, boy,
and you and I know who.
You, you know it's true, it's you.
Run like a rabbit,
Lie out of habit,
Find virgin truth, rape it and stab it:
Somebody got to us.
I see you asking what you could do
to get your pretty words out with me looking:
you're always like a nymph at the pool,
jumpy tart, live apart from me or your heart,
but the two don't watch the same shows now.
Joy's an ember: tend or dismember, forget or remember
what you were when I was with you.
There's a scent of freedom goes dead in the evening
when you
you
you
take all this blame for me.
