Once when we were driving
on a highway racing
towards the Bay,
my sister, squinting, said 
the water under the hazy sunset
looked like shiny satin edging
on a blanket.
The shimmering light
gave us a headache; we raised our hands 
to the white-yellow brightness,
shielding ourselves.
We couldn’t even see
the bridge. 
As with so many other
things in our childhood,
we were blind.
Then the road looped right, away 
from illumination, 
and our faces relaxed 
as we drove into cool shade, 
heading home.

These days the road still loops
but we turn elsewhere.
Time took its time
to finally change
what needed to be changed. 
The concept of home, and family, 
and love, forever different. 
The Bay still shimmers;
the blanket-edged shining memory 
is etched in my mind,
along with the bridge we couldn’t see,
ultimately crossed.
Many headaches and heartaches later,
eyes opened to the deeper story,
the harder truths, 
despite remaining mysteries 
of blinding love, loyalty, water, light, and shade,
we keep driving home.

Difficult as Diamonds

a throat burns from the effort of truth
a story told and retold too many times 

in a field of lies and assumptions
blooming harsh abandonments

waves of disbelief and misunderstanding
crash against the chin held high

reorganizing words to be more clear 
earnestly trusting the potential of time 

love's hijacked weaponry 
a trick, a trap, a lure

brutal stories 
the wolf, the scarlet letter, the whale

hold the slumping, sorrowful heart
seeking rhythm in a misplaced remembrance 

a desperate spirit seeking
to be believed, difficult as diamonds 

pursuing justice or logic
worthwhile as trying to grasp oblivion

the point missed
the lesson ignored

all that's left is to breathe and rest 
digest the limitations of people

reclaim personal agency
new boundaries drawn clear 


– Ashley Kaiser, 2026

stand still in the center
as silence stretches into oblivion
hear the trees ringing outwards 
and the endless tug of tides
snow falling, melting, rushing into rivers
oceans rising and evaporating
tectonic shifts above and below
the surface raining thunderous 
clouds mounting then held back by mountains
systems swirling across continents
so many eyes of so many storms 
cities buried and forgotten
people too and then
taste the winds metallic edge
forming and dispersing
billions of cells birthed, dying, shedding
human, animal, insect, plant, microbe
the earth shakes and explodes
webs woven, catching dew, abandoned
cracks expanding across parched mud flats 
out from that center wherever you are
monolithic in the middle of nowhere once somewhere
perhaps lay down and rest
perhaps close your eyes and finally breath
deeply, digest the magnitude
the minuscule, the magnificent
that only time-elapsed trickery
can capture, the snail's silver path
moss spreading like wildfire over centuries
the canyon once an ocean once a glacier
bones elongating compressive and flexible
teeth under flesh pressing up and out
life's gnashings at odd angles
diamonds deep in the mantle
gigayears in the making
God, the ache of it all
our daily normal
ever changing 

Treat a poem like dessert

mouth the texture and expression
like a bite of dark chocolate or salty sweet nothings 
suck such splendor to dissolution

juicy centers of meaning
sprinkled moments of delight
chewy brittle gnawings, taffy-pulled conundrums

poems get stuck in teeth
shift the sugar of blood
course through bone and fiber

clear like a dream you can't recall
feeling and meaning on the tip of your tongue
craving addictive buttery bittery

whether decadent heavy notions 
or tiny bite sized portions 
no matter what, wanting more

Of course today is beautiful.
Your home is tidy,
the garden's about to bloom,
your children are safe,
the kitchen is stocked,
and your go-bag's ready to go.
Bravo, bravo.

Of course you've planned
for disaster but believe there's always hope 
for smart people who do the right thing,
but it's best to avoid the news 
because you have better things to do 
like make cookies,
rolling your eyes stirring 
a giant sugared mass 
saying this too shall pass.

Later you'll scroll through pschyo-babble
affirmations and proclamations
memes and reels about protein, tech, 
how to fix and upgrade your job,
your body, your home, your game, whatever –
unseeing the truth, of course
you don't know what to believe anymore
and of course they're saying that.
They would wouldn't they?

Every night you turn out the light
and lay back upon your pillow
hands upon your chest
maybe thanking God 
for all you have,
praying for lost souls
you deem worthy, and begging Him
for deliverance from the Devil...
because of course you are a good person.

But do you feel 
a pounding in your throat,
a low gut knot or rumbling,
thoughts that grate against surreal realities,
rubbing raw your conscience
with images and testimony 
imprinted plain as day, though hard to watch,
so you didn't really, of course
and won't, of course.

What would it take for you notice 
the world pulling apart piece by piece
or the distance between people
living side by side
becoming further and more fraught
than any rising ocean or sinking continent,
which is all debatable 
in your mind,
of course.

Of course, 
it's just a question.

I am listening
to this muscled thirst
trying to swallow silence.

Opening the shade I see
blush clouds turn poppy
reflected in the pond unbroken.

Bones hold sinuous threads
the corpus strains striving
less limber, weaker, but trying.

Mountains, lit in ethereal sun
rising side-slanting blinding clarity,
beckon between tree and cloud.

Weather fronts and mass moods
inevitable and unknowable
spark an urge to call my children.

Today is a new day
I tell myself
as a lone pelican glides past my window.

All this 
while stirring coffee and steamed milk
and a delicate dusting of cinnamon shaken.

Seek.
It is plenty.
Seeker sought saw seekers see saw.
Decided wrong wronged done.
Dawn morning.
Not done mourning.
Morning dawn done fawn.
Dead dread said fed.
Fed lies lay lying lie.
Daunting done.
Done gone millions thousands one.
Red white blew gone.
Sky blue blew blown.
Gone done lie lying lay.
Ways away way way away.
Morning mourned done dawn.

It is clear.
It is clear.
It is clear.
Grey mourning morning.

We did.
We did choose.
We did choose to be.
We did choose to be so.

Pull point triggered trigger red.
Snow dead crash pole fed.
Fed led.
Leader feeder fed led.
A mother not a mother no longer mothered othered.
Another other othered.
Dead bang shatter shattered.
Plenty shat shattered. 
Reality reel shall shatter. 
Real all it tease please please lost ease.
Appease or else elsewhere where.
Danger anger done.
Reality risked whisked.

Rose is not a rose is not a rose is not a rose.

Is a rose a rose arose.
Rose risen rise eyes eye I.
Evidence dance.
Irrupt in erupt out.
Explode implode plosion ex.
Rupture rupt ir er upt.
Interrupt erupt irrupt rupture.
Ear up and I rate.
I ate fears fed ears awake.
A wake a wake a.
Wake wake wake.
Reality gone dawning on.
Know no know no know no.
Choose lose loose lips lie.
Try released real leased and tried.
Right might wake stake fake.
Ire fire storm left right take.
State stasis die.
Actions factions passions pass sigh.
Sigh ah ah ah ah gain breath breadth death.
Scream ream dream dawn done.
Permanent fake faked.
Perm an ant perp et ritual.
Ache fake fact act.

Rock salt savage crunch.
Tires turn away a way a ah.
Slow sah low sah ah ah low.
Bastard bitch itch twitch trigger pull.
Oh wait ah wake. 
Ah ah ah oh oh no know no know.
Bang bang bang.
Hunch hunker bunker shot.
Crunch crouch slouch slouching ing ing ing.
Low lowing lowing.
Hulk huck ster holster knows nos.
Risen eyes whistle blows blows blows.
Mother father sister brother neighbor other.
Risen rose is risen rise.
Notice not ice no froze froze froze.
Our hour our hour ours.
A rose. 

The Other Writer's Strike

The poets are on strike
they refuse to heed their muse
or to feed their fickle fuse  
for beauty’s sake

the poets are on strike for beauty’s sake
they hope their absence
leaves a hunger in its wake
for brilliance and pause

the poets are on strike for brilliance and pause
they demand fair trade 
of global proportions
to be paid with ears and hearts

the poets are on strike for ears and hearts -
the price their unions demand - 
so stained and bloodied papers land
and lay scattered, left too soon

the poets are on strike and lay scattered, 
left too soon for beauty’s sake, for
brilliance and pause, left too soon
to be paid with ears and hearts

once the word “career” didn't exist
we worked long and hard however
love was our most important legacy

shortcuts weren't trusted
the journey took time and time meant value
kindness and quality mattered

books were treasures to find and devour
ideas and words were treated as jewels to mine and hone
people hand-wrote poems, songs, letters, and thank-yous

aging offered wisdom not stigma
food was, well… food
and we could still see all the stars

it can still be so
depending on the world you choose to build 
a resolution to consider

Witness

moonlight glints off water
on the tips of tiny waves

a midnight fire
flings sparks up to heaven

I ponder the gem-scattered, infinite indigo 
and silver-flecked watery surface

when in between the two
from where long clouds sail and point 

a lone snowflake wafts down upon my sweater
for a split second to behold

before melting into eternity
I yearn to celebrate beauty

but somewhere someone is dying
hurt, denied, unseen or worse

the she-wolf licks her pup
and howls into the night

despite all the wondrous things to witness
darkness still slithers and looms

whales sing and dive
as mountains slide away

shooting stars rain beautiful matter
when suns die, still

weathering the chaos of half a billion years
lichen, ancient and persistently clinging on

teach me how to survive
the calamitous depths and heights that birthed religions

a tiny spider appears
like a curious muse
scuttling along the arm
a jumpy little thing
an explorer seeking 
things that nourish
like me I guess
craving food or food for thought
small winged morsels
tantalizing ideas 
any catalyst like a catapult 
to pounce upon prey
simply to survive
which sparks the thought
perhaps we're all monsters 
wide-eyeing one another
freaked out trying
to get a better look
edging a bit too close
because our hunger bores deep
despite rational, irrational fear 
we'll brave venomous death
or being squashed
however petrifying
we're driven by instinct and intuition
and must keep leaping in the wild

JUST EATING FRUIT

I ate fruits for breakfast;
blueberries rolled in the bowl,
pineapple stained my chin,
juice dripped and fell in my lap;
my napkin soaked and sweet,
I ate meat of apple
and I sucked the grape from its skin
while the melon balls melted;
strawberry reds soaked banana slices
and blackberries, large and soft,
died crying.
 

Ever since my friend went dark
for no apparent reason
like a winter night in Alaska
somewhere roadless, black, and cold 
where even breathing hurts
a feckless fury exhausts me
year after year spent 
wondering why she left 
and not knowing takes a toll 
and sure, I've made new friends
who hug me and say move on
and tell me she wasn't a true friend
maybe they're right
but in my heart
their well-intended platitudes 
merge with a void made by cruelty
and dark unknowns expand in entropy
so even when sunlight pierces through
and day breaks into a bright morning
scattering tiny particles and wavelengths 
all the colors of the rainbow
most are undetectable to the naked eye 
and only blue remains
so the sky is an illusion 
like a smile can sometimes be 
hiding unknowable, invisible things
impossible to grasp or see.

stripes of rain upholster the sky
really meaning it
no drizzling bit by bit
or foggy procrastination
the normal earthly palette 
peppered green, yellow, white and blue
today is only one hue  
wet gym socks
and the whole day is morning
I am surprised to walk in this world
and stay so dry
each drop seems a separate world
this mystery may never unfurl, so
surrounded by millions of wet falling planets 
I head home happy with possibility

My Kinship with Birds

At times, a flock of sparrows 
trapped within my chest 
races in frantic circles
battering me from the inside
my sternum trembling and clattering 
like a lid on a boiling pot
 
I remember thousands of swifts 
arriving every fall
diving down the smokestack 
like clockwork at dusk
seeking sleep and safety 
on their annual migration
gracefully evading a hungry hawk

And the parakeet pet
who sang but couldn't speak
gripping her perch tightly
until the skylight was left open
and she instinctively took off into the wild
becoming a blue anomaly in the forest

Have you seen the Arctic penguins
leaping off impossibly high cliffs
striving to gauge the angle just right
to avoid slamming into the rocks?
many end up dead before they reach the water
but don't we all encourage leaps of faith?

I was nicknamed “Birdwoman” as a girl
because I flapped my arms on the playground
(excited by something I don't remember now)
blissfully unaware of the other kids' laughter
immersed in the moment, fully myself
before I cared what other people thought

Only much later did I learn
optics matter more than truth
the nuances of wind, velocity, and timing
worked against me as I leapt
and later dreamt of seagulls 
crying sharp and plaintive

And I've been haunted by a boy
his BB gun held in sweaty palms
squinting one-eyed at his target
then shot the robin dead
and spent the rest of his life
blaming others for his sins

So when a hummingbird hovers 
outside my window insistent and steady
like a minuscule symbol of magic and stamina
I think she is my mother
come to cheer me on
I realize I've come so far already
and must nudge my babies from the nest

Daring leaps like penguins and parakeets 
spinning madly with the sparrows 
evading hungry hawks
mourning with the robin 
solo like the hummingbird 
surfing swift murmurations
my nest of worry and what ifs
all my many aspects will continue to evolve
as I fall, flee, and fly
in this never-ending quest for survival

My last morning like all the others
witnessing the fog lift

warm mug in hands curled
a breeze twisted tendril 
brushes my cheek wet with wonder

watching the shimmering wistful
for how the sea becomes the sky

all too soon behind me
the act of leaving like the swell
sounding the forlorn whistle buoy

far from the jetty where the pelicans 
majestically soar and dive

and the sea lions' incessant barking 
day and night
searching for connection

though the waves will keep coming
with the turning tides

an ocean of longing
and surging currents
always pushing past the break

Tangled and askew a cancer grew
prone to be tied up in knots 
knowing, not knowing, unknowing
in that order
turned beneath blanket-fleeced lies
weighted promise and promises 
truth repackaged elastic and plastic
malleable as clay, night and day
misbelieved, disbelieved
solace and malice 
the elliptical churn returns
and too many are callous... 

Too often alarms and signals softened 
spines arced away 
sinew stretches
neck to neck we watch the weather vanes
as hurricanes bear down
floods rise high 
rivers run dry
fires are why 
the man on the screen is yelling obscene
things to some other who's been othered
and mothers and children huddle apart
fathers shipped off because of inked art
and the fingers all point
and the voices all raise
and we dance 'round our fires in mad, tribal malaise...

And sparks in our brains intent on survival
make us fight, flee, freeze, or fawn for revival
and causal calcifications and adhesions
darken the dawn
and we accumulate more knots and scars 
like insect artifacts long gone
amber-locked for eons beneath the stars
ancient manifestations grown
blindly sown yet we should have known 
we've been here before
stupidly shifting from dancer to puppet
performing steps to the loudest trumpet 
bad news strung to our joints and limbs 
between misaligned and aching bones 
ribs cramp around the heart
the part that matters caged and fractured
tongues pressed hard 
against the roofs of mouths 
jaws clenched tight
eyes shut out light
shoulders freeze
all reason seized...

So we lie awake germinating 
even more knots like seeds 
sick to our stomach propagating weeds 
posing as wishes that may only scatter in the wind...

(yet dandelion roots run deep
below the muscle 
beneath the bone 
hope is stubborn, insistent and brave
the gnave shoots his own foot mid-pace
the beast cuts his nose to spite his face)

We can trace this story through time eternal
yearn for the day when right smites might
and remember wise words calling us to unite 
do unto others and to thine own self be true
to escape dark night and reclaim indigo blue
slouching onward over amber waves of grain
we pray for justice to once again reign
and like so many times before
those who prostrate themselves a little bit more
may someday know the blight of history's roar.

When the magnitude of an oncoming storm
unavoidable and inevitable
beyond your control 
finds you stumbling and banging
your shouts eaten by the wind
feeling unheard, mocked, helpless
set a course for the ever-sought harbor.

That elusive haven  
with waters soft and lulling  
like a mother's kiss or lullaby
sun sparkling like jewels
atop the azure mirrored skies
offering recuperation and resetting
surrounded by the determination
of huddled starfish
and clinging mollusks
and knowable tides like clockwork– 
that place you feel you deserve
where things are right and good.

But don't forget
even it was born from trouble
carved over eons of time
by eruptions, earthquakes and glaciers
it's genesis millions of hardships
broken and bashed
over and over
again and again– 
every timeworn cove
has seen its share of chaos. 

Push full throttle
batten down the hatches
muster your wits
go deep into the hold
where you keep your maps and compass
your box of treasures
your pearls and proofs
keepsakes for the future
everything you're trying to save
carry with you towards that place you seek– 
the safety of knowing
the peace of peace.

Brave the pull, tug and drag
of whirlpools and cesspools
roiling currents
and darkening clouds
steer into the waves tall as mountains
weather the knife-like rain
find the eye of the storm
your truth lies in the center– 
but ready yourself for what comes next
may not be pretty
could forever change you
and your ever-sought idea
whatever it was or is.

When you come out the other side
unlash the lashings
raise your sails full
see the shoreline shining 
relish the cacophony of gulls 
ride the swells heeling
make the wind your power
wipe the salt from your cheeks
rinse your mouth with laughter
it's not what you expected
but you've arrived.

the days pass at warp speed 
the moonrise chases the circling sun
around again to another dawn

june and july snuck off when we weren’t looking 
and august keeps insisting that she’s here
year after year, the birthdays reappear

like marching hooligans, sugared up and happy
we sing and careen around
summer fall back, winter spring forward

like campfire sparks that fly to heaven 
we float through the moments
only half aware we’re rising

the shoes worn yesterday 
in the river, in the lake, in the sea
are still wet, yet 

we will always remember

I’ve been called dramatic
since a young age
always the one standing on a chair
making declarations 
sounding the alarms
waving my arms about wildly
being unabashedly blatant
believing honesty had merit
trusting love and friendship.

“There she goes again,” they’d say 
(especially the women)
fluttering like moths to a bulb
slicing in like sharks for chum
feeding like vampires
disdain dripping down their chins
slurping the remnants of my truth 
like a juicy snack
dismissively asking 
“Really?” and “How can that be?”

Like the time I threw the cake out the door
and the only part they saw–

the wild out-of-the-blue part
shards of ceramic mixed with homemade chocolate 
devil’s food and wooden-spoon-whipped buttercream
that I’d decorated with loving care that morning
that seemed to me an appropriate symbol to chuck
in the moment
for something I couldn’t yet name
to address things they didn’t see–

so shocking they left hurriedly.

It was dramatic. 
Like jumping from a burning building.
More spectacle than choice.
The outcome bad either way.
Flames invisible to everyone but me.

Later I wondered
if I had just served it as expected
with champagne and berries
laughing lightly 
wafting along 
in a pretty dress
pretending everything was all right
being that woman everyone admires
for her strength and grace
who doesn't rock the boat
hiding her pain as she shoves a fork into her thigh
beneath the table
saving a piece of cake
for my future self
and once thawed and softened
I could have at least enjoyed it
after they all eventually left anyway,
bored with the show.